June 26. Barbara and Kevin arrive shortly after above, antier. (2 days ago). They live up the hill at Betsey Streng’s. Wow, gardens, up the hillside, spectacular, designed by her. Very cool. We plan to stay there next time we come. Magical paradisiacal gardens.

 

We walk up the street alongside rough stone or brick walls, and rougher wooden doors. When one is thrown open, we see paradise villas inside. Pomegranate surprises, you just don’t know what’s going to show up behind the outer tough skin. Surprises you could never have imagined.

 

There are no traffic signs—no stop signs or stop lights—cars, buses, trucks, their drivers peek around the corner and just take their turns in the miniscule intersections along with the many pedestrians. The ancient stone sidewalks, when they exist, usually allow room to walk single file, or if you’re flexible, room to allow oncomers to pass. It’s all very friendly. You say con permiso, and away you go. Or buenas tarde (o Buenos dias).

 

The gente (people) are very friendly and let me use my oh-so-meager Spanish. But, wow, I can understand them, even the numbers. Yahoo. As long as there’s a strong context–like in una tienda (store), café, or restaurante.

 

After dinner and getting drunk on dos (2) margaritas last night (two for the price of one, what could I do?) we all: Morgan and I, Kevin and Barbara, and Jim, went to El Jardin (the central garden) where a Mexican band played, then a mariachi band, afterwards. I was attempting to make conversation with an elegant Mexican woman, who had recently moved to San Miguel, over the sound of the band. She bought me a little nosegay of gardenias. Mama loved gardenias. Was it a sign from my mi mama? Magical realism? Or was it really for Morgan? Nataya, my new friend, said, Bye bye, Morgan when she passed him where he was speaking to the tromboniste in the band.