On November 20, Mexico celebrates the anniversary of the 1910 Revolution. This is a first-hand story from the memories of a Columbus judge whose grandfather died in the first battle. The Mexican Revolution continues to reverberate after 100 years.

On a crisp fall evening in Casas Grandes, Chihuahua, lavender hues shimmer softly along the still-warm surfaces of earth and adobe. Deepening indigo shadows outline the Mound of the Serpent, while the towering Mound of the Heroes catches the last rays of the sun. An ancient city lies in ruins, many of its secrets still deeply buried.

The huge prehistoric adobe complex of Paquime — once home to a thriving pre-Hispanic culture of thousands — silently erodes into the giant Chihuahuan Desert. Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998, the ruins are within walking distance of the pueblo of Casas Grandes (“Big Houses”), located three miles from the larger town of Nuevo (New) Casas Grandes, 150 miles south of the US border at Columbus, NM.

Steeped in pre-history and history, the area has traditionally attracted archaeologists, historians, indigenous artifacts collectors and hardy souls. But accounts of increased drug cartel violence have signaled a glaring caution light to many would-be travelers.

Although high-profile, drug-related crimes have greatly escalated in the Casas Grandes area, Spencer MacCallum, an American social anthropologist who resides in the pueblo, says, “I’ve been in close contact with this area for 33 years and in that time, had there been an incident of violence against a visiting American, I would have heard of it.”

MacCallum and his wife Emalie have restored several pre-Mexican Revolution adobe buildings near the pueblo plaza. Across the street is the local funeral home, where mourners still gather outside around a smoky fire sputtering in a five-gallon can. Candles, melted during a vigil, have left jagged patches of white wax on the sidewalk. Two days earlier, a parade of family members and residents had trailed along behind yet another flower-draped casket headed down the long dusty road towards the cemetery.

“Yes, there has been violence,” MacCallum goes on, “but those at risk are not visitors. They are targeted individuals actively involved in drug trafficking.”

In the nearby plaza, where stately trees drop yellowing leaves and an ornate gazebo crowns patches of green lawn, stands a monument commemorating the March 6, 1911, Battle of Casas Grandes. The bronze plaque is simply inscribed: “May the sons of this land never forget the heroism of those who died this day.”

Since Mexican president Felipe Calderon took office in 2007 and declared war on drug traffickers, it’s estimated more than 28,000 people have died in drug-related violence. But this number pales in comparison to the million or more deaths during the Mexican Revolution, which began over a century ago in November 1910 and lasted to 1920.

Some died in battles between modern and well-equipped armies; others were killed in raids or hanged as suspects. Some died of hunger, others of sickness and disease. Sometimes foreigners were targeted and shot, their properties pillaged and plundered. Other times, villagers rose up in arms and killed in acts of popular justice. Assassinations became commonplace. Some people were kidnapped or simply disappeared. Others were quietly shoved into unmarked graves: infants, young children, women, farmers, soldiers, foreign mercenaries. The scale of killings was unprecedented.

The Mexican Revolution was brought on by, among other factors, disagreement among the Mexican people over the dictatorship of President Porfirio Diaz, who had been in command for 31 years. During that time, power and wealth had been concentrated in the hands of a select few. People had no power to express opinions or select public officials, and injustices were everywhere.

Francisco I. Madero, an intellectual and idealist, was one of the strongest believers that Diaz should renounce his power and not seek re-election. Together with other young reformers, he created the “Anti-reeleccionista” party. The success of his democracy movement made Madero a threat in the eyes of Diaz. Shortly before the elections of 1910, Madero was apprehended in Monterrey and imprisoned in San Luis Potosi.

Learning of Diaz’s subsequent re-election, Madero fled to the US in October 1910. While in exile in San Antonio, Texas, he issued the “Plan of San Luis,” a manifesto that declared the elections had been a fraud and that he would not recognize Diaz as the legitimate president of the republic. Instead, Madero made the daring move of declaring himself president pro-tempore until new elections could be held.

Madero promised to return all lands that had been confiscated from the peasants, called for universal voting rights and a limit of one term for the president. His call for an uprising on November 20, 1910, marked the beginning of the Mexican Revolution.

“When the Mexican Revolution erupted in late 1910, many adventurers and soldiers of fortune traveled to Mexico to join the fight,” wrote historian John Hardman. “They came from all walks of life — professional soldier, cowboy, tradesman, businessman, doctor and newspaperman. They were rich men and poor men, thieves, murderers and cattle rustlers. Even a couple of movie stars claimed to have fought with Madero in 1911.

“They came from all over the globe — the US, France, Sweden, South Africa, Germany, Italy, Holland and Switzerland — to join the revolution, many enlisting in Madero’s El Flange De Los Estranjeros — also known as the ‘Gringo Rag-Tag Battalion.’ They came to Mexico for gold and glory — most of them receiving neither.”

Some were well known, such as Giuseppe Garibaldi, grandson of the famed Italian liberator, who served as second in command in Madero’s fledgling army. Others were shadier criminals: New Mexican John Franklin Greer, a member of the Greer Gang operating out of Bonito City in Lincoln County, had a colorful reputation as a gunslinger, train robber, gambler, soldier of fortune and ladies’ man. Both Greer and his friend John Gates joined Madero’s revolutionary forces after a train shootout and robbery in El Paso that killed local merchant C. F. Graham.

The lone battle in which Madero led his revolutionary forces against the army of President Diaz took place on March 6, 1911, at Casas Grandes. Even today, just over a hundred years later, memories of that battle remain fresh — not only in Chihuahua but here in Southwest New Mexico.

Columbus Municipal Judge Javier Lozano has lived with story of the Battle of Casas Grandes all of his life. Now 70 years old, he knows it well because his grandfather, Francisco J. Esteves, was one of Madero’s army officers killed that day.

“My grandfather was an attorney and a judge working in the mining district of Ocampo, Chihuahua, when the Mexican Revolution broke out,” Lozano recalls. “He had done work for Madero and they became friends. He represented mining concerns for the London-based Green Gold Mining Company and was highly educated on legal matters. He had also helped Madero with some of his speeches.”

Esteves, 31 years old at the time, was married to Rafaelita Polanco and father to three small children. Life had been good to the couple; they were doing well financially. Their home was nicely furnished and the children were healthy. The future looked bright. Then the massive unrest that was unleashed across Mexico changed their lives forever.

“My mother was only three years old when my grandfather left to join Madero because he was convinced revolution was a necessity,” Lozano says. “He was commissioned a lieutenant colonel in Madero’s army. My mother never saw him alive again.”

Lozano says his grandfather’s parents remained on the side of Diaz and were not happy when their son left his job and young family to join with the revolutionaries. “The family was very worried.”

He goes on, “Revolution had broken out and the revolutionaries wanted Madero to let his presence be seen in Mexico. In early February 1911, Madero was living in El Paso and still in exile.” He holds up a copy of an old photo taken six days before the Battle of Casas Grandes. Pictured along with Madero and Lozano’s grandfather are Jose Dolores Palomino, Salomon Dozal and Abraham Gonzales, governor of the state of Chihuahua.

“Madero had recruited 132 men, including my grandfather, and they crossed the Rio Grande on Feb. 13. Pancho Villa was not happy that Madero had also recruited ‘foreigners’ — Americans and Italians. Villa felt they should not be involved and interfere with Mexico’s affairs.”

Lozano says Madero had decided the revolutionaries would attack the federal military garrison at Casas Grandes, since it was a major obstacle to capturing Ciudad Juarez. “There were those of the opinion that Madero should wait until he had run in an election against Diaz, but Madero persisted. This was the first and last time Madero was ever a military commander.”

When Madero attacked Casas Grandes, he was leading an army that had swelled to several hundred infantry and cavalry. The federal garrison was commanded by Colonel Agustin A. Valdez of Mexico’s 18th battalion.

Madero and his men attacked the federal positions in Casas Grandes around 5 a.m. Fighting was still raging when, around 7:15 a.m., another Mexican federal column of 562 soldiers reinforced the already engaged 500 troops. With the reinforcing federals were two motorized vehicles, quickly put to use.

According to an account in the New York Times based on an interview with Roy Kelly, “a survivor of the American colony of fighters with Madero,” the “American Legion” commanded by Captain R. T. Harrington of El Paso made the first advance under the cover of early morning darkness. “The strength of the American Legion was maybe 60 men but could not be (accurately) stated because the Americans who have joined the revolutionary forces divided their strength instead of uniting as one body,” the article stated.

“They occupied a string of adobe houses on the main street of the town and fought from there against the machine guns and infantry stationed on the church,” the Times reported. “The machine guns were turned on them around 10 o’clock and after seven of the men… had been killed, they were forced to flee from the houses and seek shelter in the nearby woods.” Kelly reportedly saw five Americans killed while trying to escape the village through the barbed-wire fence surrounding it.

The battle lasted most of the day, with the federals and rebels repulsing each other’s counterattacks. By 5 p.m., the battle was over and Madero ordered the retreat of his forces.

The Mexican federal garrison lost 13 men and 23 were wounded. The reinforcing column lost 24 men and 37 were wounded, including their commander, Colonel Samuel G. Cuellar.

Madero, who was severely wounded in his arm, lost 85 men, among them 15 Americans. An unknown number were wounded and 41 revolutionary soldiers, including 17 Americans, were captured.

Among those in killed in Madero’s army were Lozano’s grandfather, Francisco Esteves, and two others pictured in his old photo — Jose Dolores Palomino and Salomon Dozal. Also listed among the dead were Harrington, commander of the “American Legion”; San Franciscans Robert E. Lee and Robert Evans; and Roy Glenn of Mineral Springs, Texas. In addition to the men, the revolutionaries lost 150 horses, 153 mules and 101 firearms.

A wounded Madero retreated to regroup his forces south of Casas Grandes at the sprawling Hacienda de San Diego, a grandiose estate formerly belonging to Don Luis Terrazas, a wealthy rancher who at one time owned most of the land in the state of Chihuahua. Madero blamed his scouts for the defeat at Casas Grandes. He later issued a statement saying it was the inability of the scouts to detect the reinforcing federal column that led to defeat, and he subsequently ordered all of the scouts killed.

As the battle had turned against the revolutionaries, many of Madero’s retreating forces sought shelter from the onslaught of bullets in the nearby adobe ruins of Paquime. When the gunfire smoke finally cleared, the dead were scattered all about. Villagers hurriedly picked up corpses and unceremoniously dumped them into a mass grave — the most convenient spot being a deep open shaft dug earlier by treasure-seeking looters into the side of a gigantic mound at Paquime.

Today, the site is the Mound of the Heroes, a truncated pyramid and the largest ceremonial structure within Paquime, dominating the western section of the ruins. It is a circle on all sides except the west. The exterior was originally covered with a stucco and stone façade and surrounded by a large shallow reflecting pool. Both the towering size and dominant position of the Mound of the Heroes point to its ceremonial prominence within Paquime.

Occupied from around 800 AD to between 1200 and 1450 AD, Paquime was one of the largest cities in the American Southwest and Northwest Mexico. Measuring one kilometer in diameter, it had an estimated population of around 3,000 inhabitants at its zenith.

Paquime ruins were excavated between 1958 and 1961 under the direction of Dr. Charles C. Di Peso in a cooperative effort between the Amerind Foundation of Dragoon, Ariz., and the Instituto National de Anthropologia de Historia (INAH) of Mexico. Di Peso and crews excavated approximately 42 percent of the site, recovering large quantities of shell, flaked stone, ceramics and an estimated 576 human burials.

But one site, a large mound dominating the landscape, and perhaps the most important site in the Paquime complex, remained unexcavated. Because the mound had been used as a mass burial crypt for revolutionaries killed in the Battle of Casas Grandes and due to its historic significance, DiPeso chose to leave it untouched, naming it the Mound of the Heroes.

Neither inside the adjacent museum nor outside in the ruins will visitors find an explanation for the mound’s name. And identification of those interred within its deep, dark interior remains a mystery.

“The defeat and near death of Madero had an electrifying impact on the insurrection,” wrote historian Rene De La Pedraja Toman in Wars of Latin America, 1899-1941. “When Madero entered Mexico in February 1911, the rebel leaders largely ignored him. His brush with death made the rebel leaders realize that without Madero they were little more than a brigade. Instead, under Madero, the rebel leaders belonged to the sacred cause of the ‘Revolution.’ Fully conscious that the death of Madero meant their trial and execution as common criminals, the rebel leaders rallied to his side and pledged loyalty and obedience.

“In one week Madero commanded a larger force than before the battle. His numbers more than doubled by the end of March. On April 2, Pancho Villa came with over 500 men he had recruited. The momentum Madero gained showed that the battle of Casas Grandes, rather than a defeat, had been a catalyst for spreading the insurrection.”

The revolt was a failure but it kindled revolutionary hopes in many quarters. In the north, Pascual Orozco and Pancho Villa mobilized their ragged armies and began raiding government garrisons. In the south, Emiliano Zapata raged a bloody campaign against the local rural political bosses.

In May 1911, revolutionary forces led by Pascual Orozco and Francisco Villa took Ciudad Juarez, forcing Diaz to resign. Francisco I. Madero was declared president in November.

Without Diaz as a common enemy, however, the Mexican Revolution spun quickly out of control, and Madero was deposed and executed in February 1913 igniting the most violent four years of the Revolution.

Tour buses from Tucson and Phoenix still roll into the parking lot of Paquime’s Museum of Northern Cultures. “Now they’re only arriving on weekends,” says Luis Tena, museum information clerk. “There’s still one or two but, overall, it’s más o menos, more or less. They stop here but don’t stay long. They’re all headed for Chihuahua City to see those museums.”

Near the ruins, Mayte Lujan operates Galeria de las Guacamaya, which doubles as her home and bed-and-breakfast. An astute businesswoman who constructed her buildings utilizing the same rammed-earth technique employed at Paquime, Lujan focuses on selling high-end Mata Ortiz pottery in the elite gallery. “I still get visitors,” she says, “but it’s been quieter.”

In the past, many tourists headed for the tiny village of Mata Ortiz, 16 miles south of Casas Grandes and currently home to more than 400 potters. Although influenced by ancient Paquime pottery designs, these accomplished potters have attracted international acclaim for their creative and innovative designs on handcrafted terracotta employing ancient methods. Mata Ortiz pottery is available in several Silver City galleries.

Several times a year, Tucson residents Ron and Sue Bridgemon lead “caravan” tours to Mata Ortiz. Bridgemon blames media hype for frightening Americans away from Mexican travels. “I would know if it was happening,” he says of area violence. “I see no difference now than when I started coming here 17 years ago. Look at the increased violence in Tucson. Does that keep people from going to the stores and the mall? Anywhere in the US, people are just as likely to run into crime caused by drug problems.”

Bridgemon says traffic to Mata Ortiz has dropped by half. “The potters are desperate and they’re lowering their prices. They’re calling this ‘the crises.’ One of the best-known potters was not home when we went to visit recently. I asked his wife where he was and she said he was out planting oats so he would be able to feed his horses. Other potters were out working on road-construction projects.”

Bilingual tour guide Diana Acosta says her fledgling Casas Grandes business, Agave Lindo Tours, used to be 80 percent Americans and 20 percent Mexican. “Now it’s reversed, with more Mexicans traveling within their own country,” she says. Acosta and her parents reside in a portion of the historic but crumbling Hacienda de San Diego where Madero once took refuge. Restoration work on the 1903 adobe structure “still goes on poco a poco, little by little,” she adds.

Acosta has a photo of the wounded Madero taken after the Battle of Casas Grandes. He stands in front of the hacienda’s large wooden main door, his arm and hand wrapped in white bandages. “For a short time during the revolution, this hacienda was Mexico’s White House,” she says proudly.

In the past, Las Cruces tour operator John Phelan offered three-day tours to Casas Grandes and Mata Ortiz. But those tours have been canceled and Phelan also blames the media. “People are afraid to come,” he says. “Sometimes they put money down on a trip and then get frightened when they read something in the newspaper or see it on television, so they cancel.

“Guess I’ll just sit tight and wait it out. The Paquime ruins will still be there. They’ve already been there for almost a thousand years.”

The post The Battle of Casas Grandes: My grandfather’s memories of the Mexican Revolution appeared first on MexConnect.

Photo Gallery: Season of the Sacred: Rediscovering Christmas in Mexico

I took one look around the tiny, dingy room I had rented and began questioning my sanity. It was December 2 and I was in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, after a tiring 24-hour bus ride one thousand miles south of the border. During an earlier October visit, I had rented the cheap second-floor room on a whim. There was no running water, no stove nor refrigerator, nothing but an antique iron twin bed. No chairs, no table, only one dim lightbulb in a dangling chandelier. The room was reached by two sets of rickety, narrow iron stairs from outside.

I would be sharing the bath with Arturo, a flamenco player who rented the adjacent room. “He is a Mexican musician,” Nicholas, the landlord told me. “You will have to share the propane with him to heat water for showers. Do you know how to light the tank?” I had no idea of what he was talking about.

The house boasted a prime location, two and one-half blocks from the laurel-tree-studded plaza, or Jardin and the gothic-inspired Parroquia, Church of St. Michael the Archangel.

Now in his 80s, Nicholas had reportedly been acquainted with famed Mexican artist Diego Rivera — who, as the story went, put his hands on Nicholas’ shoulders and declared, “You are going to be a monster of a painter.” Later I discovered Cuellar was an Otomi, an indigenous tribe native to the nearby Guanajuato area.

I was here for a specific reason. For years I had wanted to experience the holiday season as sacred and meaningful, to have it slowly and deliciously spread out over weeks, not be a one-day Christmas blow-out.

During the previous year, my long-distance holiday visit to family members had fizzled in series of dramatic crises. Tears flowed. Nerves were frayed. The air was supercharged with harsh criticisms and foul words. The turkey didn’t get done on time. Adult stepchildren floated in, grabbed a plate of food and bolted it down before spacing out in front of the television. Mountains of ribbon and ripped paper clogged wiser sensibilities. The day disintegrated in a disastrous war of ill-will.

During pre-dawn hours of the following morning, a shopping frenzy was launched for “on sale” items. I told my son-in-law, “I’m sorry, but I don’t plan to be around next year. Anything you receive from me will fit into an envelope.”

Even though violence had continued to surge in some parts of Mexico, San Miguel, with its reputation for colorful pageantry, extravagant religious and secular celebrations, appeared to be a relatively peaceful oasis. I knew spending the winter months in San Miguel would be a unique opportunity to immerse myself in meaningful holiday festivities, music, rituals, art and food, and maybe forge new friendships.

A reported 12,000 expats, mostly retirees, reside in the San Miguel area. Numbers fluctuate in the fall with the arrival of North American snowbirds.

With a proliferation of art and Spanish-language schools, San Miguel has traditionally drawn artists and students since the early 1950s, when American ex-servicemen began arriving to study on the GI Bill. In the 1960s, the town became a popular destination for counterculture figures such Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters. Beat writer Neal Cassady lived there briefly, dying on a lonesome stretch of railroad tracks after a night of partying.

“I can’t install an electric outlet in the room for you,” Nicholas patiently explained to me as if I were a little child. “If I do, then you’ll have to pay the electric bill.”

With a dying laptop battery, I began morning walks up narrow, clean-swept cobblestone streets, past the Parroquia and Jardin, headed for Starbucks. The relatively new coffeeshop occupied a former historic residence, complete with plant-filled courtyard and splashing fountain. Once there I plugged in, propped an empty coffee cup in front of me, got online, and emailed friends and family.

Scarlet poinsettias suddenly appeared everywhere. In the Jardin, gardeners massed row upon row into raised beds. Strings of tiny white lights draped from tree to tree gave the area a fairyland look in the dusky evenings. Groups of mariachis hovered while tourists milled about.

Architecturally ornate churches dotting the area delivered round-the-clock pealing of bells with tones ranging from melodic to clanging. The constant chiming gave a musical rhythm to days and nights, marking hours, announcing masses, weddings or special celebrations. Along with bells there were fireworks, tons of explosives unleashed — skyrockets booming at 4 a.m. Sometimes I felt as though I was living in the Magic Kingdom.

One evening, while attending an art gallery open house, I met Stefano, a charming, older Italian who fancied himself an art critic. We sat in the dark on an open window’s thick ledge, sipping Chilean wine and munching canapés. Across the way, a luminescent Parroquia dominated the evening sky while an orchestra played a long medley of Beatles music. Stefano leaned over. “This is almost perfection,” he said. “Almost.”

To me, it felt almost sacred.

“Let’s meet tomorrow after breakfast,” he suggested. “We can visit the Allende Museum since there’s no charge on Sundays.” I knew my idea of Sunday breakfast differed from his. I preferred eating from local street vendors near the Plaza Civica who sold freshly steamed red or green tamales and cups of hot atole con arroz, a masa-based drink made with cinnamon, vanilla and rice. Stefano preferred sipping a cup of thick espresso with a freshly baked roll from the local bakery.

The Casa Museo de Don Ignacio Allende y Unzaga, a two-story 18th century baroque colonial house adjacent to La Parroquia, was Allende’s birthplace. Filled with archaeological artifacts and historical documents, the museum related the story of the town’s founding in 1542 by Franciscan monk Fray Juan de San Miguel. The town developed into an important stop along the Spanish silver trade route. In the early 1800s, Allende, a military general, was a leader in the war for independence against Spain. Captured in battle and beheaded, he became a national hero. In 1826, the town was renamed San Miguel de Allende in his honor.

As we left the museum, a noisy parade was underway. We were caught up in a crowd of spectators watching whirling, chanting Aztec dancers wearing elaborate headdresses of various plumages. Loud booming drums, rattles of shells and seeds, leather shields, fierce face paint, potent copal incense smoke, all testified to an ancient tradition.

“Scratch a Christian, find a pagan,” Stefano said, paraphrasing a well-known quote. “The Spanish may have destroyed their temples and deities, but they couldn’t get rid of the dances and rituals. Did you know they’re dancing today to honor the Virgin of Guadalupe? It’s almost her feast day.”

Weaving up the street was a rose-flanked statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe atop a wooden stand borne by four stalwart men, headed for a special mass inside La Parroquia. Devotees of all ages, arms filled with flowers, followed.

The Virgin of Guadalupe has been called “Mother of the Mexican People,” “Empress of the Americas” and “Queen of Mexico.” This was her season of homage based on a supernatural appearance to Aztec peasant Juan Diego in December 1531.

While the Virgin of Guadalupe’s official feast day is December 12, masses, pilgrimages and processions were held during the week leading up to the day.

Early Monday morning, Stefano and I walked to Mercado Ignacio Ramirez near the Plaza Civica, a covered indoor permanent market built in 1970. Outside, in a rocky grotto filled with votive candles, plants and flowers, hung a large image of the Virgin. Gathered around were mariachis who serenaded her with devotion.

The following day, we caught a bus up the hill to the weekly Tianguis del Martes, or Tuesday market, where mariachis performed in front of a makeshift shrine overflowing with fruit and vegetable offerings and draped in Mexican flags. “She is our Mother,” reverently whispered the gilded-sombrero-wearing bass player in English, “and she is with child.”

After the Virgin’s festivities ended, nine nights of posadas began. In San Miguel neighborhood children traveled in processions from house to house, singing carols, searching for room for Mary and Joseph.

Earlier at Starbucks, I had met Camilla, a Canadian anthropologist, who told me the posadas tradition was transplanted from Spain via the Catholic Church: “Don’t forget, it also coincided with the Aztecs’ nine-day Fiestas of the Sun, which celebrated the virgin birth of the sun god, Huitzilopchtli.”

In my room, I placed a small plastic nacimiento, or nativity scene on a yard-sale table, purchased candles, stuck a dozen pink roses from the mercado into an empty yogurt carton, and set a flaming poinsettia plant in the non-operative sink. Suddenly, my shabby room took on a holiday glow.

Families with laughing children gathered in the Jardin, excitedly crowding around a live nativity scene of sheep, goats and donkeys munching hay or hunkered down next to statues of a kneeling Mary, hovering Joseph, several angels and an empty manger. Church altars featured a rotund, very pregnant Mary bending over an infant-less creche. The air was filled with an expectancy that had nothing to do with Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus or getting presents out of department store layaway. It was as if everyone was collectively holding their breath.

A chilly Christmas Day dawned with infant Jesus suddenly appearing in mangers everywhere. Extended families geared up for massive celebrations and feasting. ¡Feliz Navidad! was the greeting on the streets.

Kings and Candlemas

In Mexico, the holidays continue long after Americans have packed away the trees and tinsel.

January descended on San Miguel de Allende with an elongated, celebratory flourish and mild weather. Residues of Christmas galas lingered. New Year’s Eve revelers carried on partying, gathering in Harry’s Bar to discuss juicy tidbits, For children, the most exciting festivity was still ahead — the arrival of The Three Kings and gifts.

Los Tres Reyes, the Three Kings, arrive on horseback at the Nativity scene in the Jardin, bringing gifts to the infant Jesus.

After my morning trek to Starbucks, I would sit in the Jardin on a clammy iron bench, soaking up thin sunshine and chatting with strangers.

Multi-colored confetti mingled with dried flower petals outside La Parroquia, where back-to-back Saturday weddings were scheduled.

In the Jardin, vacationing children chased flocks of pigeons or harassed farm animals still confined within the Nativity scene, awaiting the arrival of The Three Kings.

“We need to go shopping for rosca de reyes,” Camilla told me. “Most kids are still waiting to receive their gifts. Although the tradition is being replaced by Santa Claus in some areas, many of them still believe it is the Three Kings who bring their presents on the night of January fifth.”

The Three Kings Day, celebrated on January 6 and also known as Epiphany, is the culmination of the 12 days of Christmas. It commemorates the journey of three wise men from the East who followed a brilliant star to find the infant Jesus. Tradition records they may have been magicians or astrologers who came bearing precious gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

We walked down cobblestone streets to the nearest bakery where roscas, sweet bread dough formed into wreath-shapes, were being sold. Studded with strips of candied fruit before being baked, the circular breads have a tiny figurine of baby Jesus hidden inside.

“You know, when you slice and serve it on January sixth, whoever gets the piece with the baby Jesus has to throw a sweet tamale party on February second, which is Candlemas,” said Camilla. “Maybe we could have a little party over at my casita.”

Camilla had recently rented a little house up across the street from Nicholas’ house, part of a 250-year-old former hacienda made famous by author Tony Cohan. In his 2001 book, On Mexican Time: A New Life in San Miguel, he extolled the charms of San Miguel, inspiring others to move there, purchase and rehabilitate dilapidated, historic dwellings. Cohen’s hacienda was on the verge of collapse when he and his artist wife bought the property in the 1980s.

The front door to Camilla’s casita was typical of most local residences. Crafted from iron-like mesquite wood and anchored by antique iron hinges, it gave no hint of what lay behind it, serving only as an entry through the hacienda’s thick brick walls.” For weeks I had walked up and down the hill, constantly passing by the hacienda’s formidable walls with never a hint of the lushness and beauty inside. There had been no way to tell.

Decked out in gilded turbans and swaggering cloaks, wearing false beards and wigs, the Three Kings paraded up the streets on horseback. They were followed by an entourage of young angels in draped white bed sheets, wearing tinsel crowns. When the trio reached the Jardin, they dismounted and reverently knelt in front of the Nativity tableau, offering prayers and gifts to the infant in the manger. Then they remounted and galloped off, tossing candy to spectators as they left.

Camilla and I included Stefano in our Three Kings Day party since by now the three of us, from three different countries, were acquainted. Camilla had whipped Mexican hot chocolate into a frothy beverage, liberally lacing drinks with Kahlua.

Stefano came with a copy of Cohen’s book for Camilla. She had never read it. “I really didn’t like the book,” Stefano told her. “I thought it overly romantic. Not an insight into the real San Miguel.”

We sliced the rosca and Stefano got the piece of bread with the baby Jesus doll. Camilla laughed. She told him, “Now you are obligated to throw the tamale party on Candlemas, which is February second.”

“If I’m still here,” he replied. “I’ve only paid my rent for January.” He inscribed the book with a flourish and handed it to Camilla. “This will be something to remember me by.”

Then the weather turned ugly — cold and wet. Without any heat in my room, I was in good company; most homes and stores had none, also. People relied on either propane space heaters or fireplaces, but most of us just wore several extra layers of clothing to keep warm. It wasn’t freezing but it was damp and depressing. Snow occasionally dusted the higher mountains. Huge black storm clouds rolled through. Daily deluges flooded sidewalks, poured off hills and roared down roadways. Pack burros were gently herded along streets, going door-to-door, loaded with mesquite firewood for sale.

“Starbucks is the only warm place in all of San Miguel,” a visitor said one morning, sipping his black coffee as I struggled out of my red plastic rain poncho. “This rain is unusual. Not normal for here this time of year.”

Like a breath of an early spring, Candlemas and warmer weather arrived on February 2. Midway between winter solstice and spring equinox, the holiday celebrates the “Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin,” 40 days after Christmas.

“Candlelaria” was how locals referred to the week-long, gigantic flower and plant sale held in Parque Juarez down the hill from La Parroquia. Masses of blossoming plants, fragrant herbs and small trees transformed the park into a landscaper’s dream. An explosion of spring colors, tantalizing scents and lush greenery felt like a sure cure for the winter blahs.

Suddenly, like a migratory bird, I knew it was almost time to return north, to go home to New Mexico. So, later on in February, I did.

The experience of living in the small room in San Miguel de Allende was memorable and unforgettable. And I found what I had been looking for: a sacred season spread out over months, savored slowly and leisurely like a delectable holiday banquet, a sensual feast for eyes and heart in a time when I was hungry to be reminded of the divine dimensions of life.

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