Guanajuato: A Song for the Soul
By a Musician on the Road
There are places in the world that don't just greet you—they embrace you. Guanajuato is one of those places. It is not merely visited; it is lived in technicolor.
This morning began not with alarm clocks or phone alerts, but with the rhythm of zapateado. My host, Sol, a brilliant and generous artist, welcomed me into her home, followed by a short lesson in Son Jarocho and traditional footwork. We moved across the floorboards like old friends—our feet carving poetry into wood. The air smelled of cacao and cinnamon, the kind that doesn't come from a packet, but from beans roasted, peeled, and ground by hand into a steaming, velvet paste. She served it alongside eggs and black beans, seasoned by sunlight and laughter.
I'm here to teach voice at a rural school called Resplendor, just 20 minutes from the city, yet it feels like a different world. The school’s wide-open campus spills across the countryside with an unpretentious grace. It’s a sanctuary built not with excess, but with ingenuity. Wooden beams, repurposed bricks, bright murals painted by children. Everything pulses with intention.
Resplendor is more than a school—it is a living, breathing ecosystem. Children learn about animal husbandry and environmental stewardship in one hour and then dive into music, painting, or digital literacy in the next. Anyone from the community can check out books from the library. Teens come to use the computers for homework. It is self-sufficiency made beautiful. Purposeful. Joyous.
This week, I’m joined by Estella, a guitarist from the Latinx Choral Project, and a fine arts professor from New York whose eyes fill with wonder every time a child shows him a drawing. Together, we’re here not to impose knowledge but to share it—to sing and be sung back to.
We ended our day winding through Guanajuato’s famed tunnels—centuries-old veins of stone and shadow—until we spilled into the town’s vibrant heart. The buildings stand shoulder to shoulder in hues of coral, turquoise, mustard, and magenta, each one a verse in a greater song.
At dusk, we stood in line with locals at a beloved eatery with a one-item menu: enchiladas, with or without chicken. No substitutions. No need. The flavors spoke for themselves.
We sipped delicate herbal teas in a bohemian teahouse, where the walls were lined with board games and the tables were filled with laughter. We played Scrabble in Spanish. Our conversation danced—full of witty barbs, gentle teasing, and soulful reflections—between my host, Sol, and her circle of friends. These women are scholars, and professionals. Each one is brilliant. Each one is kind. I felt less like a guest and more like a puzzle piece returning to its rightful place.
As twilight deepened, we strolled through narrow alleys, the scent of lime and stone in the air. A kindly gentleman with a sparkle in his eye shared Mexican dichos—proverbs and folk sayings—printed on handmade bookmarks. I bought several, not just for the words, but for the warmth behind them.
There are little bookstores everywhere. Bookstores are like chapels. Like altars to thought. Guanajuato reads. Guanajuato remembers.
This place sings something ancient within me. Not just the musician, not just the teacher—but the wanderer, the learner, the seeker of quiet truths in unfamiliar corners. Here, nothing is wasted. Everything becomes part of something.
Maybe that’s the real magic of Guanajuato: it reminds you that you can be part of something again. That you already are.
Tomorrow we teach.
But tonight, I dream in color. In verses. In cacao, love, and light.