San Miguel de Allende and a Footnote on Danzas Aztecas

Today, March 2, we went to San Miguel de Allende to locate the consulate and find out about getting a more permanent type visa, an FM-3. It is a small town compared to Querétaro, but because it is so cute (precious even) norteamericanos have flocked there over the last few decades to the point where they make up at least 10% of the population (some say 30%) and have a much larger economic and social impact than their numbers would suggest.

As we got closer to the main plaza downtown, the sidewalks started filling up with gringos, old gringos, old gringos who look like my parent’s generation, but who are my age. There appear to be two types, those who live there and those who are just visiting. The ones who live there don’t carry cameras, are perfectly coiffed and groomed, and have spent hours getting ready to go out and be seen. The tourists wear shorts showing off their pale, overweight legs; carry cameras; and talk loudly. Either way, we were not anxious to meet them, and as we got closer to the plaza, the more we wanted to turn around and head back to some place real, like Querétaro. To disassociate myself from them, I considered shaving my beard, dying my hair dark, not wearing a baseball cap, in order not to be like these guys. But C pointed out that this was my generation, and I was stuck with it. Maybe I’ll start wearing dark glasses to hide my identity like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt did last week in Mexico City in the picture on the front page of the local paper.

At the plaza they were having a series of Danzas Aztecas, much like that at La Cruz church the other day. However, there were some major differences. Unlike at La Cruz, the audience was almost exclusively norteamericano, and every one of them had a camera and was taking pictures. There were almost as many norteamericano photographers/observers as there were dancers. Except for dancers waiting to take their place in the square, there were virtually no indigenas. The whole thing seemed canned, artificial, and did not have the soul of the one at La Cruz.

As soon as we got some information on visas from the consulate and set up an appointment for two weeks from now, we made a quick visit of the church, checked our car out of the parking garage, and headed out of town. We knew San Miguel was not for us from our experiences 30 years ago, but it has now become an American pleasure palace with a colonial Mexican flavor that seems alien to the real world of Mexico.

It is understandable that retired folks who never learned Spanish, but who like the Mexican colonial atmosphere, would want to congregate where they don’t need to learn English or a new culture, but that is really not for us. The norteamericanos who live in San Miguel have done some good--raising money for the poor, setting up feed the hungry programs, showing the American penchant for volunteering to “improve” their communities-- but in the process they are making unintentional changes to the local culture and killing off what attracted them in the first place. I guess that is also typically American.

No pictures, as we could not wait to get out of there. But it is a pretty little town.