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| SAN MIGUEL REMEMBERED |
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It was never clear to me as to whether I discovered San Miguel or San Miguel discovered me. That dilemma has played havoc with my mind over a period of 20 years. Each person who resides in San Miguel often has an original narrative as to how they discovered this colonial Mexican town. Twenty years ago, I had been invited to San Miguel by an artist friend of mine. My first impression of San Miguel was because of the mirador or lookout point on the Salida a Queretaro. From this vantage point, one can view the town from above which appeared to be like a misty landscape in a Breugal painting. Multicoloured houses, domed and minaretted cathedrals, twisted cobblestone street, lavender-blossomed jacaranda trees all seemed to melt into the diffused light of the landscape. Lakes, fields and mountains seemed to slip off the horizon. Then and now, it is an enchanted view. My host took me to the 18th century residence of José Mojica, which had been turned into a small luxurious hotel called the Villa Santa Monica. My friend and his wife believed that the Villa Santa Monica was the quintessential location to sip Mexican margaritas before going to the Sierra Nevada Hotel on Hospicio Street to check in for my two-week stay.
Within an hour, that reservation was cancelled as I convinced myself that no hotel could possibly be more charming or delightful than Villa Santa Monica. As luck would have it, a room was procured and t’was here that my San Miguel odyssey spanning two decades began. At breakfast the next morning, I asked my waiter if I could speak to the manager of the hotel about recommending a realtor. In less than what amounted to 24 hours, never having seen any of the town, I had decided to change my domicile from downtown Toronto Cabbage Town to becoming a full-time resident of San Miguel de Allende. This decision fuelled by the knowledge of an almost psychic realization that this town was to become the stage set of my future years. I mention this with a sense of amusement because of the numbers of times I have asked residents the question, “How did you come to San Miguel?” Over the years, I’ve discovered that my instant decision to live here was neither unusual nor surprising. Dozens of people that I subsequently met could lay claim to a similar motivation. The intangible qualities of the charm of San Miguel are profoundly understood by its residents. For any people, be they tourists or residents, the palpable enchantment and beauty of this 16th century colonial town becomes ingrained in their souls.
My San Miguel house-hunting adventure was not an easy task. Above and beyond the bumpy cobblestones and the steep grades of roads up and down the mountain, rarely more than three properties could be shown in one day. In 1990, there were few realtors in the town. Quite by accident, I had made the acquaintance of San Miguel’s oldest (an octogenarian, I believe) realtor, whose name was Martha Campbell. Although I sensed this aggressive old bird was hungry for a sale, she was both too old and infirm to show me any of the houses personally. What she did was wait in the car with her driver and hand me the keys of any of the properties she presumed I was going to buy. This was unorthodox by any standards, but the reality of discovering houses by myself was not unlike a child embarking on a magical mystery tour for one. I couldn’t have enjoyed it more. What transpired after my first day of viewing properties in San Miguel was seeing the genuine disappointment in the realtor’s eyes that I had not decided on the purchase of a house, having seen only three. I admit with a sense of shame, having seen a total of 73 houses shown by multifarious agents, that I still had not decided to buy. One realtor who had become quite exhausted by my inability to make a decision or commitment with soft tears in his eyes asked me the innocent question, “What is it you are looking for?” With a whiff of sarcasm, I responded by saying, “When I see it, I’ll know it.”
As luck would have it, the 74th house seen was shown by a personal friend and not by a realtor. When the door opened at 75 Recreo and my eyes alighted upon a tumbling and tangled 300-year-old garden and a 17th century colonial multi-arched residence, my mind was made up. I might add, and this is true, that the decision to buy this property was made with my feet firmly implanted on the sidewalk outside the house. There are those people who can attest to choosing lifelong companions in a matter of seconds. This is known to all as love at first sight. This instant recognition of seeing the physical showcase for my future destiny was indeed a case of love at first sight. I recall seeing the principal house and grounds that my decision to buy the property was clear and decisive. What I had no idea about at the time was that the property was a virtual compound of houses that stretched from street to street (Recreo to Sollano) over a total of two acres. I was virtually penniless at the time and so the down payment for this house did not exist in my bank account. My mind at this time worked in fast forward and so I was able to conceptually finance the purchase of this house by deciding to sell my Toronto property and virtually all of its contents. 
“San Miguel residents, more than any other city that I’ve lived in, are all house proud. Everybody I know takes meticulous pride in their house and the improvements that are available to all of us, because of the plethora of brilliant workers and artisans.”
For almost four decades, all my creative energies were spent either figure skating on an Olympic level or painting at my easel. The scenario of coming to Mexico alone and buying a piece of real estate by myself would have been unthinkable, yet this is what I did. In retrospect, it probably was the only brilliantly clever thing I have ever done in my life. The securing of my San Miguel property was a painstaking process that took over a year before I was able to call the property my own. A terrifying detail of the purchase negotiations was that even after a year I still did not have all the money for the purchase. A Torontonian lawyer was stunned by the fact that I had paid what amounted to 80% of the asking price (in the hundreds of thousands of dollars), yet I had no documentation or receipt of payment. The thought that the vendors might have run away with all my money and professed never to have met me did indeed cross my mind. On a purely intellectual level, I made a pact with myself that if this were to be the case, I would have no alternative but to commit suicide in the most painless way I could think of. In the act of buying this Mexican property, I sensed that I was like a run-away race car careening down the highway without a driver. The miracle of it all, as it turned out, was that miraculously the car stayed on the road without incident. One of the most crucially important elements of property transaction is that unless you have your name on the escritura or deed, you don’t own anything, regardless of how much money has been recorded in the negotiation. After a year’s time, I was in residence in my new house, but I did not have my name on the official escritura. One day, I marched down the street to the legal offices of San Miguel’s most famous and feared lawyer. He clearly understood the nature of my concern and suggested to me in a matter-of-fact way, “Look, Mr. Cranston, if anybody scales the wall to take possession of your property, either phone the police or shoot them.” Truly, this is not what I wanted to hear. Against all odds and many financial and technical problems, I eventually took full possession of my property. The size of the property and numbers of buildings was daunting to me as the onus was clearly upon my shoulders to maintain the property. This became an even more frightening reality as my principal residence and career lay 4,000 miles to the north in Toronto, Canada. All is well that ends well and over a period of what now amounts to 18 years, the property was paid for, maintained and honed without incident.
Over time, there was never any doubt in my mind that I had made the right decision. Any property or house that cannot be creatively improved is a house that an enlightened owner would realize that it was time to sell. My property in San Miguel without a doubt became the most creative and challenging project of my life. A creative direction that I adhered to over a period of 20 years was the concern of changing my home so dramatically that I could destroy the very charm and essence of the house that had induced me to buy it in the first place. My downtown Toronto residence had 6,000 square feet of living space but virtually no garden. The understanding of living on a property with an immense garden with a growing season of 365 days a year was entirely new to me. The reality of living in a garden for me is a major advantage to improving one’s lifestyle and spirituality. The joy and pleasure of living in San Miguel has a great deal to do with the indoor-outdoor lifestyle that we enjoy.
San Miguel residents, more than any other city that I’ve lived in, are all house proud. Everybody I know takes meticulous pride in their house and the improvements that are available to all of us, because of the plethora of brilliant workers and artisans.
The 18 years of my life have passed very quickly. The habitual and ongoing process of rehabilitating my property is a process that seemingly never ends. I can’t help but wonder how my home has undergone so many artistic and architectural changes. Everything has been achieved, shall we say, with piecemeal economic resources. I am convinced that the most unique and original environments are ultimately achieved, fuelled by a lack of money. The upside of poverty is the fact that creative concepts can be intellectually distilled over time and therefore creative mistakes are less likely to occur. A neighbour of mine once paid for a luxurious garden to be planted in his new home in a matter of weeks. The quality of a painting or a garden is always measured by the personal time and love of the creator that is put into it. My home in San Miguel has been the most pleasant residence I have ever lived in. The fact that I reside in this home situated in one of the world’s most remarkable locations contributes in a major way to the years of enchantment that I have experienced. Sometimes, I ask tourists the question, “What’s not to like about San Miguel de Allende?” I always preempt them and answer the question before they can formulate an answer. My answer is, “Absolutely nothing.” 
