WorldWide
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| Founded in 1542 by a Franciscan monk, San Miguel
changed its name to San Miguel de Allende in 1826
to honour the memory of General Ignacio Allende,
a hero of the war of independence from Spain. Its
colonial-era architecture and its laid-back charms
have attracted generations of artists from Canada
and the United States. |
Palette of San Miguel
By Patricia Pearson
What did my artist grandmother find so compelling
about this small, colonial-era Mexican city?
It is dusk in the Mexican colonial city
of San Miguel de Allende, on the high arid
plain of Guanajuato, about four hours
north of México City. I am lounging in an
exquisite open-air living room on the roof
of the Oasis, a newly refurbished 17th-century
villa with four gorgeously appointed
guest rooms. The breeze is soft, the sky is
pale violet and fragrant with hibiscus and
lilies, and all around me - above on the
hillside and sweeping below the patio -
are the pastel-hued Spanish-era homes
and spired churches that have made this
town so fabled for its charm.
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| Click map to enlarge |
I have travelled throughout Mexico, but
I had yet to visit this city, which was beloved
by my grandmother, an artist who spent
her winters here and was thus well positioned
to assist my mother by driving
down to the capital when I was
born in Mexico City. As an adult, I
had skipped San Miguel on various
journeys, in part because I'd heard
that it was a realm of Sandalistas,
or utopian expatriate artists, who
had headed south to reinvent
themselves. Now, I am here to
reconsider this prejudice. What
had captivated my granny? Was it
an allure that is still here, or something
long gone, like the charm of
Acapulco in the 1960s?
My companion on the rooftop, photographer
Russell Monk, introduced me to
the Oasis when I arrived. He is a friend and
neighbour of the owner, a writer originally
from New York named Nancy Hooper. She
and I stayed up past midnight on the day
I checked in, reading from each other's
works-in-progress while she periodically
raided her kitchen for more Baja California
wine. Her writing is urgent and arresting
and true, and it struck me that this is likely
the only time in my life that I will get tipsy
and exchange painful family memories
with the proprietor of an expensive hotel.
This was my first hint that San Miguel's
vision of reinvention might actually still
mean something interesting.
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