My time in Guanajuato was a much more textured experience than I had anticipated. Being alone is one thing that I've become accustomed to and usually enjoy, but living alone with a strange family is another. My bedroom was on the first floor just off the livingroom, so to get to the bathroom I had to walk through the livingroom, the trysting place for the 19 year old daughter and her 'novio'. The first couple of nights I interupted them in the most chaste of embraces, four feet on the floor. It reminded me of Graham Greene's description of innocent kisses on park benches that he saw when he was in the south of Mexico in the 1930s. But as the days passed their feet left the floor and the duration of their encounters lengthened. This combined with the fact that she was a constant giggler and frequent screamer provided the impetus for me to spend my evenings on the streets of Guanajuato, which wasn't a bad thing. I got to know the city quite well and see most of its sights.
On one of these wanders I met a man named Sam from Tepic. He sat down beside me on a bench in the central garden of Guanajuato and introduced himself. He was good looking and appeared to be a bit younger than I am. He had lived most of his life in either Australia or Georgia. We talked a bit, and when he asked if I wanted to join him for a beer at one of the many patio restaurants around the park , I accepted. By the time I was half finished my Dos Equies, I had realised that in spite of the fact that we spoke the same language we had little to say aside from facts or fictions about our lives, the usual blabber that passes for conversation between travellers. I met him again the next night because he had suggested it and I wanted to buy him a beer this time. But when he sugggested we get our feet off the floor, I declined. He repeated the offer but didn't force the point. I have to admit I felt a bit like the funny little second cook in "Downton Abby" did when the servant from the USA wanted her to return with him to cook in his master's house and marry him. I was not the least bit inclined to accept the offer but I was " that chuffed" just to get it that I felt quite attractive for about half an hour as I walked home. The spell was broken when I entered the house and heard a raging argument going on upstairs between Fernanda, the daughter, and 'su novio'. I stayed aloof in my room until the banging and crying became so loud that I went out to make sure Fernanda was fine. She was. It was the novio who was sobbing. Whether his pain was physical or emotional, I never discovered. I was the only witness to the spat and I said nothing. The next evening they were coiled up on the couch again and the following day, 'Viernes de Dolores', the most romantic spring festival in Guanajuato, he gave her an extravagant boquet of flowers and she accepted, looking radiant in the clinging dress that barely touched the top of her high-heeled legs which she had bought in Leon two days before.
I went to church with the family the morning of 'Viernes de Dolores' The church was crowded beyond its doors, and when we left the service we joined a crowd that packed the streets, lined on both sides with stalls selling flowers, food, masks, dolls on sticks and baskets of brightly coloured eggs that had been emptied and refilled with confetti. The children bash each other and anyone else on the head with these eggs, so there is confetti 'por todas partes'. After that, I went with the family to 'an acreage' they own just outside of town to prepare for Paco's sister's birthday party. Her name is Dolores, so although it's not actually her birthday she always celebrates on this date. She's also not a virgin but a 45 year old married lawyer who just had a breast implant that went all before her as she strutted around the fiesta distributing 'besos'. Setting up was fun because I helped turn what looked like a pretty bare piece of land when we arrived into a fiesta setting. We put up a trampoline, swings, games, tables and chairs, etc. A family that had been hired to cater arrived, and the smell of freshly dry-fried tacos completed the atmosphere. The guests slowly showed up the usual hour or so late. Finally we ate. The food was really good. I was starving by that time. For me the party went downhill from there. Everyone was very kind, and I actually had a couple of conversations. But as tongues loosened with liquor, the real 'lives of the party' took over, and I was left trying to catch the jokes but missing badly. On top of that a pretty fierce wind came up, the temperature dropped and I was only wearing a blouse. The locals were prepared. They put on sweaters and jackets and had another drink. Fortunately Patty and Paco, realizing that the party was going to go on late into the night, decided that Paco would drive Patty and me home for the night and he would return to eventually close things down. It was cold even in the house, so I slept one last time in my MEC jacket.
Now I'm in the bus to Morelia, passing strawberry fields forever. The signs for 'fresas con crema' sound much more inviting than the ones Jim and I saw in Devon trying to entice you in for a cream tea with strawberries and clotted cream.
Patty, Pako and their dog Tom the evening we walked up the hills behind their house to the caves and the statue of Ignatious Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit Order that was very active in the early days of Guanajuato.
A woman selling confetti eggs on the street on 'Viernes de Dolores'
The crowded church
One of the glorious jacaranda trees in Guanajiato
The fiesta site before the set up
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