Map of Silver Veins

I travel in silver country. Guanajuato sits on land rich in silver mines, where rivers used to flow through tunnels which now carry cars and trucks and brave carbon monoxide huffers. I lived here last winter, and now I'm here again -- a visit on my way to Argentina.

Artists and pensioners from around the world have discovered Guanajuato by the bus load in recent years; some gringos in town have mixed feelings about their status as pioneers being compromised by the increasing number of foreigners taking up residence in rambling haciendas and opening businesses that cater to the professional consumers of the North. Others feel the outsiders who are attracted to this place are a more conscientious sort; not here to conquer as much as to blend in, contribute and elevate.

It’s interesting that our culture is so inhospitable to its elders and that the barriers for entry for creative types tend to be so high. I suppose sometimes you have to make your world smaller to feel your own agency, which I guess is why people come to towns like this one.

Rodolfo and Domingo serenaded us at sunset the other day, singing through their remaining teeth and sipping espresso ala Veronique (a restaurateur from Montepelier). Among the audience were a Spanish animator who showed me his diary full of drawings and the Spaniard’s wife – a Mexican fashion designer who lives in Barcelona. The musicians were without their other bandmates, who were recovering from the tequila flu.

I celebrated my birthday last week. I think I still have some good years left in me but I also feel like it's important to live completely when I still have all my teeth. . . and so I shall.