Mexico Travelogue (Part 2): The Man with the Torch

Crowning Guanajuato is a massive, 30-foot stone man, his face contorted with determination, a torch in his hand. His name is José de los Reyes Martínez, a local miner from the early 1800s better known by his nickname, El Pípila. The hill he crowns and the stunning overlook of the city that rings his feet is simply known by his name, and its the place to be at sundown. Playful music swells from the tight alleyways below, locals sit and eat corn on the cob slathered in mayonnaise, and the late-evening light intensifies the colorful buildings below.

When it comes to Mexico’s independence from Spain, Guanajuato lies in the thick of things. It is in a sense, Mexico’s version of Boston, a place hewn from its defiance to imperialist power. For all its Spanish colonial architecture and happy colors, there is a fiery spirit to Guanajuato that only rises to the surface when you understand its history. I wasn’t visiting for the museums (Diego Rivera also hails from Guanajuato, and his childhood home is now an homage to his life), but I couldn’t help but be captivated with the raging, undaunted insurgent who was visible from every spot in town.

On a September night in 1810, a band of independence fighters led by Father Miguel Hidalgo stormed Guanajuato’s Alhóndiga de Granaditas (pictured above, right), a hulking stone fortress filled with provisions, 3 million pesos worth of silver, a heavily armed Spanish garrison and the provincial governor. It’s not just that El Pípila got them in the door, allowing the insurgents to capture the critical post. It’s that he crawled to it with a slab of flagstone on his back, deflecting the Spanish musket fire until he could torch it. From there, a hellacious battle ensued resulting in the death of every Spanish soldier. The independence movement was in its infancy, and soon its four main leaders — Hidalgo, Juan Aldama, José Mariano Jimenez and Ignacio Allende — would be executed, their heads staked to the four corners of the Alhóndiga by the Spanish as a gruesome warning to like-minded individuals.

The Alhóndiga’s southwestern corner was visible from our hotel’s patio, and simply inscribed in the buildings stone was the name “Allende.” This must have been where his head was positioned for the 10 years that the war raged on, a chilling thought. These reminders of the past were just as much a part of Guanajuato’s visual feast as the colorful homes, the merry minstrels from the university, the mariachis in Jardin de la Union, and the ornate facade of the Teatro Juarez.