Semana Santa 2009

It is rumored that the best week to visit Mexico City is Semana Santa, or Holy Week, because everyone in Mexico City leaves thus making traffic more manageable. The problem is that a great many of them come to San Miguel.

It is interesting how things change for the foreigner living here. The first couple of years you would have found me running into centro to witness and photograph all of the celebration activities. However now, after about six years, I avoid it like the plague. Traffic is crazy, parking a nightmare and crowds of people line the streets.

Two of our friends were part of the migration. “Get ready,” Horst said when he and Christian arrived, “Everyone from Mexico City is headed this way.”

Christine and Mario also joined us from Queretaro, only 45 minutes away normally, but they encountered the incoming traffic from Mexico City as well.

Festivities ensued and when one of them would take us near centro, we parked at the top of town and took the bus in and a taxi back. Horst and Christian returned to Mexico City on Saturday and were replaced by Karl and Mariana.

Easter Sunday found the six of us lounging around the ranchito. We cooked and ate together and then people drifted to different activities; Karl working on a presentation for a gallery opening, Mariana (eight months pregnant) reading a magazine and later napping in the hammock, Mario reading Catcher in the Rye (in Spanish) and Rodrigo and Christine alternatively watching old musicals on TV or napping on the sofa. I puttered around in the yard, watering and tending to plants. It was my favorite type of a day at home; where people come together and then drift away, no one needing or expecting to be entertained, just helping themselves to whatever. That type of comfortable silence or banter that comes when people know each other well. The type of day for which the ranchito is designed (what with its various small seating or lounging areas).

Someone suggested that we go into town for dinner. “Are you crazy?” was the general response. So we decided on a Uruguayan restaurant on the edge of town, where the crowds promised to be minimal and parking is available.

We were the only table. The others were all empty. As we were sitting there, Christine commented: “Do you realize that we’re all bi-cultural couples?” It was true. All three couples are Mexican-American (with Rod and I additionally being queer just to enhance the diversity a notch). Maybe it is one reason that we’re all so comfortable around each other.

The chef was a rather rotund man with long red stringy hair pulled back into a clumsy ponytail. After preparing our meals on an open grill, he waddled out with his guitar and serenaded us (rather well).

One doesn’t encounter that every day.