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We started this summer’s trip a bit later than our usual. This is due to the dozens of projects we needed to finish around the house, a trip to Tennessee to see the new grand baby, a bit of work in Houston and Sharon and I both getting jury notice summons. But 5:30 am June 30th became blastoff time. Ok, maybe 6:30 or 7 was when we lit the fuse.
We crossed in Laredo around 9am, exchanged dollars for pesos (17.4 x 1) and made great time through Nuevo Laredo. It was toll road super speed to Monterrey, to Saltillo and then straight south. About the time we crossed the Tropic o’ Cancer, Sharon announced that she has gotten her Mexico voice. This is a real thing. She doesn’t get an automatic accent. Her entire Spanish vocabulary consists of 20 – 25 words. But her Mexican voice has an unmistakable joy. Everything she says sounds like she has a gleeful grin when speaking. The locals love it and so do I. That means it’s officially Mexico time. We hear the sound of a not-too-distant cervesa popping open.
We’re basically in the central highlands. No air conditioning is necessary. Humidity is low and the ambient temperature is maybe 72 degrees (Fahrenheit, hombre). We chuckled a while as we zoomed south, leaving the San Antonio sweat-box behind. Destination, Zacatecas.
Zacatecas is nestled in the mountains of the Sierra Madre. I hear it’s the closest thing to being in Europe and I’ll assume that is fairly accurate. It is certainly unique from the dozens, possibly hundreds of other Mexico cities/pueblitos that we have been to. It’s cool, friendly and inviting.
We made it into town around 4:30, checked in to our hotel, then made a bee line to our favorite street-side restaurant, La Triviata. This place is a tradition for us. Yes, we’re in Mexico. Yes, you expect us to dive right in to the Mexican cuisine. Well, we will deny your expectations and have the absolute best Italian food we have ever found. That, a good bottle of red wine and the ambiance of sitting outside, shaded by centuries old buildings and… well. Imagine the possibilities.
Maybe it was the wine, the 10 hour drive or the pasta. Whatever. We both crashed around 9pm and slept late.
July 1st. We languished with minimal guilt and finally saw the sun about 9:30. Around the corner we had coffee on the patio, had a sub-par breakfast and watched some street repair guys start working in a manhole not 8 feet from our table. I told the waitress that it was nice that we didn’t have to pay extra for breakfast AND a show. She seemed to get the joke or it was a patronizing giggle.
Post-breakfast we got our exercise in walking mostly uphill to the art museum/former monastery. There you can see a very impressive collection of sculptures, masks, marionettes, original sketches by Diego Rivers, but the bulk was the personal work and collection of Rafael Colonal. The grounds were enough to amaze you. We spent hours here but eventually wandered outside and started walking uphill again. There were a number of churches and capillas that caught our attention but what really captivated me was the possibility of walking downhill and having a cold adult beverage. It was so.
We found, at a considerably lower altitude, a restaurant/bar that was covered with what appeared to be funky art. Upon closer inspection we were told it was mostly from many different indigenous tribes. It was a lot to take in in one sitting so we will probably be back here for dinner.
We posed for a few pictures to amuse the locals.
As for now, it’s time for a local mescal and siesta.
