Which is better: Guanajuato or San Miguel de Allende?

	Guanajuato	San Miguel de Allende
Granted, for me to compare Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende is a little like me comparing being a man and being a woman. I just don't have much experience inside San Miguel de Allende. Here is a comparison chart anyway.
Music in the Plaza	Estudiantina	Mariachi
Museums	At least six, although I tend to walk fast through the Quijote museum.	One, I think.
Night Life	You can stumble from one bar to another before you even lose your balance.	Pretty lively,I think, but I'm just guessing.
Restaurants	I don't really know since I only eat in one restaurant, the Truco 7.	You will be relieved of the burden of paying less than American prices.
Shopping	Lots of shops selling obscene t-shirts.	Artesanias galore.
Baby Strollers	Forget about it; too many stairs, too many uneven cobblestones and too many pedestrians	Limited viability. You will have to do some lifting and carrying.
Gringos	Now that everyone is reading 52 Days, we'll be expecting to see a lot more.	Well, San Miguel de Allende is part of the United States, isn't it?

What if a blog fell?

If a blog was posted in the woods but there was no one to read it, would it still be a blog? And if a blog wasn't posted because the author was enjoying a delicious shower bath beneath a magic weeping mushroom, would it be a literary disater? Some people work on Wednesdays, but me, I place my babies in the mouths of giant frogs. Vacation is sweet.

Hike to the Caves

Clarissa has been keeping a journal of our vacation that she writes in with a giant blue pencil from the Guanajuato market. She wrote an entry about our hike to the caves on Saturday. Clarissa, Skyler and I enjoyed them deeply.

We climbed the road to the Bufa for a half hour checking out the view of Guanajuato. We went straight to the deepest cave which is called either Garrett's Cave, Skyler's Cave or Two-way cave, depending on which one of us you talk to. The entrance is a tight squeeze and quickly separates into two passages. The left tunnel slopes down into a subterranean pool of water. The right tunnel continues deep into the mountain, but we turned around after forty yards. Skyler turned off the flashlight for a second so we could get freaked out by the darkness.

This reminded me of the time I visited a commercial cave in Chiapas in which the lighting system wasn't working. I rented a weak flashlight from an Indian woman who was selling jewelry at the entrance. It gave off less light than a lit cigarette and I had to thump it against my thigh avery ten steps to jiggle the batteries when it went out on me. Altogether, I went in about half a mile. I was never worried about getting stranded inside. I just assumed that some tourist with another weak flashlight would eventually come along and step on me.

A Cliché Story

In a city that never sleeps, two star-crossed lovers sit in a coffee house which is nearly as dark as night, pouring their hearts out.

Man: I love you more than life itself.

Woman: I am nothing without you.

Man: Our two hearts beat as one.

Woman: We make beautiful music together.

Man: I'm glad we are of one mind.

(Outside, it begins to rain cats and dogs.)

Woman: There's a chill in the air but I feel as cozy as a kitten with you.

Man: Yes, you are the light of my life, but I have to say that I'm as hungry as a wolf right now. I could eat a horse.

Woman: The restaurant across the plaza makes a mean omelette. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Man: You don't have to tell me twice. I'd eat there in a heartbeat.

Woman: I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Man: But it's raining and we'll get soaked to the bone.

Woman: Getting there is half the fun.

Man: Let's run like the wind when we get outside, and we can get there in the wink of an eye.

Woman: I couldn't have said it better.

In the restaurant they feasted like kings and then went to their hotel room to sleep like logs. The man and woman were as happy as clams and lived together happily ever after.

Speak your mind about this story. Click on the comments link and leave your two cents worth.

The Story of the "El Torito Dance"

An especially fierce bull was selected one year for the festivities on a hacienda near Silao, Guanajuato. He escaped from the pen where he was being kept until it was time for the bullfight to begin.

The Horseman tried to use his skill with animals to capture the bull and force him back into his pen, but the bull resisted and charged at the Horseman with his horns.

Next, the Foreman tried to subdue the bull, but the animal did not respect his authority and charged at him with his horns.

The Mariquita was the most beautiful woman on the hacienda and the landlord's daughter. She attempted to seduce the bull with her enchantments, but the bull did not fall under her spell and he charged at her with his horns.

The Drunkard in her tattered dress, was the next person to confront the bull. In her drunken state she believed she was invincible and that the bull would subject itself to her commands, but the bull did not follow her instructions and he charged at her with his horns.

Every party has a prankster who sticks his nose into other people's business. At that moment, the Moco appeared to try and reduce the anger of the bull by distracting him with his pranks, but the bull remained as enraged as ever and charged toward the Moco with his horns.

The residents of the town became alarmed when they saw that no one could control the bull. They called for the pious Viejito to come to the hacienda and calm the bull with his devotions. The bull began to slow down his movements and move closer to the old man. It looked like the bull would be tamed with prayer.

But the Devil was envious that the old man could calm the wild bull. He interrupted the scene, rushing at the bull, cracking his whip at the animal to force him to obey. But the Bull was not afraid of the Devil, and he charged at him with his horns.

Finally Death itself appeared to subdue the rampaging animal. He expected that the Bull would follow his commands. Everyone on earth must respond to his call, but the Bull did not fear even Death itself. He charged toward Death with his horns.

At that point, the people of the hacienda recognized that the bull would never be tamed. They finally allowed him to run free in the open pasture, while everyone stayed awake drinking, feasting and exploding fireworks until dawn.

We Are All Molecules

We are all molecules colliding with each other. Sometimes the impact is pleasant, and we try to intertwine our electrons as we fly through space. At other times, the impact is harmful. We are left spinning and damaged through the void. We exert hopeful energy to steer our course by our decisions. This is Free Will.

If individuals exercise Free Will to choose Good and abstain from Evil, we will become molecules that flow in an integrated path to form a single entity. The conciousness of this entity is already a part of us. It is the universal layer of shared conciousness that unites all souls on earth. It is what George Lucas calls, "The Force".

Thoughts Are like Flowers

Under The Volcano by Malcolm Lowry is the best English language book set in Mexico I've ever read. An expatriate in Cuernavaca drinks himself to death when a long awaited visit from his estranged wife coincides with a surprise visit from his rival half-brother.




Christian, age 2, has gotten into the habit of requesting chicken milk. He's a few billion years early. Chickens have not yet evolved into mammals.




The tradition in Guanajuato during the Festival of San Juan is to go with the family to the Presa de la Olla and eat Chiles Rellenos. There are booths all along the route that sell anything from beer to underwear to dried sardines in a cup.




El Divan is a local bar that plays loud music located on the floor above another bar that plays loud music.




Inventor Skyler Smith continues to create useful items from what he finds on the ground. He made action figures out of clothespins. He also invented his own strategy game using standard chess pieces.




Rosy ordered a hand woven bracelet for me for fifteen pesos. It is black and green and says audifaz.com instead of my name. There was a brief time when I began to introduce myself that way, but it never caught on.




I'm on chapter 30 of Where Loyalty Lies, a novel by Rich Patch, a colleague from the Pen and Paper writer's group. I missed the meeting last night at the Lux coffe house because I'm here in Mexico. Hope it was productive.




There are no traffic lights in the entire city of Guanajuato. Much of the automobile traffic moves in tunnels underground.





Plants and trees grow from seeds when placed in soil and with exposure to water and sunlight. Eventually a tree trunk appears. Where did the material for the tree trunk come from? Are there prefigurations of tree trunks floating in the vapor of the air we breath?

Extra Time

There are no movies being filmed in Guanajuato this summer. Too bad. I could use the extra cash working as an extra like I did in 2002 when Robert Rodriguez came into town to make Once Upon A Time in Mexico. We spent long hours in the courtyard of an elementary school waiting for Robert’s assistants to come for us to run through flaming debris shouting “Long Live the President” to Spaniard Antonio Banderas. In another scene, I helped carry a glass coffin with a wax figure of Cheech Marin. Later, I helped capture a jeep from an armed Mexican soldier with an uncomfortable “Day of the Dead” mask covering my face. We could barely walk off camera with the masks on. I can’t believe civilians would consider wearing them throughout an entire insurgency.

Some extras were issued six foot fibreglass skulls that they hefted above their heads during the parade scene. These props made excellent shade for napping while we waited along the street for another opportunity to run past the camera. It became sort of game to see if we could frighten people as they walked by one of the giant skull masks by saying boo and shaking it when as they walked past. We entertained ourselves for hours making mimes jump on their way to work and provoking old ladies to smash the object with their purses.

How to see Guanajuato in One Day

Basically, you cannot see everything in Guanajuato in one day unless you have the stamina of a marathon runner or you own your own jet pack. Forget about driving. Most of the roads are too narrow for cars and there's no place to park anyway. We tried it Monday while Chris and Tamara were in town with their daughter Eliana. We took the tram up to the Pipila, looked at the front door of the Diego Rivera Museum and walked through the Mercado before having a total meltdown.

We didn't see the Alhóndiga, site of the most famous battle of Mexican Independence. We didn't see the Callejon del Beso, a street so narrow two lovers from history managed to make out with each other by leaning forward from their balconies. We didn't see the Museo de Las Momias where the unique combination of dry climate and mineral-laden soil has resulted in the mummification of some people who were buried in the local cemetary. This unusual phenomenon is celebrated by propping up the cadavers behind glass cases and charging admission to see them.

Single Digit Year Notation

The Arizona Diamondbacks won the World Series on 11/4/1, the Downing Street Memo was transcribed on 7/23/2 and today is 6/21/5. The decade may be too far gone for single digit year notation to catch on, but I have written dates this way consistently since 2000.

When marking the date on memos, home-made cd's and hand written notes, why waste your time writing a superfluous zero before the year digit? Doesn't 6/21/5 mean the same as 6/21/05? Do you waste your energy writing a zero before single digit months? Do you have to write 06/21 to remind yourself that June is the sixth month and that the six represents a single digit number? Likewise, we can assume that a year expressed as a single digit is from the units column.

We are in a unique decade in history. We will never again see zeros in the ten's place of years in our lifetime. Let's embrace the remaining years of this span and express these years as single digits. There is no risk of confusion, we will eliminate the physical exertion of having to write unnecessary zeros, and we will be celebrating the special qualities of the first decade of this century.

Interview With an Inventor

52 Days:     Skyler Smith, you are ten years old and an inventor. In the last twenty-four hours you have invented a stick belt, a rope swing, a toy for entertaining your brother, a kite, woven jewelry and charcoal ink. To what do you attribute this incredible burst of creativity?

Skyler Smith:     Being bored.

52 Days:     Of which invention are you most proud?

Skyler Smith:     The woven necklace and bracelets I put together with just my fingers.

52 Days:     Where do you find materials for your inventions?

Skyler Smith:     On the ground lying around.

52 Days:     Which of your inventions surprised you the most?

Skyler Smith:     The pencil and ink. I took a piece of the tree that's burnt and I smashed it into dust. Then, I mixed it with water to make the ink. I sharpened a stick to make the pencil.

52 Days:     Which of your inventions do you think are the most practical to share.

Skyler Smith:     Bracelet and necklace. I already gave a necklace to Ulises' baby (Norah), Lupita, Daddy and Mommy.

52 Days:     What do you call the invention where you tied a string to a baseball cap and you yanked it away from your brother whenever he tried to grab it?

Skyler Smith:     The living hat.

52 Days:     What advice would you give to other kids your age who are interested in becoming inventors?

Skyler Smith:     Think of stuff to invent.

Am I a Poet?

Am I a poet
because I thought of the metaphor
of two leaves from different trees converging in one pile?

Am I a poet when I compare the roots of trees to patriarchs?

Do I make poetry by breathing the fresh air of forests?
Touching moss on trees?
Praying in an adobe church?
Plucking a pear from its branch?

Do I sustain poetry
generating an aura of love with my wife
in a black lit bar
where a harpsichord building artisan
speaks love for music, love for woman, love for yearning

Am I a poet because I declare Thankfulness a poem
even before there are words

Grateful Soy Burgers

George Bresnahan is using a white hat these days. He no longer lives in Guanajuato, but he came into town to buy me a soy burger. I have myself to blame that we missed our hike last week. I had sent him two wrong phone numbers.

George was the first person to read drafts of Grateful Deceivers, or rather, listen to me read them from the spiral notebooks I filled while saturating myself with caffeine at Café Dada. I remember sitting with George at a table beside the Juarez Opera House, sunlight passing through our bottles of Corona. He shook his head at one point saying,¨"I don't know, Garrett. You and I have different styles of writing." You see, I was reading Poe at that point, and it was making the protagonist speak with elegant Victorian constructions instead of the jargon of a drunken beach drifter.

Smith Family

There are six of us and the Italian cab driver at Sky Harbor said we were too many to fit in one taxi. Yet all of us plus two more fit in the car from the Guadalajara airport to Guanajuato. We have been having a gas so far in Guanajuato, Salamanca and Juventina Rosas.
(click on the thumbnails to see a full size picture.)

Sterling: age 1
He has learned to dunk sweet bread in his milk.




Christian: age 2
Crazy about mechanical horses and public trampolines.




Clarissa: age 8
She has a new apron and is currently reading Skeleton Man.



Skyler: age 10
He has another new haircut and likes to play "stinko man".



Rosy:
She is a wonderful mother and wife. She is getting ready to paint some new pictures.



Garrett: age 40
There is a good reason for sticking his head behind the toilet. He doesn't do it for kicks.

Most Dangerous Thing

The most dangerous thing in Mexico is the coffee pot in my house, because it's an old one with no automatic shut off. The most frightening experience in Mexico is inserting my head between the toilet and the bathroom wall. I have to lie on the floor and twist my head just right to get myself in there. There is no use looking for Godzilla stomping buildings. Mexico is mundane. Each day is like any day in Phoenix except when the water heater is busted and the water has been shut off. The hoodlums have stopped bashing windows. We can park in the street now. There is nothing to do but lie in bed listening to teenagers next door firing at virtual terrorists.

Artistic Feel

One of the best galleries in Guanajuato is La Sala de Hemenegelindo Bustos on Lascuráins. The current exhibit is Oaxacan art. I remember one sensational opening there for an exhibit of video art. The intermission piece was a giant inflatable chair spectators could sit on to watch episodes of Barney. The chair was an immense construction of plastic, tape and inflated air that didn't pop when a chilango took a dive on it from the balcony. There were some cool video pieces about a woman shaving and cars in traffic. Marcela's husband produced a video of a German Shepherd devouring a rabbit.

¨How did you know the dog would eat the bunny?" I asked him at the after hours party in Bar Ocho.

"I didn't," he said, "but I thought something might happen because the dog hadn't eaten for three days."

Sam was tending bar Monday night at the Ocho. Kent Evans is in New York, so I may not get to meet him. Chander calls the bar from Newport Beach when he gets drunk enough. I talked to Rafa from Corazón de Babel. They have a gig coming soon, and Josue has been drinking at home since he stopped working.

Guanajuato House

The leaves of the liria plants moving in the wind outide our window are like waves on the ocean. Through the windows we hear the leaves rustling, we hear birds' songs and the scampering of squirrel feet. The sunlight paints patterns on the ground filtering itself through tree limbs. In the distance, two pitiful clouds drift away from the dried up city.

The outside walls are bare brick. The inside walls are paint and plaster. Two workers built the house in six weeks in 2000. I never learned their last names. They built an interior arch and two niches for books. Some day we will add a second and third floor. For now, we enjoy it as a studio.

A Tough Walk for Ants And Inline Skaters

Nothing is permanent, even the pavement. Nothing is easy, even walking over churned up cobblestones on the way to Café Dada. The Baratillo fountain is wrapped in blue plastic. We are waiting for the rains here. There is nothing but brown grass and hot sleepless nights. The rains are stuck in traffic or have overslept their alarm. I hope they drop buckets when they get here and knock down tree limbs. We are ready for thunder and tadpoles. The construction will become a field of muck.

What You Can And Can't Do In San Fernando Plaza

San Fernando Plaza is the new place to go and have fun in Guanajuato because there are bulldozers in Baratillo Plaza and traffic has been re-routed to pass through Jardin Union.

In San Fernando Plaza you can sit quietly and watch your babies run in circles until they are too dizzy to play with the balloons you bought them from the balloon man. You can browse the book peddler’s stalls and find plastic wrapped editions of Nietzsche, Pikachu post cards and Che Guevara stick pins. In San Fernando you can hear jazz and drink tea in front of the Bossa Nova. You can eat fancy cream soups in front of Van Gogh’s Ear or you can drink Dos Equis in front of the bar which has a name I can never remember because it is more than six words long.

You can walk through San Fernando Plaza on your way to the Jardin Reforma to tryst with your lover or you can walk the other direction and watch the members of the estudiantina sing in medieval costumes. In San Fernando Plaza you can sit on a park bench and watch other people do everything I just mentioned.

But in San Fernando Plaza you can no longer buy menudo from blind Doña Lupita who missed cleaning too many black hairs from the beef tripe. You can no longer buy Guatemalan textiles from the store that burned, but you can now buy quesadillas. Last night, more people preferred the hamburgers next door. The quesadillas may eventually catch on. If they don’t, I wonder if they’ll bring back the hippies and the incense.

We Are All Afflicted by Jingle Bells

We are all afflicted by jingle bells
We are poised leaning over the border with our feet fastened to Yankee soil
We have completed preparations for launch
Into the sparkling abyss
To frolic with astros
And covort with cometas
We will land with padded feet on the craters of Quijote´s bootsprints
This delicious waiting is a romp into waiting for what happened already

Trying to Make Ourselves Comfortable

This picture reminds me of when Rosy and I slept in a traffic circle in Basel, Switzerland along with four guys from New Jersey who followed us from the train station on the German side of the border because they assumed we knew where we were going. There was absolutely no one else in the street at two o'clock in the morning except the cab driver who idled beside us for two miles trying to talk us into boarding.

I used to think Aeromexico was a high class airline because they distribute hard candy as you get on the plane, but after last summer's u-turn in mid air and last night's over-booking fiasco, I've changed my opinion of the company.

It's time to start driving my family to Mexico like Victor Arnow did twenty years ago. He told the story Tuesday night at the Counter Culture Café of going in a VW bus to see the tree climbing crabs of Mazatlan.

We're vacationing in Tempe today. We'll try once more tonight to fly across the border.

Something's Going to Happen

Getting ready spend the next fifty-two days in Mexico where something big will happen. I'll publish a book, lose 10 pounds, meet Kent Evans, star in a movie, verify Free Will, potty train Christian, conjoin with my wife, impeach the president, stop global warming, take hikes with George, hug all my kids, spend one day in bed, inspire art around me, create history curriculum, eat guacamayas, prevent war in Iran, stop snoring, play chess and read Nausea by Jean-Paul Sarte. Mostly I want to write and come up with a better title for "Vaseline and Disjointed Time." I want to write "Cone of Silence" and get going on the border book I've got outlined.

Really, I'll change diapers and wait in line with housewives to buy tortillas.

And I've got this nifty weblog-- Fifty Days in Mexico. Keep checking back. I'll keep you informed.