Week 1 - In San Miguel Is In The Books

Street Scenes in San Miguel de Allende

As the days melt into each other, I’m clocking in almost a week here in San Miguel de Allende. Life is blissfully, utterly slow, which is pretty much the default setting for my existence these days. I’m finally finding my apartment-legs, locating the coffee stash without a flashlight, and generally feeling comfortable with the surroundings.

The one persistent little fly in the ointment? My utter and complete lack of Spanish. I’ve reached that level of fluency where I can confidently pronounce “Hola” and "Gracias" —the essentials, really. The rest of my communication is conducted through a highly theatrical combination of pointing, frantic hand gestures, and a universal 'help-me-I'm-a-tourist' facial expression. Just yesterday, I'm fairly certain I ordered a bowl of artisanal air instead of tacos, based on the server's look of pity and the absence of anything solid in the dish.

On the home-front, I’ve been keeping it simple, giving my wallet a much-needed break from the siren call of dining out. The local grocery landscape is fascinating. We have two titans: City Market, which is essentially the Loblaws/Whole Foods of SMA—all bright lights, imported cheeses, and prices that whisper in your ear, "Are you sure you need this organic kale?" Then there's La Comer, which is like a glorious, chaotic blend of a grocery store, a housewares depot, and a very casual clothing outlet. Reading the labels is an Olympic sport. I spent a good five minutes trying to translate the ingredients on a cereal box, only to conclude it was either oats, sugar, or a secret message from an ancient Mayan civilization.

Tacos and more tacos

Inflation is alive, well, and riding the local bus. I hopped on Saturday, feeling smug about my preparedness, and handed the driver a 10-peso coin. He just stared straight ahead. No change. I immediately had an internal, sweat-inducing panic: Was it that obvious I’m a gringo? Was I just fleeced for a quarter? Is this a social commentary on my white hair? It turns out the fare just bumped from 8 to 10 pesos. Which, at 79 cents, is still a bargain, even for a non-change-receiving tourist. The ride itself is an experience. It’s not long, but the traffic is relentless, and the drivers subscribe to the 'if-a-person-can-fit-we-can-fit-them' philosophy. We were less "passengers" and more "a can of human sardines, awaiting a timely rescue."

One of the main, slightly delusional reasons for this trip was the San Miguel De Allende Pickleball tournament. Given my current, high-maintenance foot (which behaves less like a foot and more like a moody child), entering multiple events felt like tempting fate—or a direct challenge to my physiotherapist. After much strategic, pre-tournament agonizing, we settled on the single, safest option: the 0/65 A event. The good news? We clinched the gold! The slightly less good news? There were only three teams in the event. It was, shall we say, a rather lukewarm victory—the kind of win that comes with a participation ribbon and an asterisk the size of Ontario. Still, as the saying goes, you have to beat the people who show up. And the pickleball community here is fantastic, packed with good players, most of whom also seem to be  over 55 - why is that?

1st Place San Miguel Tournament

I’m getting a better handle on the streets, thankfully. It’s not a huge place, and once you get past the charming but ankle-breaking cobblestones, navigating is straightforward. The weather is perfection: brisk, clear mornings that demand a sweater, followed by afternoons so sunny and warm you forget what the word 'winter' even means.

Last night, I met up with a friend for dinner. After standing awkwardly for 15 minutes at one place (Rama Cafe), we decided our feet—my fickle foot, specifically—deserved a walk west into the San Antonio district. We landed at El Rinconcito, a place my friend knew. It’s nothing fancy—no white tablecloths or tasting menus—just honest, good neighborhood food. I played it safe with the tacos, while my friend went for the Chimichanga. We both agreed they were excellent, but I will begrudgingly admit that he made the superior life choice. I spent the rest of the meal staring longingly at his perfectly fried, savory masterpiece.

Mine

His

Today was my second game at La Capilla Deportiva with a wonderfully organized group.  The level is quite high with players moving up or down based on their results.  I started on court two and managed to barely stay there.  There are a few intense players - oh, well.  I’m still doing stupid things in pickleball and have to keep working on the patience part of the game.   

Pickleball in SMA

It was a blast, but as my doctor would undoubtedly scream if he saw my step count, it was perhaps "a bit too much on my feet." So, tomorrow is officially a day of rest (I think). A day of rest that, unfortunately, feels increasingly similar to most of my other days recently.

My Afternoon Latte

Later in the afternoon, I climbed the hill to visit what seems to have become my coffee hangout.  They even knew what I wanted before I could order it.  There is something very special about sitting outside on a beautiful tree lined patio writing this blog.  And I was able to top it off with two flavors of what I think is ice cream - or was it gelato?  Not sure, but it was good.

It’s crazy to think it’s already been a week since I escaped the snowy, frozen wasteland of Toronto. The time has flown. Only three weeks left to go. Back at you soon. Thanks for reading.