You knew it had to come, didn't you.
For many years the Jubilados lived in the country, with no neighbors in sight. At Christmas they cut down a tree in the woods and hung it with homemade ornaments on Christmas Eve. The smell of clove-spiked oranges and apples wafted from the wood stove.
When they moved to a small town 12 years ago, they were astounded to see the blow-up Santas and Frosties, the lit-up dancing twig deer, the icicles hanging from porches; to hear country carols blasting from loudspeakers in town; to smell the crystal meth wafting from certain establishments. Oops, I went a little too far there. All this started before Thanksgiving and didn't disappear until well nigh Easter. The Js took to pretending they were judíos or musulmanes in their unlit-up house on the corner.
Christmas in Querétaro is a big deal too, but in a different way. Most of the decorations in the Centro histórico are in public places, and crowds gather from all over to wander through the plazas and parques and jardines and andadores, soaking up the spirit.
Below is a (partial) view of the Plaza de Armas, a block away from our house.
At night. It is a clean, well-lighted place.
The tree inside the Palacio de Gobierno, which is at one end of the Plaza.
The creche underneath the tree in the Palacio, which would draw howls of protest from the ACLU (we're members) if it were done in the US.
Coming up, the Jardín Zenea.
No comments:
Post a Comment