Feliz 2011: San Miguel y los mayas
How did I end up on the mountain top? When I went to the Waldorf fundraiser party at the House of the Angels, I had no idea that my gesture of support would lead me to that mysterious day of el solsticio encima de la montana. Now I am a Seventies Girl, so hearing that a Beatles signature band was playing sent me off and going, money tucked inside my swinging purse, and dancing shoes tight with anticipation on my feet. Upon arrival I attempted to keep my awe of the elaborate house with inviting balconies and spectacular views toned down. Of course, I was now transported to the hills of San Miguel from the humble valley where the corn people reside; how could I not feel a tad out of place?
I once was considered a San Miguelense, back in the days when I danced in an improv group, as well as facilitated a translation workshop in the historical Museo de Allende. I now felt like the foreigner I was. Yet, amongst the several unknown attendees who were part of the "new wave" of residents, I discovered a few old-timers wandering the vast premises of the House of the Angels. Evita, owner of la Calaca sat with me to eat the vegetarian deluxe spread included in the entry fee. White hair flowing and dressed in a lavender huipil to match her stunning eyes, my lovely companion and I conversed amiably as I observed the milling crowd. In the background on some distant balcony a few guitar sounds warbled in warm-up mode. Time to get on my feet and discover the source of this welcoming sound, I thought--and that is when I discovered that Claudio had come back to town.
When I previously lived in San Miguel, I was somewhat on the fringe of an interesting theatrical crowd, the people who formed the Teatro Anthanor group...Maria de Cespedes, Federico, Susana, Alina, Dan, Jeanne and Claudio, a French transplant with wild, curly hair and a rumpled, artistic look about him.
I found him drinking wine on the balcony near the band, and speaking with him lightened my fear that I no longer belonged to my former home. When he revealed to me that the Cafe Anthanor might be revived, my spirits lifted even more. Later, I ran into Jose, who was in charge of the DNA-changing massages going on at the second level of the house. Apparently Evita had already lined up for her free session when I had my first conversation with Jose in years.
"Recuerdas cuando nos bailamos con las mascaras en Xichu--do you remember when we danced with masks in Xichu?" I recalled fondly. "Que dias extraordinarios!"
But even more extraordinary was the movement of DNA change going on above us.