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Saturday, March 1. We never venture south this time of year, however, there were festivals and opportunities for bodily harm. Since everyone else says, “Mexico? It’s so dangerous,” that’s our cue to experience the risk. First destination, the safest and whitest town in Mexico: San Miguel de Allende, the land of wine and raisins. We booked several nights at the Imperio de Angeles, a great hotel outside the bustle of tourists but close enough to experience it if you wish. This would be our home base while we day trip to nearby towns.
Sunday, in an attempt to control our impending perils, we went south to scout adventure #1 in San Juan de la Vega. Need carrots? This is the place to get ‘em. Jicama? They got those too, the size of a 3-year-old kid from Castroville. We will be coming back to here to experience the celebration of their patron saint: John the Baptist.
Sharon and I walked the streets, looking for clarity as to the festival’s agenda, locations and times. We spoke to a number of locals, followed a few parades and checked out the main cathedral. There were religious celebrations going on accompanied by loud Banda music. We headed to the car, knowing as much as we did before we got here. We tried one last time and stopped to ask a local old man and his son about the details. They drew us a map, gave us the times and told us to “ten muy, muy cuidado”. Be very, very careful güero.
After an hour or so we left San Juan and headed back to San Miguel for 36 hours of nothing special. The “nothing specialness” led to a drive though of the town of Comonfort and then a full day in Guanajuato, a beautiful city that you need mad driving skills to survive in.
Tuesday, we woke early to trek back to San Juan de la Vega and Los Martillos Explosivos (the “Exploding Hammer Festival”). Upon exiting our trusty Honda, our eardrums immediately requested ear plugs. Amongst the explosions, the processions continued along with the loud bands playing as best they could above the celebratory detonations. It’s a party filled with faith, adrenaline and danger. Loudness competed with itself. The pride and tradition of this festival are seen everywhere as all the citizens participate in one way or another. There were testosterone fueled groups of 8 years of age to 80 that showed off their aptitude for hammer swinging.
Want to experience the madness? CLICK THE IMAGE BELOW
The people of San Juan de la Vega were so nice and friendly to us, the only gringos at the party. It’s a tradition that originated 500 years ago, recreating the battle of 1525 between thieves and landowners. Realizing they were out gunned, Vega (a land owner) had the divine inspiration to use the exploding hammer technique, fooling the thieves into thinking there was lots of cannon and plenty of ammo in San Juan. So, Vega got to add his name to the town.
Although there was plenty lost in translation, the locals all tried their best to tell us the history and show us the passion of the town. Plus, we got free Pulque!
With our cameras and earplugs in hand, we returned to Tammy, our very dusty and shell-shocked Honda Element. We started to load up as the train passed, setting off it’s own series of explosions, planted on the tracks by the locals. With 5 ambulances ready to jump into action our only casualty was Tammy’s rear view mirror laying in pieces on the floorboard.
Never look back.
