The Tanager Blog

There was a welcomed serenity to Guanajuato on the morning of Palm Sunday. The light was crisp, the air oddly still, and the few people who were out and about were headed to church.

The night before had been merry and raucous. Jardin de la Union was profuse with music as mariachis serenaded diners. At one restaurant, a single table was surrounded by a six-piece band, blaring trumpets, drum kit and all. I was getting the impression that this wedge-shaped plaza with tightly packed shade trees was always this cheerful.

Just steps away from the plaza we had dinner, and then made our way back to Hotel Antiguo Vapor, but found ourselves on the steps of Templo de San Roque watching another open-air baile folklorico performance. Guanajuato’s serendipity struck again, and its energy seemed to be ceaseless.

But in the morning, things were refreshingly different. On the steps of Basilica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato (which is fun to say backwards as fast as you can), men, women and children of all ages gathered and wove palms into beautiful crosses and Christian icons. We purchased one that incorporated rosemary, simply to fill our room with its wonderful scent. Two blocks away at Templo de la Compañia de Jesus, a teenage girl was selling incredible palm crucifixes, the chest and arms of Christ appearing like a braided helix of DNA. I bought one, not knowing fully what to do with it, and together we walked to breakfast at a subterranean restaurant called Papalotl, where they serve eggs scrambled in mole sauce with a side of fried plantains.

Guanajuato in April is blazing hot, and our afternoons were consumed with napping or pursuing a cold cervaza. Palm Sunday, our last day in the city, proved to be no different. A one-hour siesta, a cold soak in the bathtub and then a late lunch (that also passed for dinner) at La Bottelita on Jardin de la Union. Tricked out in funky Mexican folk art and garish colors, the bar/restaurant was one big nonchalant fiesta. We ordered a molcajete filled with enough steak, chicken, chorizo, onion, jalapeño, nopal (cactus), and grilled pineapple to feed a six-piece mariachi band, and then opted for a tram ride back up to El Pipila for sundown.

As we waited for the light to fade into blue hour — that magical time when a cityscape lights up but preserves its daytime colors — we heard an eruption of drums coming from the general direction of Templo de San Roque. Its acoustics moved through the winnowing streets below and echoed off the ravine walls of the city, and soon we could see a colorful parade leading past Basilica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato. A girl sat on a mule, altars covered with flowers were carried past, and a steady stream of young boys in shiny, colorful robes walked by. In the slanted evening light, it would have made for amazing photographs.

But an hour later, I was happy we stayed put. Blue hour over Guanajuato was simply gorgeous.