I did sleep better than the previous night. Perhaps it was the strange narrations of
Werner Herzog echoing in my head that made me drift off thinking of the ol’
pre-historic days and cave paintings. Maybe
it was just getting more comfortable with our surroundings. The cat didn’t moan and there were no
ghosts. I wake up to the cavernous dark
space, and walk towards the old wooden shutters like a blind man with his hand
outstretched, waiting to feel the window.
I fiddle with the lock, flip it back and open the shutters to let in the
sharp bright morning light. It is
amazing how fast light can fill a place up.
As Tonya opens our big thick wooden door to go to the
bathroom, the smell of something cooking comes wafting in. I have no idea what it is, all I know is that
it is Leonor and her maid in there making something awesome. I take my turn doing the morning duties after
Tonya, and then we both walk to the kitchen.
The sun is shooting big thick beams across the room and almost acting as
a spotlight for Leonor as she stands and cooks in front of the stove. “Good morning Tonya” she says with a huge
smile and gives her a tight hug. She
casts a big smile towards me and I step up and give her a kiss and a big
hug. Perhaps it’s speaking out of turn,
but maybe Leonor is the long lost grandmother we never had…it sure feels a bit
like that.
Leonor has already brewed coffee, and sets a pot down on the
small table in front of the window. We
both sit and pour up our first cup and the warm sun shining on our backs gives
that extra nice ‘it’s a new day’ kind of feeling. Tonya and Leonor play catch
up with some talk over preparing breakfast.
The maid comes in smiling and holding a few bags. She has gone to buy some fresh bread and
milk. Leonor says we should move to the
table and let the maid finish up and bring us breakfast. I smile at the maid and we go sit at the
table.
It is our last day, and we plan to leave by noon. Leonor asks what we will do and asks if we
would like to stay longer. It is
tempting, but we do not want to wear out our welcome and we miss the dogs
terribly. She tells us again that it is
quite alright to stay and we are no bother.
We smile and politely decline.
The maid soon brings out a hot skillet of scalloped potatoes and eggs, a
Spanish concoction. There is a glistening
pile of pink grapefruit on the center of the table. It looks great in the middle of the blue and
white pottery on which it sits. The maid
then brings out a basket of fresh rolls. These things are amazingly good. We can’t get over how good they taste. Leonor tells us that if we like them we
should hurry and go buy some because they sell out quick. Don’t get me wrong, I did not fill up on just
bread, I piled heaps of the scalloped potatoes and eggs on my plate too. Oh
man, they were good.
We sit and eat and talk about what we have seen and what we
should still see. Leonor tells us that
next time we come she will show us some more things around the city, and some
villages in the mountains. Her maid
walks in and says something to Leonor, then goes back to the kitchen. She returns with a platter holding a sizeable
chunk of tamales. “Maria has brought
some tamales form home for you” Leonor tells us as she sets the platter down. “These are not city tamales” Leonor adds, “these
are made different and taste a bit different…they are more rustic”. She brought two types, a spicy chicken one
and a sweet one made with cinnamon.
Leonor grabs one that is the size of a small puppy, peels the husk off
then breaks it apart. It is almost with
a command that she asks for our dishes and puts the tamale on them. After we almost clear our plates, she then
grabs the sweet tamale and tells us to hand her our plates. The masa is thick, and it is almost pure
white. Steam is rising off as the husk
is taken away. My plate is set before me
and I take my fork and cut off a chunk. This is amazing. The cinnamon tamale is out of this
world. It may not be city tamales, and
it is better that they aren’t. Without a
doubt it is the rustic angle of these which makes them amazing. It also helps
that they are probably made with lots of tender loving care too. With all of this food, we take our time with
breakfast and just enjoy the conversation.
I figure that now would be a good time to ask about the drug
problem and how it has affected Guanajuato.
Needless to say, the drug thing is beyond out of control. Anyone who can read can understand the way it
is affecting this country. Leonor had
told us of being robbed at gunpoint at her home in Acapulco.
“It will never be the same” she says regarding that city. I have even seen where the gangs are shooting
up cabs and whoever is in them, innocent or not. They are also getting quite famous for piling
several dead bodies into SUVs and leaving them parked on the side of the
road. Leonor waxes somewhat lyrical when
she tells of the masked gunmen who raided her home there, “I think they were
policemen” she says. I ask why. “They spoke too eloquent to be your typical
low life. The main robber always
addressed me in the formal. He was very
polite”, she says laughing at the absurdity of her statement.
It is not as bad in Guanajuato as in other places. She has lived here for over 40 years, so I
think her assessment is quite reputable.
She says it may be because it is a small town, but mainly because in the
city itself it is too contorted and twisted that no one can run rampant through
there. “In the mountains around Guanajuato
they have many fields where they grow marijuana. I think most of the problems stay away and
happen there. It has been like that for
a long time though, everyone knows what they do up in the mountains” There is
crime though, but she thinks it has nothing to do with the drug problems you
read about now. This is just typical
Mexican petty stuff. “Every time someone
here has their home broken in to, we all know who did it” she states plainly,
and shakes her head in affirmation. She
tells of a certain family here, who has been controlling the area for as long
as she has lived there. The family’s
sons pass down the duties of being the local bad-asses and thieves and no petty
crime is done without this family being clued in. She says the obvious, that the local cops are
on the payroll, and the family gives them a monthly fee so that they never can
trace down who the burglars are. “We
have known each other for many, many years” Leonor says, “but I never do
anything more than say hello. Yes, we
are polite to one another, but anytime they try to make conversation or invite
us for meals, I never go” she shakes her head and confesses that the further
distance you keep this family, the better.
She then tells us of a few instances which lead directly to the
notorious family.
The craziest part is that she tells of one of the daughters
and a boyfriend she had. It turns out
the two got married and moved away. To
illustrate how small of a world it is, the couple moved to Mexico City and actually now live in the
previous house of Tonya’s best friend.
Tonya tells Leonor she knows exactly where they live, because as a child
she would play in the house. Leonor is
shocked to know that Tonya is so familiar with the home and can’t believe at
how closely entwined we all are. She
looks up suddenly and asks, “Tim. Would
you like more coffee? Shall I brew some
more?” I am stuffed and pumped full of
plenty of caffeine. I tell her no, that I am just fine.
She asks if we want to see the rest of the home. Yes, of
course, after all, we have only been privy to this one level. It turns out that her home spreads out over
four levels or more as it crawls down the mountain. A room here, an out door
lounging area there, a pool over there, another room below. It just seems to go on and on. As she takes us down the mountain and shows
us the different rooms (or smaller houses) she is quick to point out which ones
were broken in to, exactly what was taken and how it aggravates her that the
criminals live just a stone’s throw away.
Now that we have been given a full tour of the grounds and seen all the levels of the house Tonya and I are both
truly overwhelmed. Magnificent is not
the word to use here…and I really can’t think what is. Maybe more along the lines of majestic? Yes, just seeing the room in which the guard
sleeps will fulfill that definition. A
bed rests in front of a set of doors over 20’ tall. A fireplace, a magnificent old wooden desk,
rustic furniture everywhere and ornate blankets lay folded in case of
need. This is a picture perfect place
that we are standing in. Of course, in
one corner is a group of candles that the guard lights to keep the ghost
away. Leonor laughs as she points to the
subtle safe keeping measure that the guard has set up there in the lone corner.
We walk back up to the main house and Leonor stops in one of
the levels of the garden and talks greenery for a moment. Tonya mentions basil, and Leonor is quick to point
to where she grows her herbs. She hands
Tonya a pot of basil to take home. “Is
there any other plants you would like to take home with you?” she politely
enquires. I watch her as she stands and surveys her plants, she is lost for a
brief moment as she enjoys her surroundings.
At the top of the stairs, she reminds us that we should run to the local
store to buy some bread if we want it.
She then remembers a certain mine we should go to. “We will save that for next time too” I tell
her. She laughs and says she will add it
to the list of things to see on the next visit.
We will go to the famous Valenciana church though, which is said to be
one of the best styles of Churrigueresque
(Spanish baroque) in the new world. Yes,
it is pretty intricate when you see it in person too.
We are very
disappointed though when we find out that the local shop has already sold out
of bread though. Leonor was right, one must not take time eating a leisurely
breakfast when bread this good is up for sale. Hands down, the best little
rolls to be eaten in Mexico.
We return from our
trip to the church and finalize our packing.
Leonor is in the kitchen starting to cook dishes for tomorrow when her
brothers and sisters will arrive for Christmas.
Once again she asks if we would not like to stay. We think we can make good time if we push off
now, and it is almost noon. She walks
with us outside and we exchange goodbyes.
She opens her gate so we can pull the car out. She stands and waves a loving goodbye. It’s pathetic, like neither party can just
get on with it. As we pull away she is
still standing, watching us drive off, jus like a mother or a grandmother would
do. We keep saying to one another what a
wonderful lady she is and how fortunate we were to be able to spend this time
with her and get to see her home and all her history. As we twist down the hill and into town, we
wonder if we will manage to unwind our way out and get on to the right highway
to Mexico City. We almost pull it off without a hitch. Only one wrong turn that was quickly put
right, and we are well on the way home.
Later that evening
as we are eating the phone rings. I hear
Tonya’s voice change in complete surprise.
It is Leonor. She has called to
make sure we made it back OK and asking if the dogs were OK. Everyone is fine and a heap of thanks is sent
back down the line to her. Tonya wishes
her well, a Merry Christmas and then comes and sits down and tells me of their
brief conversation, “That was sooo sweet” she says. It was.
Who would have thought a simple phone call from your landlord would be
so appreciated?
The next afternoon
Leonor calls again. She is a bit
upset. She has received news that her
brothers and sister will not arrive for another three or four days. Now we really do feel like heels. Oh well, who could have known? Leonor will have more time on her hands and
we lament not being able to have enjoyed more time with her there at her
home. For us though, it is still a few
days before Christmas and we both agree that the best possible gift we could
have gotten we had just experienced.
Although the remainder of our holiday season will be spent alone, we are
happy with the time we were able to spend in such a wonderful place with such a
warm, generous person.
What a lady!
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