Guanajuato, Mexico: Finding old Europe south of the border

GUANAJUATO, Mexico — Stacked along the hillsides and tucked into cobbled alleyways too narrow for cars, the houses look like blocks painted by a child who had a hard time deciding among hot pink, orange and bright purple.

Strolling musicians serenade couples lounging at sidewalk cafes ringing shady plazas. Dogs bark. Church bells ring. The air smells of grilled meats and cappuccino.

Spain, Italy, France? It would be easy to mistake this university town in the mountains of Central Mexico for a medieval city in Europe.

Substitute the easy-on-the-wallet peso for the pricey euro, and nearly year-round springlike weather, and you've got a bargain travel destination where the U.S. dollar still buys more.

This isn't beach-and-margaritas Mexico. The ocean's an eight-hour drive away. There are tourists here but, unlike nearby San Miguel de Allende, a town popular with expat Americans, Guanajuato attracts mostly students and Mexican travelers who come to enjoy the mountain air, browse the museums and art galleries and get lost exploring a maze of pedestrian passageways.

Part of what's called the Bajío or heartland of Mexico, Guanajuato, the capital of the state by the same name, is in the high desert mountains (6,700 feet), 225 miles northwest of Mexico City.

Guanajuato became Mexico's most prominent silver-mining city after the Spanish colonized the area in the 1500s. They built stately mansions and churches, and following the War of Independence against the Spanish in the early 1800s, the Mexican president enlisted French architects to design elaborate parks and gardens. But it's the streets, or rather lack of them, that make Guanajuato unique among Mexico's colonial cities.

The historical town center lies at the base of a maze of more than 600 "callejónes" or alleys that wind around steep hillsides above a bowl-shaped valley.

With the exception of four small one-way streets above ground, traffic flows underground through a series of tunnels, like subways, only for cars — some dug originally to control flooding; others more recently to alleviate traffic.

A bank on a nearby corner is as close as the taxi driver could get me to La Casa de Doña Ana, where I planned to stay for four nights. Mike Anderson, who runs the B&B with his wife, Ana, met me, and we walked uphill several hundred feet on Callejón Calixto, an alleyway probably no more than 10 feet wide, to the 200-year-old house the couple has restored.

Surrounding an open courtyard were rooms with heavy wooden doors and exposed brick and wood-beamed ceilings. A small grotto beneath a fountain in the patio led to the oldest part of the house, an underground reservoir where residents used to collect rainwater for their daily use.

Today, the Andersons and their neighbors have plenty of running water, but living in a passageway presents modern challenges.

Take the delivery of bottled gas, which everyone uses to heat their water. I woke up around 7 a.m. my first morning to the sound of a man outside yelling, "Gas! Gas!" Trucks pull up to the curbsides with fresh supplies. Then men run up the alleys delivering the 120-pound tanks to whomever has run out.

"Everything here has to be carried," said Ana. That goes for groceries or gas.

Stolen kisses

"Guanajuato is full of stories," says Mike Anderson, "most of them having to do with the old buildings that have had legends built up around them."

One has to do with the Callejon del Beso, the "Alley of the Kiss," around the corner from La Casa de Doña Ana, near the Plazuela de los Ángeles.

This alley is so narrow, the balconies of the houses on either side practically touch. Legend has it that a woman named Doña Ana, the daughter of a wealthy silver baron who lived on the street, fell in love with a poor miner. They were forbidden to see each other, so the miner rented a room opposite. There they stole kisses (besos) from opposing balconies.

"Ana's father, in a rage, plunged his dagger into his daughter's breast, killing her instantly," writes local author William Conaway in his book "Walking Mexico's Colonial Heartland."

Couples who kiss while standing on the third stair are said to be guaranteed seven years of happiness.

I didn't bring anyone along on this trip to kiss, so leaving my room my first morning here, I decided to walk to a monument on top of the town called El Pípila, where a huge statue honors former miner and local war hero Juan Jose de los Reyes Martinez.

Surprisingly, it took only about five minutes to reach a viewpoint that appeared to be about half-an-hour's walk away. For those affected by the high altitude, there's a funicular that takes about five minutes to reach the top. I rode it down and ended up at the edge of the Jardín de la Unión, the town square, ringed with outdoor restaurants and shaded by thick laurel trees.

The museums here are exquisite, and there are several worth a visit, including one devoted to Don Quixote, the Spanish literary hero in Cervantes' "Man of La Mancha." There's a house museum dedicated to the artist Diego Rivera, who was born in Guanajuato, and the Peoples Museum, where colonial-era religious art is displayed inside a 16th-century residence.

Pleasant surprises

The best part about wandering around compact Guanajuato, however, is the surprise discoveries that reflect the city's appeal to a mix of students, young professionals and families.

The historical center is a UNESCO World Heritage site, meaning no neon signs or traffic lights and, so far, no Starbucks. Instead there are Italian wine bars, French bistros and cozy hole-in-the-wall spots such as Cafe Conquistador a few steps away from the Rivera museum, where an icy Frappuccino with chocolate and whipped cream costs about $2.

On weekends, the French-styled Teatro Juárez morphs from an elegant symphony hall into a town gathering spot when crowds gather on the steps to munch on ears of roasted corn, watch mimes and listen to strolling mariachis.

Taking street theater to new highs are the callejoneadas, competing groups of musicians dressed in traditional costumes who lead visitors through the alleyways on nighttime singing, dancing and drinking tours.

With my B&B hosts, Mike and Ana, I joined Los Gordos de Verde — The Fat Men in Green — an 11-man group of minstrels in black tunics with green sashes, knickers and patent-leather shoes. They gathered a crowd of about 60 that instantly swelled to more than 100 once they started singing a round of "Cielito Lindo" (Aye, aye, aye, aye. Canta y no llores ... ).

A $9 ticket includes a ceramic flask filled with wine or, in our case, orange juice spiked with vodka. Like most everything in Guanajuato, an evening with the callejoneadas is great family fun. Kids join in, occasionally sharing a sip from their parents' flasks. The neighbors didn't seem to mind. Several stepped out on their balconies to sing along.

Mummy mania

Worth a side trip out of town are nearby ceramics villages and the old Valenciana mine, still producing silver and gold. But the most unusual excursion has to be a trip to the Museo de las Momias — the Mummy Museum — at the public cemetery, a 10-minute taxi ride from town.

Fifty-eight corpses are on display, just a few of hundreds that have been exhumed from the public cemetery since the mid-1800s. Many, but not all, were found well-preserved with lifelike forms and facial expressions.

Explanations are vague, but the theory is that mineral deposits in the water (the bodies were taken from vaults built into walls, one on top of the other, rather than from underground) and the tendency of some materials to absorb humidity from the atmosphere caused the mummification.

The first mummies were discovered when corpses were removed to make room for new ones. Cemetery space is at a premium, and if an annual upkeep charge isn't paid by a friend or relative, bodies are exhumed after five years to make room for new ones.

It's all a little gruesome, especially the display of mummified babies, but Mexicans come from all over to see this museum. It's by far the most crowded in Guanajuato, and also the most expensive. Admission is $5.

Carol Pucci: 206-464-3701 or cpucci@seattletimes.com