Mexico’s Magic Kingdom

“Excuse me señor.  Can you tell me where you got the coffee?”  The young woman speaks perfect, though heavily accented English.  Eight eager faces representing 3 generations wait for my response.

They are tourists like me and for the first time in 3 weeks I am providing (not requiring) guidance.  There is very little English spoken in this part of Mexico reflecting the low level of Canadian and American expatriates here so far.

I am seated beneath a tiny, open air cupola, on the rooftop terrace of a family-run hotel in Bernal, Queretero, one of 5 “magic towns” in central Mexico.  In the near distance, the prominent peak “Pena de Bernal” commands attention and seems to cast a spell on this small town frozen in time.  The fact that I am providing direction to a native Mexican family is simply magical to me. They peer, as I point over rooftops, to a nearby store where I found my morning brew.

The state of Queretaro claims five such towns, each aggressively guarding traditions, legends and lifestyle. Bernal, Jalpan, San Joaquin, Cadereyta and Tequisquiapan are filled with enchantment which, according to tourist literature, is not illusory but must be “visited and admired” for its own sake. I am here to find out for myself.

It’s Monday morning, and much of Bernal’s festive attitude from the weekend has dissipated.  I am in the Zona Centro dominated by a colorful cathedral aspiring for the height and recognition of El Pena.  Merchants raise doors, pose mannequins and dress them in colorful “ropas” and “guyabaras” on the cobbled sidewalk.  The palpable, yawning sleepiness is a stark contrast to last night’s festive, music-filled frenzy.

Sundays here are a fiesta. Stairways, walkways and plazas are packed with weekend revelers.  Unique souvenirs are everywhere, rough-hewn tiles, boldly carved statues, colorful hand-painted pottery.  And lots of stuffed animals, particularly snakes.  It’s a destination favored by Mexican tourists.  One festive pedestrian walks through the crowd with a live, blunt-nosed, spotted serpent coiled over his shoulders and around his torso.  When I ask why, he simply shrugs.  Part of the magic?

Large grills smolder throughout the tourism zone.  Bright eyed ladies in floral dresses hand-slap multi-colored tortillas. And large, wok-like pots steam with colorful corn dishes, each featuring a different, pungent blend of oregano, chili, or queso. I boldly devour two hearty carnitas filled with pork straight off the fire.  Then, I devour a spicy ear of corn smeared with cheese and dappled with red hot chili.  Total cost $3.

The sights, the scents, the energy.  I am swept away by the carnival atmosphere.  At a slightly quieter corner nearby, as sunlight begins to fade, I pause to take a picture.  My subject: the life-sized statue of a stunning women dressed in ghostly garb.  She is all in black, her features highlighted in tarnished silver.  Probably an effigy leftover from last year’s “El Dia de las Meurtas” (Day of the Dead) celebration observed annually throughout the country November 1-2. I frame the shot and catch final rays of daylight haloing her braided hair.   As I squint through the viewfinder I could swear the statue winks at me.  I pull the camera away and look again.   Then she blows me a kiss. I retreat to my hotel as day’s final light fades.  Enough magic for one day.

But this morning is different.  I walk down quieter streets.  Voices murmur from open windows, occasional cars ease by on cobbled streets and there is periodic “clop, clop” of horseback riders on their way to work.  Morning rush hour.    I stop in at my favored morning retreat, where I am already known by the staff, and order again the highly satisfying “Desayuno Executivo.”  It is served in a gracious covered courtyard decorated with vintage pictures of family rodeo riders and a dominating oil canvas of a 19th Century family dining while being serenaded “mariachi” style.  I take coffee on the upper terrace with another spectacular view of “El Pena.” Then I descend for breakfast through the heady aroma of freshly squeezed oranges.

The indescribably satisfying meal (juice, fruit, pastries, eggs cooked to order, limitless coffee, elegant service) sets me back nearly $7 with tip.  It costs little more than the filling meal I had on the street last evening.   But this hospitality is magic of a different sort.