The Walk of Life

I’m at Doch Café, in Guanajuato, nursing a cappuccino and enjoying the chill, laid-back vibe. Doch is one of three coffeeshops in my normal rotation. The others are Vivo Café and Luan Café, all of them on my side of the main city center of Guanajuato. As I take my first sip and break the seal of the milk-foam leaf floating in my dark gray, clay cup, people parade by on the narrow, sun-soaked, brown-bricked, pedestrian-only street just outside the café. A cool breeze blows in through the 15-foot doorway, a water dish in the entrance for the chance dog passing by. A sort of reggae-Latin pop plays from speakers mounted on the walls. The cheerful 20-something baristas make friendly conversation with customers at the bar and others like me, scattered around at various wooden tables. Red poinsettias in black plastic pots are dotted in corners throughout the shop, reminding me Christmas is near, something that the warm temps and sunshine could cause to deceive a Minnesotan like me used to cold and snow as signs of the holiday season.

I began crafting this post last Sunday, a day spent dodging hordes of BMX riders in the streets, in Guanajuato for a weekend-long bikefest. My morning stroll was interrupted by one rider who flew down the staircase of a steep alley in front of me, then around a sharp bend, and then accelerated into a ramp. His takeoff seemed good but 10 feet in the air his weight went forward and he landed on his front tire, completely flipping over the handlebards. He stood up seconds later, brushing himself off, seemingly okay. I continued on my walk. Such is life in Guanajuato. Rarely a dull moment.

It took me several days to re-engage with the writing. It wasn’t until Wednesday, to be exact, that I returned to this post. Now, the following Thursday, I’m coming back to my writing one more time. Such is the case, sometimes, with these posts. Because I write somewhat personally about myself and my emotions, and because my life continues to be in a state of flux, how I feel one day is often dramatically different than how I feel the next. And it’s a challenge to write a post over several days when my mood isn’t consistent.

When I began this post two Sundays ago, here’s what I wrote…

My time in Guanajuato has been up and down, and I’ll be ready to get “home” when the time comes. I am, admittedly, counting down the days.

I’m still looking forward to getting back to Minnesota at the end of the week, but a lot has changed since I wrote those words. In an earlier post I’d written that I’d considered leaving Guanajuato much earlier than first anticipated but that I’d chosen to stay, hoping this place “still had something left to give me.” My faith in those words wasn’t particularly strong at the time but, as it turns out, Guanajuato was more confident than me and this place still did have something left in store for me.

One particularly joyful moment was spent recently on the steps of The Alhóndiga de Granaditas, an imposing, rectangular brick building, a former grain exchange and the site of a rebellion that helped spark Mexican independence in September of 1810. Now a museum with a large outdoor plaza, on its south side is a giant, wide staircase, perfect for sitting and watching life hurry by. On this particular day, my sit came halfway into a walk – at the furthest most point of a loop around el centro I’ve been enjoying a lot lately. While sometimes bothered by the hustle-bustle of Guanajuato, with its narrow sidewalks, throngs of pedestrian, loud buses, barking dogs, and mysterious cannon-blasts at all hours of the day and night, on this day I was able to see, and be reminded of, the beautiful Guanajuato, the one filled with color, history, art, laughter, music, joy and, most noticeably, life. I found myself, on the Alhóndiga steps, once again charmed by the city that captivated me on my first trip here and grateful for my place in the world.

Yesterday afternoon, and the afternoon before that, I walked to Presa de la Olla, a man-made reservoir south and east of el centro. When I’m not doing my loop to Alhóndiga, the walk to Presa de la Olla is my go-to. Round trip it’s about an hour, and if I’m in the mood to chill a bit, the little “lake” is a nice place to relax and read or the adjacent restaurants and food stalls are perfect for a beer, michelada or a snack. On both days, I stopped at the beginning of my walk to grab an ice cream cone, or what’s called a “nieve” here in Mexico. It’s ice cream, but what makes nieve unique is that it’s hand-made by locals who set up shop on street corners with dozens of round, metal canisters filled with the various flavors of ice cream they made earlier that day in their homes. Monday for me was vanilla, yesterday was coffee-flavored nieve. Strolling along the streets of Guanajuato in the sunshine with a scratch-made ice cream cone in hand has become a recent pleasure. In addition to the ice cream, on both days I enjoyed episodes from Tara Brach’s meditation podcast. One was on the topic of equanimity and having a heart that’s open for anything, the other was on gratitude and our sacred relationship with life. I was turned on to this podcast, and to Tara in general, by a friend in the wake of the recent U.S. election. I’ve found her podcast, and a book of hers’ I recently began listening to, very meaningful and uplifting.

And over the weekend my happy moments came in the form of two long hikes. One on Saturday with a friend I met here in March, the other on Sunday of the solo variety. Saturday’s walk was from my house through part of the city then up into the hills and along a mostly gravel road to another presa, this one much larger than Presa de Olla, this one called Presa de Mata. It fills with water during the rainy season and, God willing, provides water to the city continually throughout the drier times. It’s a beautiful walk and the Presa is quite spectacular, a long, veiny reservoir trapped inside the walls of a steep canyon.

Sunday my walk was to the tallest point near the city of Guanajuato, a peak called La Bufa. I’d been on this hike several times before. It’s quite beautiful as well, with a mostly gradual climb and spectacular views to the city below. This time I chose to forgo the peak itself – it’s a steep scramble to the top and I’d done it many times before – and instead continued on past La Bufa to a stretch of trail I’d never taken before. On this hike I once again listened to a podcast episode from Tara Brach, becoming familiar with her pace and tone and calming voice and most often being quite captivated by the messages she’s presenting. Following my Sunday walk, and the one the day before, I enjoyed a late breakfast of one of my new favorite Mexican dishes. Chilaquiles verdes. On Sunday at the cute and very friendly La Karlota restaurant above Guanajuato. Americans might think of them as a type of nachos, but instead of the chips being covered in cheese they’re swimming in a warm, creamy green salsa and topped with lines of thin sour cream and dry, crumbled Mexican queso fresco. I order them with two fried eggs, runny of course, and they’re usually served with a side of beans. Absolutely fantastic. It’s my goal when I get back to Minnesota to learn how to cook a few dishes I’ve grown to love here. Salsa verde and chilaquiles are tops on my list. 

It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes level of detectivery to pick up on the common denominator of all of these recent, joyful moments I described above. Walking. Walking is everything for me. It’s like a magic pill that cures so many things that ail me. I walk when I feel that the ground is a bit shaky below my feet. I walk when I’m restless. I walk when I need creative inspiration. I walk to calm myself and to think and to contemplate current situations in my life. Walks, almost always, make me feel better. For me, there’s little else that’s more healing.

But here’s the problem in Guanajuato. My favorite type of walk is a quiet walk. In nature preferably, but a chill neighborhood or a path around a Minneapolis city lake most often do the trick as well. Here in Guanajuato, it’s nearly impossible to find quiet, unless of course I get on my hiking shoes and take to the hills. Guanajuato is densely populated. Very, very much so. Houses are literally clinging to the hillsides, stacked on top of one another, due to the sheer lack of flat space in and around the city. The streets are narrow, the sidewalks even more-so. Buses are loud and frequent. And people tend to be everywhere. Save for a small, pedestrian-only tourist section in the center of town, the city is a constant bustle of noise, traffic and people. Oftentimes I love it. The energy is immense, and seeing people on their way to work, or with children in tow or crowding around a taco stand is super, super cool. It’s what makes the city so much fun. But when my mind and body need a brisk, brain-clearing, increased heart rate-inducing walk, it’s quite difficult to accomplish in GTO. And while I’ve hiked numerous times into the hills alone, I’ve also been informed that muggers sometimes target solo hikers, making those walks enjoyable but also a little nerve-wracking at the same time. During my time here this winter, I’ve also taken to going to a nearby gym, a four-story affair with four treadmills lined up side by side on the roof. This is a nice option, but of the four treadmills, only one actually works properly so it’s a crapshoot to snag the one fully functional machine.

Walking. The older I get the more important this act has become. And the way I feel in Guanajuato is the same way I’ve felt at other times in life, when taking a long, peaceful walk has been a challenge. While staying in a busy part of a huge, loud city. While vacationing on a tiny island. Or while stuck in a heavily car-centric suburb lacking sidewalks or any real walkable infrastructure. I’ve missed my walks. Something fierce. It’s at times like this I’m reminded how important they are to me.

Back in Minnesota I’ll begin with a week or so up at our cabin. The weather will be a challenge, definitely not the sunny warmth of Mexico, but I’ll be able to walk again. And I’m looking forward to it. Of course, as life frequently shows us, we often miss the things we don’t have, so after I’ve been back at Rabbit Lake for a few days, I’m sure I’ll miss the people of Guanajuato, the hustle and bustle, the energy, and the taco stands. But, but…. I will have my walks.