On 16 September 1810, a priest to hick town Dolores climbed a tower and rang a bell... His name was Miguel Hidalgo... he is generally credited with setting the war of Independence in motion. His cry, his speech, his grito is still celebrated every year. In fact, the man called for no such thing as
independence... merely the institutionalisation of criollos in positions of power. Regardless, Hidalgo is considered the forefather of the nation of Mexico. Each year, at eleven pm, at the citys zocalo, the president re-enacts the grito... he rings the symbolic bell.
The monument at Revolucion stands as a grave to the heroes... Villa, Carranza, Cardenas et al... A great esoteric arch... supported by four pillars... a fountain at the centre. They'd set up a stage before it... a white tent for orchestral support... another for political dignitaries. An enormous illuminated flag had been secured over the monument's upper facade.
In the square, trees had been draped in lights... lamp posts too... lines of bulbs hung over the roads. The streets were cordoned off with gates and police cars... the square was flood lit... set with large speakers... tall podiums for the press. To one side, they'd set up a little fairground with tame rollercoasters. There were crowded food stalls too... with giant stacks of tortillas. The buildings around the square were hung with great banners... the colours of the national flag.
When we arrived, there was a mariachi act in swing... the singer was really belting them out... romantic and traditional numbers. He had three guitarists... of various sizes... four violins, a troop of trumpeteers... all in white, tight fitting costumes. Occassionally the bailarinas would come twirling out... like red birds... swishing about their dresses, flashing frilling white petticoats. Whenever the atmosphere began to wane, the band would bang out an old favourite...
"Viva Mexico! Viva America!"
That got them going... with their sombreros, jesters hats of red, white and green... they'd wave their flags and cry out 'viva!'. They'd toot like mad on their little party trumpets.
When the act reached its end, a woman with an orange ribbon mounted the stage. Then some children with drums and horns... their uniforms had military pretensions. The woman made a long speech... the children played brief pieces of ceremonial portent. Then everyone sang the national anthem. After that, one of the politicians made a speech from his box. He concluded by fervently ringing the bell... he cried out:
"Viva Mexico! Vivia Democracia! Viva Libertad!"
The crowd exploded with cheers... cans of shaving foam were released upward... bangers went off... the flags went ballistic. There followed an extensive firework display... all over the city... colourful showers and explosions.
.... OF QUERETARO.... In Queretaro we took in the colonial vistas. The streets were narrow corridors... flat facades with tall windows... often reaching to the ground... sometimes caged or with delicate balconies... neatly spaced and at a level with large double doors. The buildings were a multi colour array... terracota, orange, blue, pink, white... each one uniform but for a thick stripe running the base, the door and window frames too. Often the buildings were simple... paint work lightly cracked and water stained... other times the architecture was more ornate... the facade grand
and set with arches... enormous entrances onto exquisite courtyards.
We wandered the streets... hung with telegraph and electricity wires... Independence day decorations. Sometimes the road would head straight for the horizon... we could make out the surrounding green mountains. Other times we'd arrive at a colonial church... incredibly detailed and baroque exteriors... triple tiered bell towers, tiled and zig zagging domes. The interiors would curve under themselves... blue and white and gold.
At night, the hanging lanterns spilled yellow over the slabs... In the verdant squares, the bunches of balloons glowed oddly, the fountains glistened. We moved past canopied food stalls, delicate wrought iron benches, round and perfectly trimmed trees. The city was alive with people... family, students, hawkers. Three caped guitarists moved through the streets with a crowd. A pick up truck screeched past beeping. Everyone cheered.
ON SAN MIGUEL ALLENDE....
Narrow pavements, cobbled streets, uneven hills. Countless Yanquis engaged in pointless conversation. Colonial churches... of baroque and gothic pretension. Numerous craft shops... Shrunken indigina in huddled doorways...
Hombres with straw panama hats... seated on stone walls and benches. We climbed the hill to the Jardin Botanica. Took in the reservoir, the rocky stream, the canyon... the gruesome villas for the rich and tasteless. The air buzzed with flying creatures... bright orange wasps with dangling legs... black butterflies as big as birds. There was agave... exploding cacti... grass all about with white tips. There were mesquite trees... with tiny feathery leaves... hanging grey seed pods. There were prickly pair cacti... bearing bright red fruit... nobbly trees... with dense spiked branches. There were blue trumpets, orange petals, yellow clumps. Great phallic and ribbed greenery... minature palms... slender leaved vegetation... like mad hats. Throughout the trail, straw shelters and wooden benches.
BRIEF NOTES ON MEXICAN CHARACTER
According to 'Mexican Etiquette and Ethics' by Boye Lafayette De Mente (sic)... Mestizo character combines the worst of Spanish Institutions with the best of Indigenous aesthetics. Exagerrated machismo derives from attempts to emulate Spanish masters combined with excessive poverty and
powerlessness. Virtues of patience, personalism, respect are derived from indigenas chronic hardship. Institutions of corruption and human rights abuse stem from past state and church abuses... efforts to break it have only begun in the last one hundred years. Women are seen as virgin mothers and generally inferior to the male. Indigenous art is a means of spiritual communication and survival. Industrialisation combined with mass production of their products is eroding their practice. Music, dance and song are the heart and soul of the mexican people...