Aguascalientes, maybe the most beautiful of all Mexican cities?

Spending a week in one of Mexico's old colonial cities and being paid to do so is nothing to sneer at, especially if your hotel and all your meals are paid for as well, plus of course the airfare. How much better could it be? The last week has been an exercise in satisfaction, both professionally as well as from the view of someone who is privileged to travel the world.

Aguascalientes teems with artwork

It was back in January of 2013 (more than six years ago!) that I had first visited Aguascalientes, also on behalf of the cycling authorities. During that trip I had spent almost all of my entire waking hours in the city's velodrome, and in my blog entry, which I just reread, I had bemoaned the fact that there was no time to get acquainted with the city. (http://misterjurgen.blogspot.com/2013/01/la-calavera-catrina-mascot-of.html) This time around things were different: There was still a lot of work, but there were also periods that allowed me to get a much, much better idea of Aguascalientes' charmes. Believe me, there are many.

An old fellow selling palettas is never far away in Mexico

My old friend Michael Drolet from Canada was PCP for this event

The cross-country course was at El Ocote, about 40 kilometers outside of town

The occasion for my trip was the 2019 American Mountain Bike Continental Championships, or, as they are often referred to, the Pan-American Championships. I arrived a day earlier than my colleague Carol, from Brazil, who had also been assigned to this event, and before and after my official appearance at the Team Managers Meeting I was free to explore the surroundings of the centrally located Hotel Real Plaza, just a few blocks from the city's main square with its cathedral and the governor's palace.

The area around the cathedral is one big art exposition

It sure was nice to be in the middle of town. Just hours before my arrival at AGU the organizer had informed me of a change in the original hotel plan and my relocation to the Hotel Troyes, some 10 K away from downtown. I am sure the organizers meant well as it was a more expensive and possibly somewhat "better" hotel in a new business area of Aguascalientes, but I protested heavily and insisted that it was imperative that Carol and I be closer to where most of the athletes were staying. And so we were put back into the Real Plaza, as originally planned, where rooms cost about $40 vs. $120 per night at the Troyes. I had a large, clean, modern room, the hotel had three fast lifts, and on the top floor there was a nice swimming pool. Nothing like an 11th floor view of the city, with at least a dozen major churches visible. Add to that outstanding breakfast buffets and tasty a-la-carte dining for lunch and dinner (when we happened to be in the hotel and not at the race), and this was a truly outstanding place to stay.

The Real Plaza's 11th-floor swimming pool

Every day we enjoyed an excellent and varied breakfast buffet

View from the pool area across town

Pineapple, papaya, watermelon--I will miss the daily helping of fruit

Being directly in the heart of the city meant that I could explore every day, at night and sometimes during some of the daylight hours, depending on the race schedule. I was totally taken with Aguascalientes' many parks and quiet neighborhoods. There are lots of trees, some of them flowering red, purple, and yellow. The main square adjacent to the Catedral and the Governor's Palace features a small forest of purple-blooming jacarandas. At the railroad museum, where the XCE (XC Eliminator) race was held on an urban course, I spotted a few grevilla robusta, a tree with filigran yellow blossoms. I had never seen this plant before.

Since these were the Pan-Americans and the location was south of the border, it was obvious that there would be some pomp and faldera during the official opening ceremony at the conclusion of the first day's race, the Team Relay. We (that is, Carol; the race's Chief Commissaire or PCP, my old Canadian friend Michael Drolet; and I) returned fairly late from the race to the Plaza Real, right around the time that the ceremony had been scheduled to start. We had been told that the Governor of the State of Aguascalientes was going to speak, and that other dignitaries would be in attendance. Michael had brought a simple change of clothes (he was put up in the Troyes) and I offered him to take a shower in my room. We didn't see any reason for a mad rush, thinking that we'd slip unnoticed into one of the back rows and be there in time for the reception that was to follow. Well, Michael took his shower first, and when I came out of the bathroom he was on the phone with somebody who appeared to be very urgent, judging from the sound and Michael's facial expression. The gist of it: They had postponed the start of the ceremony, waiting for us! We raced downstairs, started to walk, then were whisked away in a car that took us straight to the ornate Governor's Palace, and were led to our front row seats, with all eyes and many cameras directed our way! At least I wore a collared shirt (and even long pants), while Michael was in a simple t-shirt. It was hilarious. The ceremony was broadcast live, and the Governor had been held hostage by our leisurely showers!

The ceremony featured it all: A military honor guard that presented the flag, a bugle, many speeches, folkloric entertainment, more speeches, and much glad-handing by the various dignitaries on the dais. It was quite the spectacle, and I am so glad that we didn't miss it. Michael understood very little of what was being said but stood up at the right time to wave and smile at the crowd. It was something else. Since my official capacity doesn't really allow for interviews I was able to sink into the background once we were done while Michael appeared, t-shirt and all, on live TV. And thus I got a head-start on the very well-catered reception. Man, you gotta love traveling on official business in Latin America!

My Brazilian friend Carol finally gets some food!

Our liaison with the organization, Oscar (left) and Michael (right)

I won't bore you with the races themselves. Apart from the Eliminator and the Team Relay there were of course the cross country events, and a total of 14 nations participated. Especially the women's cross-country field was world-class, with the World Champion in attendance and some of the best female Pro bikers chasing her. What the event may have lacked in organization (hey, this was, after all, Mexico!) it was all made up with heart and the desire to make this the best event ever. We got to work with really fine people, even if sometimes a bit of frustration crept in when things went a bit left or right of center. Michael faced his own challenges, working with a college of Mexican commissaires most of whom spoke no English. It is in moments like that when I realize that my command of Spanish, as incomplete as it may be, is a huge asset.

"Excuse me? What are you trying to say?" A Quebecois in Mexico.

Start of the fast-paced Eliminator (XCE)

Two Mexican riders duking it out after flying down the stairs

The two venues that we used for the races, the trail out at El Ocote and the Eliminator course at the Railroad Museum in the middle of the city, were scenic and challenging. El Ocote is out in the mountains, resembling what you would find when you go across the Rio Grande in the Big Bend area. I felt immediately at home, with all the dryness, the shrubs, the cacti, the dust. In addition to the Pro races there were also amateur contests, spanning the usual age range from cadets to masters. The organizers had put a lot of effort into this event (the governor in his speech came across as extremely sports-oriented and -supportive), and from my point of view this was a successful event.

This beautiful mural greeted us in the tiny hamlet of El Ocote

"I don't care who you are--pay for parking HERE!"

Nope, we were not going to mess with her and that tooth!

But as I said, I don't want to bore you with things race-related. So, let's get back to Aguascalientes, the destination. The city, which has now grown to about a million people when the metro region is included, dates back all the way to 1575. The churches, the governor's palace, and a few other century-old buildings make it clear that this is truly a colonial city. Situated at about 4,700 feet it has a fairly gentle climate, with average winter temperatures in the low 50s/low 70s (night/day) going to summer averages of around the high 50s/high 80s. One could call that an almost ideal climate, at least in my book. Rainfall is similar to Lubbock's at about 21 inches, maybe a bit more than what we get. And I didn't hear anybody talking about dust storms, although we did have some gusty winds on a few days.

Aguascalientes has been called the cleanest city in all of Latin America, and I would not dispute that. The place is immaculate, period. Very little poverty was visible in the streets, with just a handful of beggars whom I noticed in my many miles of walking. The city is prosperous, thanks to being an agricultural and administrative center but also because of industry such as the two large Nissan plants. The fact that American Airlines and United have direct jet service from the US attests to the city's importance. Major economic impact is provided by the annual Feria Nacional de San Marcos, a three-week affair that purportedly is the largest "state fair" in all of Mexico. Man, the place has so much going for it. Check out Wikipedia and you'll see what makes it so attractive just by looking at facts, figures, and statistics.

I felt really comfortable in Aguascalientes. Of course, if I were to believe the yellow-haired clown in the White House I would have never ventured outside, especially not at night, since there are "many bad hombres" down south, as he wants us to believe. The reality is that this is a safe, friendly, cultural, and open country that welcomes us. I went to two different museums, the Museo Nacional de la Muerte and the Museo Guadalupe Posada. Both are connected in that Posada--a 19th-century engraver, lithographer, and artist--brought the Calavera de Catrina into this world, and the Catrina has become synonymous with Mexico's Day of the Dead culture, which is superbly chronicled in the Death Museum. Once again, if you want to know more about this, use Google or simply go there. I promise you will love it as much as I did. The photos below show a small assortment of exhibits in the Museo Nacional de la Muerte, starting with a family photo that includes the dead sibling, me posing with two catrinas,  all the way to a last picture of Frieda Kahlo. Truly interesting exhibits!

Lithograph depicting Zapata's execution in 1919

A successful trip, of course, has to offer more than just food for the mind: Without proper cuisine and libations it ain't gonna work. And Aguascalientes delivers on this front as well: On my first night out I discovered a cerveceria artesanal that served up some surprisingly tasty brew. I soon found myself in a Spanish conversation about hops and the brew industry and life in general with the brewmeister of Cerveceria Yambak, and he gave me a tour of the tiny brew area of this equally tiny micro-brewery. Some of the equipment was definitely homegrown, but the result spoke for itself. And thank you, my bartender friend Willie, for serving me that last Stoners Point IPA in a to-go cup on my last night!

Tiny space but big taste: Cerveceria Yambak

The cuisine in Aguascalientes has little to do with what we get up here in Texas billed as Mexican food. The spices are different, and everything I ate has a nice, warm heat--not a biting in-your-face burn. Meals are cheap, as are drinks such as mezcal or tequila, which are served with generous portions of free appetizers. On Sunday afternoon I sat in a nice restaurant on the second floor, overlooking the Plaza de San Marcos, with live music playing and not a gringo in sight; my two excellent margaritas came with altogether seven (!!!) appetizer plates, and at the end I paid, including a nice tip, $10 for this feast! My forays to a tiny bar around the corner from the Real Plaza cost me $5 for two glasses of mezcal (each containing probably three shots) and three or four appetizers, including a small propina, or tip. Your dollars will go far down here.

Buy a $3.50 margarita and get all of the above food for free. Then repeat with second margarita.

The last item I want to talk about is a bit controversial, and if you're an animal lover, eat a vegan diet, are blood-shy, or something like that, just don't go on reading. You won't miss anything, just my description of bullfighting in the Mexican tradition. But if you think you can stomach the thought of the--at least on the surface--totally superfluous torturing and killing of an animal, please continue.

Bullfighting is one of Aguascalientes' most prominent tradition, 
with even a mausoleum dedicated to toreros

On Sunday afternoon, I joined a crowd of several thousand who shelled out $6.50 to sit in the Plaza de Toros San Marcos to witness the day's corrida de toros; had I bought my ticket earlier, I would have spent about twice that much and I would have been on the shady side of the arena, but all those seats were sold out when I got there, so I sat and sweated with the plebes. Punctually, at 6 p.m. on the dot, the spectacle began, with a bugle sounding after the band had entertained us for about 20 minutes already. (The band, and also the uniforms of some of the hands that prepped and later tidied up the arena, reminded me of what one would encounter in a traditional traveling circus.) As an aside, even a sport as steeped in tradition as bullfighting has been infiltrated by outside sponsorship, as evidenced by the prominently parked BMW in the arena.

Warning: It's still time for you to stop scrolling on to avoid some maybe disturbing images!

Upon the sound of the bugle, 12 castanette-clasping beauties in traditional dress entered the dirt arena and performed various dances. The thought came to my mind that they were the equivalent of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, getting the masses going. Unfortunately, this was the first and last we saw of these lovely ladies.

Shortly after their exit the trumpet once again sounded, and a paige appeared, holding over his head a large sign that told us the name of the first bull, its providence, and its weight. (For the evening, the latter ranged from a low of about 380 kilos to a high of 485 kilos; incidentally, the lightest bull was also the best-fighting, toughest of all seven.) Protocol now reigned: The paige leaves, and a gate is opened, and out storming comes bull #1. The arena is empty save for several bandilleros who with their capes taunt the bull but wisely duck behind the protective wooden shields that are in place all around the circular arena. In short order, the matador appears and, other than the bandilleros who appear to be like matador apprentices, he doesn't sissy out but faces the bull and uses his capa to show his grit by making the bull pass very closely by his body. At this point, there are no weapons and no blood--the bull simply gets riled up and stomps here and there and slobbers from the mouth, snorting at times.

After maybe five or six minutes of this two picadores on heavily padded and blindfolded horses enter the arena. The bandilleros make sure that this entry is safe, as obviously the gate to the arena has to be opened. So, the bull is on one side of the plaza, the picadores enter on the other side, and before long the pissed-off bull notices the horses and their mounts, guided by the bandilleros' helpful cape-swinging. Once the bull has smelled the horse and the rider he will charge, and that is a sight to behold: 900 pounds of horned muscle hitting the side of the padded horses is almost enough to topple horse and picador. But of course, the picadores are not stupid and stay close to the arena's outside wall so that they can be somewhat lifted but not thrown over. The picador who is being targeted by the bull will at the moment of attack stab the bull with a lance that has a fairly short end; it is meant to not go deep but to make the bull bleed and get really mad.

After twisting and digging his lance into the bull's back, the picador will retreat and leave the arena, under much applause. It is now up to the bandilleros to inflict more pain on the bull by using sharp,  hooked sticks that they will skillfully stab into the bull's upper neck area. To me it appeared that placing these nasty things farther behind was met with more applause since it showed more skill on the part of the bandillero. Altogether, six such bandilleras are placed; on occasion one will glance off and fall to the ground. They are not replaced, almost as if they were testimony to the lack of skill of one or more of the bandilleros.

All this draws more blood. By now, the bull shows signs of distress, it's tongue starting to hang out and the breathing becoming more belabored. You can see the flanks in rapid motion as the animal is trying to get more oxygen, and this is also the point when the bull starts to piss itself. Pretty sad, really. But so far the animal is not down and out, because as now the matador reenters the arena the bull trains its full attention on this new menace. The matador will use a smaller cape to entice the bull to pass close to him. It's a very delicate pas-de-deux, very ballet like. It is obvious that, at any moment, the human has to be ready to evade a quick movement by the bull and its deadly horns. The closer the matador makes the bull pass, the more excited the crowd becomes. Shouts of ole and other encouragements that I didn't understand ring out; if the matador is especially skillful, the band will start playing while he toys with the bull, following one close pass with another one, still closer, and so on.

And then it is time for the kill. By now the matador will have apprised the animal and its character and strategy and take a stance in front of the bull that will allow him to sink his sword into a tiny area between the shoulder blades that will perforate the aorta or heart and kill the animal almost instantly. Well, that's at least the theory. I saw seven bulls getting killed, and not a single one just plopped down. In some instances the sword glanced off or was inserted only half-way, and even in the two or three cases where the first attempt sank the sword all the way to the hilt into the body of the bull, it took several minutes until the animal sank to its knees. Once it's on the ground, one of the banderillos will put the animal out of its misery with a dagger placed into the neck behind the horns. Gruesome indeed.

Two helpers then come out to place a chain around the dead bull's horns and a team of big draft horses will drag the bloodied carcass out of the arena, which will then be cleaned and prepared for the next fight. Depending on how good the matador was, he will prance around some to accept the adorations and adulations of the crowd. At the end of the evening's last fight (around 9 p.m.), the last matador (there were several different ones) was given a standing ovation for what appeared even to me a corrida that was a notch or two above the others. I couldn't help but admire this young man's poise, concentration, and grace in his movements. I can only compare him to a well-trained ballet dancer, with a body as tight as a bow that's just about to be released. There was obvious respect for the animal--to me it never seemed like senseless butchering but rather the inevitable outcome of a tradition that goes back many centuries. Who am I to judge whether this is cruel, inhumane, unfair, or whatever else one would apply from our cultural perspective? I witnessed something that filled me with curiosity as to the background and protocol, but it did not excite me or make me want to attend a corrida anytime soon again. But I am glad that I went, and I am glad that I had a chance to visit Aguascalientes.

And thus comes to an end a long blogpost that I worked on for several days. If you made it this far, well, I hope you found the reading and the images interesting and insightful. If travel teaches us anything, it is that not everyone lives and acts the same way we do. Travel can teach us not only mutual respect but also to value and see our own behaviors in a different context. I feel privileged to be given these opportunities to learn.

Jürgen