Guanajuato is dope. I’m not sure quite else how to explain it. From Leon the drive was less than forty minutes. We went back on our word, forked out the thirty pesos to drive on the cuota and enjoyed the easy ride at 110 km/hour. No longer was the countryside flat and repetitive like the desert of the north or flat farmland of Aguascalientes. Here were the rolling green hills of Guanajuato, speckled by adobe houses with thatch or tiled roofs. A deep blue dusk approached and grey smoke leaked out of fire places as the road became more thickly populated.

Families were keeping warm, unwinding, laughing, arguing. We drove by the central de camiones, the bus station, then up and down a hill, speeding along the tight curves, eager to get into the main city center. And then there is Guanajuato’s distinct welcome, it’s famous underground tunnels winding every which way underneath the city. My first stay in Guanajuato four months earlier, I had been in the city three days without realizing that the tunnels even existed.

Guanajuato is a place I would like to live. It’s home to one of the world’s largest international festivals - Festival Cervantino - it’s a small college town, feels like a pueblito, and yet has the flavor of cosmopolitan. The streets are cobblestoned, the faces are relaxed and smiling, the plazas smell of flowers, the market of cilantro. In Zacatecas Laura kept nudging me, reminding me how beatiful and easy going it is, what a great place to live she would say. And I agree - Zacatecas is by far the star of the north.

‘But wait until we get to Guanajuato’ I kept saying. I had first visited Guanajuato in early September of 2003. The excuse was I had to talk to the staff of the Office for Mexicans Living Abroad for a research project I was doing under CCIS but in all honesty, I also desperately needed a break from the small-towness and chisme of Acambaro where the project was based.

We spent nearly the entire first night looking for an affordable place to stay. I wanted to stay at Casa Kloster, one of the few bonafide hostels in Guanajuato. Laura didn’t like the idea of staying in a dormitory with other people and was sure we’d be able to find a small room for the two of us for under the two hundred pesos that Casa Kloster was going to charge. Up and down the narrow callejones and steep stone steps of Guanajuato we went. It was starting to sprinkle and our shadows danced under the damp yellow light from the street lamps. You could just barely see the tiny rain drops under the light, could just barely feel the dampness as you ran your fingers through your hair.

A wrinkled abuelita offered us the floor of her basement, but told us to come back later while she negotiated how much she would charge us with her son. Finally, after walking throughout the entire town we settled on Casa Kloster. And we got lucky. A group of teachers that were supposed to return from San Miguel de Allende never showed up so we got a room to ourselves with our own balcony and fell asleep listening to the rain as it gathered strength.

The next morning the streets and alleyways were dry. The sky was steel grey and a sharp breeze would blow from time to time, but the town had a buzz about it. Everyone was heading this way and that, heads high, scarves around their necks. We grabbed a couple mantecados from a panaderia I had been raving about and brought them to a coffee bar near the university where they roaster their own beans from Vera Cruz.

We spent the day doing the things that tourists do while in Guanajuato. La Casa de Diego Riviera, El Mercado, El Callejon del Beso, a narrow alleyway where legend says a young couple would meet in secret each night in their respective balconies, stretching across the alleyway with their lips to kiss, and of course El Museo de las Momias, or “Mummies,” for which Guanajuato is so well known.