19th January, 2025

From the Sea to the Mountains

I hate to admit it, but sometimes I act like a spoiled brat. Especially in the light of the horrific fires in Los Angeles that have affected so many people and many of our friends.

It was the middle of December, and our adjustment period was about over. We were acclimated to the heat. All the initial laundry had been done. Jay had reconnected the electronics. The sails were in place. The boat was clean. All that was left was the mechanics and fixing things that were broken. I leave that to Jay. I clean, do laundry, provision, navigate, sail and drive the boat. I used to polish and sand and varnish. Not so much anymore. What else I don’t do, nor do I care to learn, is anything to do with the mechanics. I jokingly call myself “the Vanna White” of boat mechanics. I hand Jay the tools. It was in this environment, that I started complaining.

“I’m bored,” I whined. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

(To my dear Washashore Writers, I know what you are thinking. Why aren’t you writing?)

Jay was incredulous. “Look around you. Look at this beautiful piece of paradise.”

“It’s not that I am ungrateful,” I said. Jay gave me a look that implied, Sure you’re not.

I ignored him and went on. “I am very appreciative of what we have. It’s just we always do the same thing.”

“What’s wrong with the same thing? Are you saying you are tired of the boat thing?”

“No. No. No. It’s not that.”

“Okay then, why don’t you write? Set up your desk in the salon and write.”

“There’s nothing new to write about. I can’t keep saying the same old thing. It’s not like it used to be when we were cruising new places all the time. I need something fresh to write about.”

(To my dear Washashore Writers, this is my latest excuse. Although if I follow Nancy Aronie’s advice in her latest book, Seven Secrets to the Perfect Personal Essay, she says I don’t have to wait for something inspirational. I can write about anything. Hmm…)

 “We used to take a land trip every year,” I continued. “We didn’t do one last year and we’ve done practically every tour around here. I want to do something different.”

Jay just shook his head. He was not happy with me.

Sometime later.

“How about a trip to San Miguel de Allende, Terri. Would that appease you?”

We left on January 9, in the height of the Los Angeles fires. Despite our good fortune, the lives of our fellow Californians were never far from our minds.

I have been hearing about San Miguel de Allende ever since we sailed to Mexico in 2013. Described by Travel and Leisure as “Mexico’s Most Enchanting Destination and the 2021 World’s Best City,” it did not disappoint. In fact, “enchanting” is the perfect word to describe how this beautiful city slowly, with every corner we turned, created a magical experience, with its skinny cobblestone streets, lush gardens and Spanish architecture in the Baroque style.

Getting there, however, was not so picturesque.

There are two airports close to San Miguel: Leon and Queretaro. Each one, we were told, is approximately a 90-minute drive to the city proper. Not knowing about Leon before we left, we chose Queretaro, a town in mid-central Mexico.

It was a quick flight from Puerto Vallarta to Queretaro at one hour and ten minutes. Queretaro airport is relatively small, and we were escorted out of the airplane and onto steps that took us onto the tarmac and ultimately led us inside. Usually when we travel in Mexico we are going to and from the U.S. and must go through customs. This was a domestic flight, and we were delighted in how easy it was to pick up our luggage and leave without all the fuss.

The first thing we noticed was the air was cool and dry. Coming from the humidity of Nuevo Vallarta, it was a nice change.

We were greeted by our driver from the company, Bajiogo, who sent us, and eight other passengers off to San Miguel. (Bajio refers to the region we were in in central Mexico.)

Jay and I sat in the front row as the driver weaved in and out of traffic at a high speed. Mexico is known for its “topes” or speed bumps. They are used in place of stop signs. Imagine this, going as fast as 90 mph and then suddenly stopping for a speed bump and then hitting the gas to go 90 again and then suddenly stopping for another speed bump. Over and over again. Ugh.

“I think the driver must be late for something,” Jay whispered to me. I smiled and held on as I noticed the scenery fly by.

The terrain was high desert. We saw lots of Mesquite trees and cactus (Prickly Pear to us gringos, Napal to the Mexicans) sprouting up from the golden grasses. The city of Queretaro has a typical historical old town, but what we saw was architecturally boring. Rows and rows of low-rise white buildings that all looked the same covered the landscape. Occasionally, a high-rise building rose above, usually hosting a hotel brand name. Nothing exceptional until we arrived in San Miguel.

As we left the outskirts of town and drove toward the urban part of San Miguel, our view changed from flat, dusty highways to extremely narrow cobblestone streets running up and down hills. They were designed for horse and buggies, not cars. And certainly not large vans like the one we were riding in. Sometimes we had to pull over to let a car through that was driving from the opposite direction. Many times, there wasn’t enough room, and we had to back up until there was a side street where we could turn. It was a bit unnerving, but I held on tight and continued to be awed by the beauty around me.

San Miguel de Allende lies against the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountain range at somewhere between 6,000 and 7,000 feet. Much of the old city was built in the 16^th century and it was the Spanish influence that gave rise to the Baroque style architecture, particularly when it came to the churches, of which there were many. Besides the churches, it was the doors and windows that drew our attention with their intricately carved exteriors. Some were draped in wreaths and flowers. Others had carved stone around them. The buildings were painted in colors that blended in with the natural environment, tan, grey, terra cotta, and a soft yellow.

Our driver pulled up to a door. There was no signage on the streets (or very little), only doors. We stepped out hesitantly but were instantly welcomed by our hosts. We entered through the narrow passageway into, not just a hotel, but a Mexican museum that transported us into the past with its historical architecture, vibrant art and colorful gardens. We were instantly mesmerized with the beauty that surrounded us.

It was the beginning of a very special experience. Yet, it is important to note; while we were safe and enjoying our trip, we couldn’t help but be pulled to our phones, constantly checking on the fires in Los Angeles. The tragedy touched so many, and some of our friends would learn they lost their houses. Lost everything. It was very difficult to celebrate our good fortune when others were suffering.

So, I write this with gratitude, sadness, and yes, a little bit of guilt.

*More blogs to come on San Miguel de Allende and the pyramids we visited.