Wandering around Mexico for nine days led to many discoveries. First, I discovered some music in Saltillo. After an early morning walk to the park, my breath blowing white in the air, I stopped in at an Oxxo for some coffee. Right on the table lay a well-worn Tom acoustic guitar. Not stopped by my shyness, I asked the young man behind the counter to play for me. He did, and I heard some beautiful original songs as well as some traditional Mexican music. Francisco Javier Acosta Ramirez, a member of a band called The Crow (El Cuervo),  had a beautiful voice. There we were in Saltillo, early one morning in a Mexican convenience store, listening to music. Ah, that’s Mexico.

Francisco became our guide for the day, and we parted as friends. He said that Pancho Villa was a hero for him, and that we should be sure and see Cerro de la Bufa in Zacatecas, our next destination.

Zacatecas led to many more discoveries. When I asked my traveling companion why he wanted to see this place, he replied, “I like the name.”  We saw over 5,000 Mexican masks in the Raphael Coronel collection, housed in the ex-convento San Francisco, ruins over 450 years old. The convent itself was a museum piece, and we hope that the reconstruction won’t remove the ancient spirits who live among the crumbling walls and verdant foliage.

The Pedro Coronel Museum (a brother’s collection) contained works by Chagall, Picasso, Miro, and more. The narrow streets and pink stone buildings of Zacatecas are the stuff of tourism. I can only guess that Americans haven’t yet discovered this place. We were two of the five Americans in the entire town (approximately 150,000 people). 

In the Zacatecas Cultural Museum, we saw an exhibit on the Huichol Indians and a collection of retablas that all belonged to one man. These artifacts of Christianity and the indigenous people side by side were enlightening. Using Peyote as a way to communicate with the spirit world, the Huichol were documented and photographed by a Norwegian, Carl Lumholt, in 1876.

After celebrating the new year in a new town, we headed to the familiar San Miguel de Allende for the final leg of our journey. The first night led us to Agave Azul, a patio restaurant serving ribs to accompany the Gypsy music (also billed as polka, rag and flamenco). The leader of the group, Anita, is from Switzerland, and her accordion often becomes the Gypsy voice of the band. Salamon Mawaad, a San Miguel native, plays a haunting Oboe, while drums, bass and guitar fill in.  During a break Anita joined us by the warm Chimenero. Her gift was their recent CD, “la quinta essencia, migrant songs” a collection of five of her originals and five covers. Another friend, Tom, gave me the news that a Nashville Meets Mexico festival is being planned for March. Oh, San Miguel de Allende is full of music stories.  We enjoyed the warm ambiance of this club, we enjoyed the Gypsy music. Anita told us that the CD was a collection of songs for wandering and traveling. Perfect for my viaje.

During one song at the Agave, the audience began clapping, the music took over, and we all became connected in that moment. It reminded me of a description James McMurtry gave me of playing music on the streets in Spain. That conversation is in my brand new book, Telling Stories, Writing Songs, available in Kerrville soon!

We spent time enjoying the amazing library in San Miguel, and we heard my favorite Flamenco performer, Javier, at the Bugumbilia on Thursday night. I’ve heard him play  each of the 14 years I’ve been visiting San Miguel. And when I take a group down to study in May, we’ll hear Javier again! He’s the perfect Gypsy man playing a Flamenco guitar sending out music that calls to your heart.

The last event Friday before boarding the bus home was a poetry reading by a young man billed as a Zen neon punk Buddhist poet. Donned in silver and orange, a flashing disco ball on his silver cowboy hat, this Malaysian poet began with a song. His poetry documents his experience with manic depression, and he ended with a song. His dad, Goh Poh Seng, a poet of some renown, was in the audience. He’ll be reading in January at the annual writing conference.

We heard words like “Within the silence sings a song, Let the song sing through me.” That’s what this nine-day vacation was for me, a chance to let the songs sing through me. Even though my knee seems to be going out (I carried a Mexican wooden cane.), I was able to thoroughly enjoy this wandering approach to travel. Discovery was the goal, and I’ve shared a few with you. Free Leonard and down the road. (I got home to a sad message. Eddie Shaver, the son of Texas songwriter Billy Joe Shaver, died while I was gone. No one played guitar like Eddie, and his visits to Schreiner University with his dad are high points in my experience of music. Stay alert to a possible concert with Kinky Friedman and Billy Joe Shaver in Kerrville at the end of January.)

Kat@maverickbbs.com

eMail Kathleen:  kat@maverickbbs.com
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