The Wonders of Leonor (Pt.1)

The prospect of going away for the weekend with your landlady would not normally sound like much of an enticing outing.  Obviously, you do not share our landlady. 

After a handful of invites to go to see her home in Guanajuato, we finally concede to make the journey, not knowing what to expect once we all pile into a car and start on our way…much less what happens when you get there and have no where to go and are left to the whims of your landlady.  An adventure it will be, no doubt.

We had to drop the dogs off with the Italian dog lady before we start our trek.  Tonya told Leonor we would be ready to go by 9 or 9:30.  I told Tonya to err on the side of caution, and shoot for 10-ish.  As we open the gate and pull into the drive at around 9:45, there are several bags sitting in the drive, complete with half a dozen poinsettias and a few boxes and three chairs. Leonor is obviously ready to go.  We still have to go get our last minute things together, grab a bit to eat and do your number ones and twos.  I go out to the car and start to pack in Leonor’s things.  She comes out and directs where to put things and asks if this can go there and that here.  We manage to get it all in and leave a small space for our small bag.  Leonor gets in the car, closes the door and sits patiently.  We are in our place snickering over that simple fact, and trying to hurry as fast as we can.  As we grab our last things and lock up, making our way down the driveway Tonya says, “Oh-look how cute. Leonor is sitting all alone in the backseat waiting on us”  I get in, look back at her flash a smile and get one in return, ‘You ready to go Leonor, are you OK?”  She smiles brightly and says she’s ready-let’s go!

It took an hour to get out of the city.  It is always a crapshoot trying to go anywhere in this chaotic metropolis.  It was overcast, and as we were slowly creeping along the highway, I was growing sleepy.  It was from boredom, not anything else.  Tonya and Leonor were gabbing away.  I was trying to listen to Van Morrison’s “It’s Too Late To Stop Now”, but wasn’t getting much enjoyment.  At one point in between conversations, Leonor asks, “Who is this we are listening to?”

“Van Morrison”, Tonya says.

“Is he a black man?”

“No, he’s Irish actually” I reply.

“He sounds like a black man” she says.  Then she starts up again, resuming the conversation with Tonya.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not totally left out of the conversation, I get pulled in every so often. “There is a good coffee place up here.  We can stop and get a coffee if you like” she says.  Tonya nods in agreement, and as we finally get on the outskirts of town and pass our first toll booth, she guides us to the roadside coffee stand.  It is an hour into the trip, and we stop for a drink and I do a bit of odd calisthenics outside to stretch a bit.  I walk back in to check on Tonya and Leonor and the coffees have not been done yet.  We chat for a few, and everyone decides to take a potty break.  I am left in charge of the coffees.  They are set on the counter in front of me a few moments later and I start to fit the lids on the drinks.  I turn to move, and feel a push right above my waist.  I turn to see what it was.  An older Mexican lady staring straight ahead, not at me, and wearing cheap pink sandals.  She has made it obvious I should not step back, but instead move sideways.  I do, and furrow my brow in the process. “We are going to eat some of things Tonya brought” Leonor happily says.

I like that about Leonor.  She likes to eat, and when she does, she doesn’t care about anything else.  She likes food.  So do I.

We make pretty good time once we’re out of the city.  Every so often Leonor pulls herself forward and tells me something or points out some small village we are approaching.  We all chat back and forth as we carry on, and I check on her when she falls silent.  As I turn to cast a smile and see if she needs anything, I see her slumped back in the seat.  She opens her eyes as I address her, and I realize that she was starting to nap.  She says she will take a short siesta, and we should just keep driving until we see the sign Irapuato/Guanajuato.  As we get closer to Guanajuato, there are actually several signs that have this combination on them.  We gamble and keep driving and let her sleep.  After about half an hour, my Lewis and Clark instincts tell me we are nearer to Irapuato than I realize.  Tonya reaches back and gently wakes Leonor, who sits up immediately and surveys the landscape.  “Yes, we are very close” she says.  When the time is right, she instructs me to get to the right and exit.  She says she is taking us on a more scenic route.  We have one more toll booth, and as we are pulling up, a Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton song comes on.

“Oh. What is this we are listening to now, is this Texas music?” she asks.

Tonya turns to her and tells her how much I like old country music, and Leonor tells me to turn it up.  I happily oblige.  Of course, when we tell her who it is singing, she has no idea.  It does start her telling us of what she likes to listen to though.  I hear her talking, but not to us.  She is on her cell phone calling her maid instructing her that we are almost there, and what to start preparing for lunch.

We get to Guanajuato shortly thereafter.  There are no traffic lights or stop signs.  It is imperative to have someone with you who is an insider; otherwise it would be very easy to get turned around and lost.  She is a good co-pilot though, telling me to go right here, under this tunnel, to the left there, up this hill and so on.  As we wind through the town, I am thinking about lunch.  Road food doesn’t cut it for me.  I am sure there will be something quite tasty served up for us after we arrive.

She tells me to pull over next to a church.  She says that her helper has not opened the gate yet, and we will have to turn around when he does open it.  I have no idea which house is hers, so I just look for the first wooden gate to start opening.  ‘There he is!” I say when I see one start to move.  Her helper/handyman steps out and is looking for a car which he has never seen.  Leonor catches his attention, and he waves us onward to the gate.  We pull in under a canopy of greenery.  It feels good to get out of the car.  I look around and there are plants everywhere and a very old house.  Her helper comes over and Leonor instructs him on what to do.  We say hello, and I reach out to shake his hand.  He makes a loose fist so I shake his wrist.  He smiles and I feel awkward.  I tell Tonya of the incident and she says she is sure he is not being rude.  I put it off to maybe he cannot use his hand.  Then I see him unloading the car.  How can he carry bags, suitcases and chairs if he can’t use his hand?  I watch closely as he picks up a box. He uses both hands.  I am perplexed.  (Leonor later tells me that it is because he is ashamed of his calloused hands.)
 

Leonor smiles as she opens the door.  Tonya and I are floored at this place.  It is amazing.  I walk in and as I try to take it all in, Leonor smiles and points behind two thick wooden doors into a magnificent room with 20 ft. ceilings.  There is an ornate bed with lamps hanging beside it, “I hope this is OK.  This is where you will stay” she says.  The handyman may be ashamed of his hands but I am almost too shy to comply. “Really?”  Leonor just laughs, ‘Yes.  Come on, I will show you my house”

This is special.  It is not everyday that one gets to see behind these old walls at what wonders lie inside.  We have been fortunate to meet Leonor, and now that she is taking us to her home, I feel very special.  Her home is like a museum, full of old religious paintings and artifacts, books, photos, drawings and paintings from her deceased husband.  We wonder and look at everything form the ceiling, to the chairs, to the odd scribbling randomly done across the walls of the house.  I am immediately intrigued by these cryptic messages.  ‘What are all these markings on the wall?” I ask her from another room.  She walks in and says, “Those are points on the wall where the sun hit.  They are all dated with the day and time on them.  Manuel liked to do that.  When he saw the lighting in a certain way or perhaps a shadow cast onto the wall that he liked, he would go to it and mark it with the day and time it happened”  Leonor’s home is beautiful, but for the first 15 minutes, I can’t stop looking at all of the markings.

Some of Manuel's scribbles and notations

Looking out one of the windows

The view out of the windows is wondrous.  Standing in the living room, you gaze out over the valley in which Guanajuato is built.  All around you see wide open sky, the mountains on both side and the quirky city below.  It is late afternoon now, and the golden light fills the room with a rich glow.  Tonya and I keep repeating how in awe we are.  Leonor keeps laughing, obviously amused at our reaction. 

Leonor is an interesting woman.  Her husband was an architect, and happens to be Tonya’s favorite.  Since she was a child she had dreamed of owning and living in one of his homes.  Her dream is partly true now, and she stands in his very home.  Leonor appreciates the fact that Tonya is a big fan, and this is obviously one of the reasons she invited us to she their home and all of their belongings.   Leonor is very proud of her husband’s work, and rightfully so.  Manuel had a unique take on things, and seeing all the old photos around the home is touching to see the images of her and her husband.  They definitely enjoyed one another's company, and she has amassed a huge amount of stories from her travels with Manuel.   We feel slightly overwhelmed with our introduction to the home, the views of the valley and her openness.  I stand in the main room, and look out over the valley below.

Pictures of Leonor in Manuel's studio

Unknown, Diego Rivera, Leonor, Unknown, Manuel

Manuel built this house from some old ruins dating back to the 17^th century.  At one time, this building was the administrative offices of the mines which line the mountains of Guanajuato.  It sprawls down the side of a mountain, with room after room, and a cascading garden that goes down several levels.  Leonor loves this home, and says how Manuel used to always say, “I have a home.  I want to be in it!”  They loved to have guests over and meet new people.

Leonor comes out of amazing kitchen where she has been checking on lunch.  “Come, sit.  Would you like a beer or tequila?” she asks.  We walk to the dining table and take our seats.  Leonor disappears and returns with a beer for me.  She sits at her place, and the maid brings out lunch.  Its meatloaf, surrounded by a ring of bright orange carrots!  I can’t believe it.  “Mexicans eat meatloaf?” I ask out loud.  It may seem a silly question, but seeing this perfectly formed loaf brought out on a platter is unexpected for sure.  “Well, yes, we eat meatloaf, why not?” Leonor asks laughing, “We eat meatballs too” she adds.  Tonya is laughing at my comments.  I am hungry, so yes, even a surprising meatloaf looks good to me now…especially a Mexican take on an American classic.  Leonor instructs her maid to bring out ‘hongos’. I cringe.  I know what those are; mushrooms. Leonor offers me a helping of hongos.  I politely refuse and Tonya tells Leonor that this is one thing I do not eat. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing” Leonor says, “Just try one”.  I oblige.  It tastes like nothing covered in a luscious, creamy sauce. “Very nice sauce” I reply.  The meatloaf was quite tasty, and the carrots kept me returning for more.  It was a very hearty meal and a great welcome into her home.

Mushrooms get Leonor off on a roll.  She starts telling a story of some Russian musicians who play for the Philharmonic who live in the town below, and how in the rainy season they scour the mountains of Guanajuato in search of wild mushrooms.  We sit at the table for quite a while and talk about all sorts of things.  It is always great to be with Leonor, because she always has something to say or a story to tell.  She has the floor, and she leads us on what will be a journey of some amazing tales.  There is quite a bit of time discussing some of Mexico’s greatest artists and the gossip that goes around in this circle.  Both Tonya and Leonor have many of the same acquaintances and collaborate on what they have each seen and heard about these famous folks.  The art crowd were regulars in the circle Leonor and her husband moved in.  Again, ask about any particular writer, painter or key social figure since the 40’s, and assuredly you will learn something you never could have guessed form Leonor.

Her husband appears in most of her exploits.  I can’t resist, so I ask her about her husband.  How he was, what his personality was like, what made him laugh and how he related to others?  She lights up and says, “Wonderful.  He was so charming to men and women alike.  I often wonder where he learned his charm from.  Surely, he had to have met someone or something in his childhood inspired him.  You know, he never told the whole story about anything.  He liked to keep you guessing and wondering.” She recalls.

“Even you? He would keep you guessing…”

“Yes, even me.  He would tell you half the story to keep you intrigued.  Never the whole thing, something was always missing so you had to try and fill in the missing parts which he would not tell of”.  She admits that not everyone ‘got’ him though, as his humor could be very dark at times, and very dry.  He liked to wind people up.  Leonor told us about how they met and a brief history in between, and then the sad ending of how Manuel became ill and died.  "I think he gave up..." she said relating to his illness.  He was a very active, hands-on kind of man and at 86 he was not able to live the life he wanted to.  He had begun to lose his sight and cancer had rendered him weak, "I think he let go.  He could not move as freely anymore and could not do the things he loved..."  She misses him dearly, it is evident in everything she does and says.

(...continued)