Chimera Song Mosaic
Friday, September 03, 2004
I began Plainwater in San Miguel de Allende the last night of our roadtrip when my dad was subjecting us to hours and hours of the fishing channel at a very loud volume. My mom was curled up in the covers, Lance kept saying that the shows were very boring because nobody ever caught anything, and I decided that the family vacation was over and pulled out a book (this book).

Somehow it seems important to link what I am reading now with what I was reading in my other life, the life of the summer, the unemployed, free life. We had made a whirlwind visit to Zacatecas (2 nights), where we toured the mines, drank in a bar in the mine's depths, cabbaged on to someone else's quincenera celebration (a callejoneda through the streets at night following a bunch of partiers and a burro decked out in flowers and shouldering a barrel of mezcal-fortified lemonade, which the guy handling the burro graciously gave me a huge tumbler of), checked out the catherdrals, a fabulous mural in the Palacio de Gobierno (by Antonio Rodriguez, which depicts the history of Zacatecas, remarkable also for the stone roots arching into the painting itself, twisting up into images of corn plants and labor), viewed some art galleries and fantastic museums, and rode the cable car to the Cerro de la Bufa. We spent only one night in Guanajuato, where we rode the funicular, ate delicious food, listened to mariachis, mostly hung out (we didn't have time this trip for a visit to the wonderful Museo Iconografico del Quijote--all Don Quixote, all the time). Also visited El Incendio, a cantina that supposedly welcomes women--but my mom felt a little out of place when a man got up and used the urinal at the end of the bar. Then one night in San Miguel, where we shared a room at a very cute motel filled with gardens. There wasn't much time to see the town, and heavy rains kept us in the room most of the day and much of the night. I was promised a visit to the hot springs the next morning on our way out of town, but of course I caved under pressure. My mom and dad liked San Miguel de Allende so much that my dad announced we were going to stay another night, but after a couple of hours of the fishing channel, I started complaining loudly, as usual. I couldn't help it. A handful of times in my life, I have been unable to stop myself from ruining everything.

I don't really remember the last time I felt homesickness as acutely as I do now. Never when I travel, but when I have stopped moving and can ache for an alternate permanence. I have lived in the Valley for five years now, and although I love so many things about it (friends, new house, laid back life), I want to move to Houston so badly I think about it almost every day. But a good deal of self-preparation would need to be undertaken in order to ready myself for such a move, a homecoming. I don't know if I'm up for it.

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