I said it once, and I’ll say it again – writing about my time in Mexico has been so much harder than I could’ve ever expected it to be. I don’t even know that I can pinpoint a single reason as to why, but the truth is it just has. I look back on these days often, and think mostly about how damn nice it was to wake up without a single bother or care in the world. True, I was still lingering on the thoughts of needing to put my portfolio together so I’d have some kind of professional life to return to, but for the most part I’d tell myself that was a problem for future Emiliano to sort out. Because it was! This was point in my life with so much certainty and peace, I’m almost jealous of this person I see in the photos – so sure of everything, calm and careless for once.
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Meanwhile, though I’m sure the thirty-degree rain outside has nothing to do with me flipping through the photos from this quaint little sunny town, I figured now was a good time as ever to write about San Miguel. It’s a cold Tuesday evening here, and I’ve just started my exit from a mild cold that’s been sweeping through the city. There’s a pile of mixed files sitting on my desktop in desperate need of organization, but of course I’d much rather flip open a giant Notes window and spend the evening writing, convinced they’ve somehow ceased to exist.
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Procrastination aside, I’m excited to detail our visit to the charming and colorful magic town of San Miguel de Allende, who I couldn’t leave without seeing given it was but a short one-hour drive north from our apartment in Queretaro. We drove up early on a Saturday morning, arriving right before noon and just in time for a late breakfast. San Miguel will be a little out of the way for pretty much everyone given it's at least an hour distance from any major city or airport hub, so however you manage to make your way over, I'd highly recommend looking ahead to ensure logistics are not left to chance. Though driving certainly proved to be a more flexible option, it can be a huge challenge depending on the vehicle you take. Our car was by far not the largest on the road, and even we ended up having to back out of a couple alleyways after discovering they narrowed down to comically ridiculous widths – needless to say plan ahead!

We stayed at the lovely La Doña Isabel linked here, and I 100% called the host as soon as we arrived, pleading to secure a second night over our original one-night booking because the space was absolutely cozy and any less time would have been nothing short of a crime.

And again I'll chime, this was just a time where I swear I might’ve been living in another peace-filled universe. My at the time boyfriend Osmar and I explored the two floors of space, dumping luggage and swapping wifi passwords before finally meeting at the foot of the bed and collapsing into the covers together. Who even was I? Tucked away in this balanced space and handsome town, making love on a brisk afternoon in May? The linen sheets brushed our skin and a large open window pushed in sunlight. It was like a fever dream, the whole lot of it. I remember laying there next to each other, my head on his chest, both of us looking towards the sky. And it was just that. Unlike any other time in my life, I didn’t wonder about what came before or what followed after, I simply was. It filled me in every possible way.

A warm breeze pushed through the room, lifting the sheets and shifting the curtains. The rain had announced its arrival. I looked over the window, catching the heavy clouds as they peered over the valley –realizing we’d have to leave now if we wanted to make dinner and be back without getting soaked. Without missing a beat, we washed up, got dressed, and headed out.
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Below, the view that greeted us mere footsteps from our front door –you can spot the rain moving in if you look closer behind the church.

Unsurprisingly, my calculations were off, and we were caught in the rain on our way back from dinner. It was odd, since I'm usually very cautious about getting my gear wet, but for some reason felt no need to panic. We stopped by a local snack shop (equivalent to what any New Yorker might call a corner bodega) and I wrapped anything prone to fatal soaking in a handful of plastic bags. And off we went again.
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The Airbnb was quiet upon return. I couldn’t be sure if it was off season and the other rooms were sitting empty or if I’d missed  some kind of curfew note in our messaging exchange, instructing guests to keep quiet after sundown. It didn’t matter, we wouldn’t be loud. We never were.  
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I’m kicking myself for forgetting to take a picture of what went on to become the most unique shower I’ve ever had the curious luck of stepping into, but believe you me it was a whole event. Down the hall that housed various broom closets and one extra room, was this tiny almost false-looking door that led into the shower room. It featured floor to ceiling tiling in a stone-like material that gave it an odd but cozy cave-ish feeling –something like what you might imagine the bathing situation in Howl’s Moving Castle could’ve looked like. The showerhead hung from a single bare pipe towards the back of the cave, with a tall narrow opening revealing a chimney-like design I can only guess was built to allow some escape for the steam. Truly completely out of this world.
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Eager to free myself from the rain-soaked clothes, I undressed almost immediately after arriving. The floor felt cold, but the water was instantly warm, and I let myself sink in the steam of the space, dozing off for a bit. Moments later, I opened my eyes to a hand reaching out through the haze, and embraced the naked body to whom it belonged. Osmar had decided to join me.
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As I’m sure most couples do after adjusting to cohabitation, we didn’t shower together often. Our schedules in Queretaro weren’t always in sync, so unless there was a premeditated reason or special occasion, we usually just ended up doing our own thing. It was as most things are, not a big deal.
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But in this sacred space of tile and steam, we’d found ourselves promptly gathered, inaudibly joined under the spell of the crashing waves. Oh the magic of pressurized water.  Once again I disassociated, transforming into this alternate self of desire who I almost didn’t recognize but also knew like no one else. Who am I? I questioned as I pushed myself against him, the textured cave wall tiling pressing deep into my skin. Is this even real? I wondered. We were anything but quiet, after all.

It felt right, being together like this. His drenched skin against mine, the roar of the soaking tiles echoing loudly into the mist. It'd been so long since I'd last embraced someone like that–cared enough to, even. But I was here because I wanted to, for once. And again time slipped beneath my toes, leaving no trace of it's passing. No past, no present, just that and there, and then.

We cozied up that night, playing a small bit of an old movie over my laptop before fully passing out into each other. What a day and time to be alive.

The next morning, we woke up the same way you might when you’ve got little to no shits left to give in this world. Slowly.
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I’ll plug San Miguel tourism here by sharing that –though unfortunate to local business and land-owners– the fall of travel foot traffic and revenue that subdued the globe during the pandemic, left this tiny town in dire need of new investments, and is consequently bursting with new and exciting renovations. I won’t make light of the terrible loss of ownership that many of the locals faced, nor will I glaze over the fact that a large portion of the booming new businesses are owned by American branches and/or brands. It’s devastating and completely unfair. Many of the locals, in fact, went from owning their own establishment, to working in the same, but for foreign management who swooped in, bought for pennies on the dollar, and have now transformed the town into the next Tulum of American Tourism. Distressing, to say the least. Nonetheless, many of the locals expressed gratitude to simply see their town thriving again, thus my endorsement. Be aware when you visit, and please tip the locals well. Lord knows they’ve been through it.
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No less than an hour after having arisen, we welcomed breakfast mimosas at a new brunch eatery that I'd seen a couple travel creators buzzing about on the social media/internet. From the gorgeous outdoor patio seating with antique stone details, to the tasty brunch favorites –of course I got a poached egg– on their menu, this place is a good staple to keep on your list. Not wildly mind-blowing, but also not unworthy of praise.

Regarding points of interest and must-see’s/do’s the town is really so quite small, you can easily cover it in a day’s worth. We walked towards the the town center first, as the iconic Neo-Gothic Parish was number one on our list. San Miguel is almost entirely known for this gorgeous and eccentric structure after which it get's its name (Parroquia de San Miguel,) which boasts some of the most unique designs you’ll probably ever see in a Roman catholic church. Miles of pink Sandstone stretch high into the sky, with fine sculptural detailing making the whole piece a spectacle to behold. You really have to hand it to the pope here, nobody hoards and boasts wealth like the Catholic Church… but hey at least they’re pretty! All jokes aside, this was definitely a worthwhile stop on our map.

We headed south next, making our way down the narrow cobble roads and towards the town market for all things artisan and local craftsmanship. This is by far one of my absolute favorite aspects of traveling through Mexico. Countless waves of indigenous Mexican artisanship and tradition are passed down through generations, resulting in not only gorgeously handcrafted goods, but also extremely nuanced and diverse iterations of each. Whether it be variations in the flora vs fauna you see across each piece, variating color schemes or even thread and sewing technique, each town you visit will have a noticeable trace of the indigenous subgroup that produced it. It’s absolutely something you can only experience in person, and it took my breath away every single time.

You’ll notice I didn’t photograph too much of these artisan goods, and that’s primarily out of respect for the locals. They’re not entirely keen on visitor’s poking their giant cameras around, especially given how duplicative and aggressive capitalism can be when it comes to stealing their designs. And I have to say, I don’t disagree. You should probably visit and see for yourself.

Another great aspect of traveling through this colorful country is the delicious street food you find around every corner. By all means proceed with caution, but also don’t get too inside your head. Most of the time, we scoped out the spots that caught our attention, checked for the balance between local/tourist customers, and made as informed a decision as possible. It should go without saying but I’ll share anyways… Go where the locals are!

Charming and alluring as this market might’ve been, the one thing it wasn’t was short! We walked for approximately an hour before realizing we’d only just crossed over the middle road that parted through, sectioning off the second part up ahead. Again, prep accordingly as bathrooms might not be the most accessible or comfortable in these particular parts of town. Tightened bladders and even tighter laces later, we stepped in for our second rodeo through.

Lost in the chaos that all thriving markets create, it wasn’t long before I peeked at my phone and noticed another hour had gone by. It was time to head back to the AirBnb and get ready for dinner.

Now, as mentioned before, the town has seen a significant boom in new business and hospitality, so –seeing as some people really are trying to turn it into the next Tulum of tourism– there’s been a consequential uptick in five-star eateries and renowned chef whatever's all around town. For those who enjoy the finer side of dining, there are some really incredible spots where you can indulge in a show-stopping meal for a lot less than you’d pay in the states. And just like any other highly-sought after eatery, reservations and proper etiquette are sometimes at play. Needless to say, I booked us a dinner at a local spot called Fátima 7 Rooftop which had popped up a ton for their new resident chef who had previously headlined some award winning something at some other famous place (clearly I’m the most researched foodie out there). We freshened up at the AirBnb, changed into some nicer button-down’s and headed back towards town.
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Among the many things you’ll read about when researching San Miguel, rooftops and food joints with a view will be abundant in results. And let me tell you, the views don’t disappoint. Once at our table, we ordered a couple cocktails and shamelessly made our way to the edge of the balcony for some not-so-candid photos. Contrary to what it might seem, I’m not super big on putting my face in front of the camera, but every so often I force myself to do it, self-arguing that I’d otherwise wind up with a ton of great shots I could’ve just googled from home. You can’t google yourself into a photo, after all.

We ate quietly, watching the sun set over the horizon, the last of it’s rays stretching far over the valley, painting everything in sight with a golden hue. Golden hour is my absolute favorite time of day.

We ended dinner and headed home, stopping only momentarily to pick up coffee and grab some pastries at a local pastry joint. And just as one does when everything is peaceful and still and calm...I picked a fight.

It hadn’t even been a big deal, and looking back on it, I think it primarily resulted from a minor mixup on the menu where for a split second I misunderstood the waiter, believing every price listed had been in USD and not pesos –when $200 pesos is equivalent to $10 USD, believe you me, you sweat a little. A lot if you’d just ordered half the menu like I did and found yourself joyfully living in unemployment. Nonetheless, I brought it up with a graceless tone, and of course things snowballed.
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What a different night that was. Gathered outside our window, in the patio that sat one floor below, our host huddled around what I can only assume were other guests, glasses of wine in hand. She waved up, catching the slightest fraction of my swift glance as I loudly pulled the curtains shut, waiting only mere seconds before messaging to come down and join her for some vino and company. I pretended I didn’t see. Moments later, the second host –whose cell I’d rang a day earlier to inquire about extending our stay– called leaving a voicemail that invited us downstairs to do the same. Oh how the universe likes to play me when I'm down.
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I showered alone and in silence that night.

We huddled in bed, mere inches from each other but what felt like miles of distance apart. I don’t love this about me, I thought. For one reason or another, I felt like I’d completely failed at communicating my frustrations, and in turn gone in for blood when they weren’t immediately validated. Is it really that hard to understand why that was stressful? I cycled back and forth.

Rest found me at some point, and it wasn’t long before I was out.
The mess I’d created would just have to wait.

Our exit was silent the next morning. Not so much because things were still heated, but more so because they just felt unresolved. Quiet tension loomed over our heads as we drove through the maze of narrow streets. What had once so easily brought us laughter and curiosity as we deciphered the car’s width, was now cause for frustration, disparate sighs and whispered remarks. Woof.
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We were on the road shortly after, and though certainly not the way I would’ve wanted to see the trip end, I couldn’t help feeling like it had all been so full. Because the more I mulled it over, the more it felt reflective of life. Though at times I might’ve believed it, it was clear now that we weren’t living in this heightened honeymoon daze. Life was all of these things strung together. Wonder, and passion, and silence, and sex. Just as much as it was anger, and conflict, and flavor, and play.  It all made sense.
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I strung one arm over, placing it just over Osmar’s lap. A peace offering.
He smiled and asked “so what’s for dinner when we get home?”

And that was that.

It’ll be a minute before I feel comfortable calling myself “well traveled” but I’ll leave you with this much on what I have learned from my adventures in the beyond: Travel, just like everything else is a part of life. So see and treat it that way. I think for a lot of us like me, who grew up without the huge opportunity to travel at leisure, these moments when we do get up and out feel like they have to be heightened and perfect, and somehow extraordinary. And that’s not to say that they won’t be! But also, maybe welcome the messiness of life into these corners as well?

At least for me, it’s been wildly impactful to change the way I see travel, shifting the narrative from A blissful and blemish-free time to simply, Time I spend doing one more thing I enjoy. Things will just go the way they they go. And if you allow them to, they’ll almost always teach you something about yourself.

And thus, that brings my San Miguel weekend to an end. I absolutely loved our quick little magic getaway and will keep close to these memories for at least another decade or so.
Some of my favorite Mexico prints were 100% from San Miguel, I hope it's not too long before I'm back.

More to come always friends,