They’re coming at us from everywhere. Red, blue, green and yellow missiles. Some land softly and others, launched by more experienced hands, punch down on the cobblestones and bounce hard and high back into the air.

I’m taking a break from sightseeing, sitting on a worn iron bench in the jardin – the main square in the centuries-old Mexican town of San Miguel de Allende (a.k.a. SMA). I’m here on a whirlwind visit with my gal pal Maria.

As it turns out, we’ve arrived in time for the annual observance of ‘la Candelaria’, officially known as the Celebration of Our Lady of Candelaria. February 2^nd marks the day that Jesus was brought to the Temple of Jerusalem, 40 days after his birth. Over the centuries, the days-long event has taken on pre-Hispanic traditions as well as more contemporary customs.

The celebration inevitably ends up outdoors, with friends and family gravitating to the jardin to enjoy the festivities. That’s what’s happening when we flop down on the bench to check out the aerial bombardment. Children run around tossing colourful metre-long inflatable candles in the air, or bounce them off the ground. These oversized candles are a fixture in the celebrations, as we discover over the next few days and nights.

In the week that we spend here, we learn a lot more about the spirit of the town, and the importance of family and community. That’s something that oddly surprises me. Over the years, I’d visited Mexico a number of times, but, plagued by corrupt politics, drug cartels, crime and poverty, it was a country I’d become disinterested in returning to. San Miguel reminds me that stereotypes and generalizations can be the Achilles’ heel of travelers.

SMA is a loveable city. I suspect the friendliness and hospitality are not just the products of the euphoric haze of my vacation spirit, but something deeper. The heart of San Miguel is family and community. It feels Mexican. It feels authentic. Even with the high population of North American ex-pats, San Miguel does not forget its roots.
This is never more evident than during La Candelaria. Celebrations in the jardin feature mariachi bands, impromptu singing and dancing, and traditional tamale making, punctuated by solemn services in La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcangel – the city’s stunning religious centrepiece –  as well as the smaller churches around town.

 

Night descends, and we break away from the celebrations for a couple of margaritas and fish tacos. We walk back to our casita by way of Cuna de Allende that takes us past the jardin and La Parroquia. The jardin is silent, except for the beautiful, haunting chant emanating from church. A lone man wearing a tall sombrero and a colourful poncho, astride a small black donkey, stands on the steps and we join him, waiting and listening. The music ends, the priest says some closing remarks, and the spell is broken. Families make their way out of the church and into the square where the frivolity resumes.

I don’t need an inflatable candle to lighten my spirits. I feel the sprit of La Candelaria, and the people of San Miguel.