San Miguel de Allende
Photographers come to San Miguel de Allende for the colors and the light, but as I learned, the real treasure is its people. It is a colonial Mexican city that caters to tourists, yes, but the number of hotels isn’t very much greater than the number of churches, and while the vacancy rate of the former ebbs and flows with the seasons, I very much doubt the attendance at the latter has ebbed since the 17th Century, when they first were built. It is a real city, not a ‘Toon Town, and it is delightful to visit.
The light in late January is strong but so much warmer — I’m speaking of its color temperature as much as the heat it gives off — than it is in northern climes. The colors of the walls — ochre, mustard, sienna — heat up as the afternoon light cools. In black and white, ironically, the city shines. In color, it’s sublime.
San Miguel, like Kathmandu, is a city of bells and birds, and also musicians. But even when the tourists are out in force, this isn’t a resort town; students are released into their parents’ arms at 6:30 in the evening, old men guffaw in the morning sunlight, and there is a certain timelessness to the way things look here, just a short distance from Dolores (Hidalgo) where the original cry for Mexican independence was heard 200 years ago. There is something magical about being in a city this beautiful, in a land this troubled, and feeling so comfortable.
The street photographer comes for the people and the light and the colors, and reluctantly leaves vowing to return.