Spring Festivals Around the World: Sakura, Holi, Semana Santa and More

From Japan’s cherry blossom hanami to India’s colorful Holi and Spain’s heart-pounding San Fermín, discover spring festivals that celebrate renewal, connection and pure joy. 

Spring is the season that grabs you by the hand and pulls you outside, whispering, “Wake up, the world’s alive again!” It’s when the earth shrugs off winter’s weight, and people respond with festivals that feel like love letters to life itself. 

Some of the most enduring spring traditions come from rituals that have been blooming for centuries. The celebration of Ostara at the spring equinox draws inspiration from an ancient Anglo-Saxon festival said to honor the goddess Eostre. This, in turn, influenced early Christians, who created Easter, and is a large part of why we have the Easter Bunny today.  

Spring festivals are raw, messy, beautiful collisions of culture, memory and the kind of joy that makes your chest ache. Let’s wander through a few corners of the globe, from Japan’s petal-dusted picnics to the pulse-pounding streets of Pamplona, each festival a one-of-a-kind story that’ll stick with you long after the season fades.

1. Japan: Sakura Whispers and Stolen Moments

In Japan, spring arrives like a secret shared between friends: the cherry blossoms, known as sakura, bloom in a hush of pink, turning every park and riverside into a fleeting masterpiece. (It’s a perfect counterpart to koyo, the changing colors of leaves in the fall.)

I’ll never forget my first hanami — the custom of gathering to enjoy the beauty of cherry blossoms — in a tiny Osaka park, sprawled on a blanket with strangers who offered me homemade onigiri (rice balls or triangles) and a sip of plum wine. We didn’t need words; the petals drifting down said it all. Sakura isn’t just about the gorgeousness of nature — it’s a gut-punch reminder that nothing lasts forever, so you’d better soak it up. Families, lovers, old friends — they all come together, laughing over sake or staring quietly at the trees, each person wrestling with their own thoughts about time. It’s less a festival and more a moment where the world holds its breath.

2. Spain: San Fermín’s Roar and Reckless Courage

Half a world away, Pamplona, Spain turns spring’s energy into something primal. The San Fermín Festival, brewing through spring and erupting in July, is a beast of a celebration. Picture narrow streets, the air electric with nerves, and the thunder of bulls charging behind runners who are equal parts terrified and exhilarated. 

I stood on a rickety balcony once, clutching a sangria, watching the encierro unfold below: runners tripping, laughing, living on the edge of chaos. It’s the ultimate thrill, sure, but it’s also a nod to history, to Saint Fermín (the patron saint of Pamplona, who was beheaded for his Christian faith), to the days when humans and nature stared each other down. The whole city erupts in a burst of music, dance and sweat-soaked joy. 

If you’re crazy enough to go, keep Flight Refunder in your back pocket — they’ll help you reclaim cash if a canceled flight threatens to derail your adventure.

3. India: Holi’s Explosion of Color and Connection

In India, spring crashes in with Holi, a festival that’s like diving headfirst into a kaleidoscope. I was in a dusty Rajasthan village once, my clothes soaked, my face smeared with turquoise and magenta powder, dancing with a crowd of strangers to a drumbeat that shook the ground. 

Holi is about flinging colors, but it’s also a time to tear down walls — between people, and between the past and present. The story of Krishna — a beloved Hindu god known for his playful spirit — and his soulmate Radha runs through the heart of Holi. Their legendary love, full of laughter and mischief, is echoed in every handful of gulal, the brightly colored powder that revelers throw into the air (and, inevitably, onto other people). 

At Holi, it’s impossible to just be a bystander; you’re part of the chaos, laughing until your sides hurt, feeling like the world could be this free, this kind, every day. It’s the kind of messy joy that stains your skin and your soul.

4. Mexico: Semana Santa’s Soulful Dance of Faith

Mexico’s Semana Santa is spring at its most heartfelt. Holy Week turns towns into theaters of devotion, with processions that weave through streets blanketed in flower petals and sawdust art. 

I wandered San Miguel de Allende one April, caught in a crowd following a statue of the Virgin Mary, her face serene under a crown of roses. The air was heavy with incense, marigolds and the soft hum of prayers. 

Every town does it differently — some with mournful silence, others with bursts of brass bands — but it’s all so alive, blending Catholic roots with ancient Mexican spirit. You feel it in your bones: This is more than religion; it’s about a community stitching itself together, step by sacred step.

5. France: The Soft Spring Embrace of Easter in Provence

Then there’s Provence, France, where spring feels like a warm breeze. Easter here is less about grand spectacles and more about the small, perfect moments: a village square strung with lights, a market stall piled high with crusty baguettes and jars of lavender honey. 

I spent one Easter in Gordes, a storybook hilltop village of stone houses and winding lanes in Provence, nibbling on almond-studded nougat while a parade of kids in flower crowns skipped by. The hills were just starting to green, the air sharp with herbs and promise. Provence’s festivals are simple, soulful and so generous with their beauty. You leave feeling like you’ve been let in on a secret about how to live well.

The Joy, Chaos and Charm of Spring Festivals

Spring festivals are the world’s way of saying, “Hey, we’re all in this together.” Whether it’s Japan’s quiet awe under cherry blossoms, Spain’s reckless sprint through Pamplona’s streets, or India’s color-soaked chaos, these moments are where humanity shines — flawed, vibrant and so damn alive. Traveling to them is like chasing sparks, each one lighting up a piece of who you are. –Erik Ilin

Chapultepec Castle’s National History Museum in Mexico City

Perched atop the Hill of the Grasshopper, Chapultepec Castle is the only royal residence in North America. From its imperial past to the revolutionary murals inside, here’s why this must-visit landmark in Chapultepec Park is worth the climb.

Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) by Eduardo Solares Gutiérrez, 1933

They say the third time’s a charm, and on our latest (and yes, third) trip to Mexico City, Wally and I finally made it to the Castillo de Chapultepec (Chapultepec Castle). 

Perched atop the summit of Cerro del Chapulín (Hill of the Grasshopper) in the first section of the vast Bosque de Chapultepec (Chapultepec Forest), this historic site and local landmark is the only castle in North America to have served as a royal residence. It was home to Emperor Maximilian I and Empress Charlotte, the ill-fated rulers of the short-lived Second Mexican Empire — but more on that later. 

“Perched atop the summit of the Hill of the Grasshopper, this historic site is the only castle in North America to have served as a royal residence. ”

Chapultepec itself is one of the oldest and largest public parks in Latin America. Dating back to the pre-Hispanic era and officially designated as a public space in the 16th century, the park underwent major renovations in 1910 to commemorate Mexico’s independence centennial. Today, it spans approximately 2,100 acres — more than twice the size of New York City’s Central Park, one of the largest urban parks in the world. 

Detail of the right half of the mural La Dictadura y La Represión (Dictatorship and Repression) by Juan O'Gorman — a visual commentary on the transgressions of President Díaz

On our previous visit, we spent hours exploring the first floor of the incredible Museo Nacional de Antropología (National Museum of Anthropology), captivated by its collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts from civilizations like the Aztecs and Maya. 

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The park is divided into four sections, from historic landmarks to vast green spaces. It’s home to nine major museums covering a wide range of subjects, along with monuments, gardens and countless other fascinating sights. And so far, we’ve barely scratched the surface of Section One. 

Its name comes from the Nahuatl word chapoltepēc, meaning “Hill of the Grasshopper.” But why a grasshopper? The area may have once been full of them, but in Mesoamerican cultures, the insect also symbolized prosperity and good fortune. 

Sarao en un jardin de Chapultepec (Festive Gathering in a Garden at Chapultepec) is a handpainted biombo, or folding screen, from around 1780-1790. It depicts a sarao, a lively social gathering featuring music and dancing that played a key role in courtly and aristocratic life.

Visiting Chapultepec Castle

For this trip, we once again stayed in Colonia Condesa, a charming neighborhood that borders Chapultepec. After breakfast, we set off toward the castle, and about 25 minutes later, we were following one of the pathways leading into the park. Since it was still early morning, the vendors were just beginning to set up. 

Wally and I stopped by the Old Guard House, a brick building situated at the base of the hill, to verify our tickets with an attendant, which Wally had purchased online the night before. 

You’ll know you’ve arrived at the right place when you see the Old Guard House, located at the base of the entrance leading to Chapultepec Castle.

Note: If you’re carrying bottled water or snacks like we were, be sure to pay for a locker as well. We didn’t realize that food and drink were prohibited inside the castle grounds — and were told at the security checkpoint that we needed to finish or rent a locker to store them.

The morning we visited, we got the full experience — a busload of kids arrived at the same time we did, their chaperones struggling to keep them from running and yelling as they excitedly scattered across the path ahead of us. Fortunately, we managed to get ahead of the group and for the most part avoided them once we reached the top. 

We hurried past the schoolchildren walking up the hill — and mostly avoided them while exploring the castle.

As we continued our ascent to the top, where the castle is located, we passed a bronze statue of José María Morelos y Pavón, created by Spanish sculptor Ángel Tarrach. Morelos, a Catholic priest and revolutionary leader during Mexico’s War of Independence, was ultimately captured by the Spanish army, tried by the Inquisition, and executed by firing squad for treason. Despite his fate, he’s remembered as a champion of the people — a brilliant military strategist and a tireless advocate for a more just society. 

A bronze statue of José María Morelos y Pavón, a priest and revolutionary leader, by Ángel Tarrac

Since there’s nowhere to buy tickets at the top of the hill, it’s essential to get them online or at the guard house before making the climb. The security checkpoint at the base of the hill won’t ask for them, but the attendants at the castle gate will. If you forget, you’ll have to trek all the way back down — and trust me, that steep uphill climb is tough enough the first time, especially if you’re still acclimating to Mexico City’s altitude. After all, Chapultepec Castle is located at a height of 7,628 feet (2,325 meters) above sea level. 

Two structures stand atop the Hill of the Grasshopper: to the east, Chapultepec Castle — also known as the Alcázar (Royal Palace) — and to the west, the Museo Nacional de Historia (National Museum of History). Housed in the same building that once served as the military academy, the museum explores nearly 500 years of Mexico’s complex history that are displayed chronologically from the 15th to the 21st century. 

Fun fact: The castle exterior was used as the Capulet mansion in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet from 1996, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. 

The façade of the castle that houses the National History Museum

A Brief History of Chapultepec Castle

Construction of what would become the castillo began in 1785 during the Spanish colonial period. Originally intended as a retreat for Spanish officials, the project was closely associated with Bernardo de Gálvez, the viceroy of New Spain, who governed the territory on behalf of the Spanish crown from 1785 to 1786. 

Before his term as viceroy, Gálvez served as the governor of Spanish Louisiana, where he played a pivotal role in the American Revolution. He led military campaigns that supported General George Washington’s troops, capturing Pensacola, the capital of British West Florida, and effectively removing British influence from the region. His legacy lives on in the place names such as Galveston, Texas, and Galvez Street in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Unfortunately, Gálvez’s service was brief. Before  he could complete the project, he died from yellow fever — known in Mexico as vomito negro because internal bleeding turned the victim’s vomit black. The estate went unfinished. By 1806, the municipal government had taken ownership of the structures, and in 1833, they were converted into the Colegio Militar, a military academy that trained young officers for the Mexican Army.

Today, the grounds are remembered as the site of the Battle of Chapultepec, a pivotal conflict of the Mexican-American War fought on September 12 and 13, 1847. The U.S. was victorious, capturing Chapultepec Castle and paving the way for the fall of Mexico City. 

It was here that six young cadets, ages 13 to 19 — known as Los Niños Héroes (The Boy Heroes) — lost their lives defending the military academy against American forces in one of the war’s final battles.

The war officially ended in 1848 with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, a humiliating agreement that forced Mexico to cede over half its territory to the United States. 

Vista de la Plaza Mayor de la Ciudad de México (View of the Zócalo of Mexico City) by Cristóbal de Villapando, 1695

Exploring the National History Museum 

As Wally and I stepped through the entrance of the museum, we were awestruck by the double staircase that rose before us. Covering the domed ceiling high above is La Intervención Norteamericana (The North American Intervention), a mural by Gabriel Flores. It depicts Juan Escutia, one of the six Niños Héroes who died defending the academy from invading U.S. forces. According to legend, Escutia leapt to his death from the academy, plunging over the steep rock face of the Hill of the Grasshopper, wrapped in the Mexican flag to prevent it and himself from falling into enemy hands.

The front staircase features the mural Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) by Eduardo Solares from 1934.

There’s another large-scale mural on the staircase, Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) painted by Eduardo Solares. This powerful piece depicts a moment from the revolution that overthrew the dictatorial regime of Porfirio Díaz. 

Cute décor idea: a tzompantli — a rack used by the Aztecs to display the skewered skulls of human sacrifices and prisoners of war

The Conquest of the Americas

We passed display cases featuring armor worn by the conquistadors and their horses, along with a small 16th century wooden sculpture of the Virgin of Valvanera. According to legend, this likeness is a “true portrait” of the Virgin Mary, carved by Saint Luke and brought to Spain by the disciples of Saint Peter.

Sacrificio de Españoles por Mexicas (Sacrifice of Spaniards by Mexicas) by Adrian Unzeta, 1898

While these were fascinating, the installation that stopped us in our tracks was a tzompantli — a rack used by the Aztecs to display the skewered skulls of human sacrifices and prisoners of war. Discovered in 1994 at Tecoaque, an archaeological site in central Mexico whose name translates to “the Place Where They Ate Them” in Nahuatl, this tzompantli is believed to have been built by the Acolhua, allies of the Aztecs. It held the skulls of a defeated Spanish-led convoy captured in 1520 — comprising conquistadors and their indigenous allies, who were ritually sacrificed and quite possibly eaten. 

This image, #1 De Español y Indio, Mestizo o Cholo (From Spaniard and Indian, Mestizo or Cholo), depicts the highest-class of the caste hierarchy imposed by the Spanish colonists.

The depiction of the lowest caste in #16 De Coyote, Mestizo y Mulata: Ahí te estás (From Coyote, Mestizo and Mulatto: There You Are) reflects the prejudices of the Spanish invaders.

The Pecking Order of New Spain

In a nearby room, a series of 18th century casta (caste) paintings hung on the wall. 

These 16 scenes depicted the colonial social hierarchy of New Spain, a system imposed by the Spanish government to classify individuals based on ancestry and racial mixing. At the top were Spaniards, both those born in Spain (peninsulares) and those born in the Americas (criollos). Below them were mestizos, people of mixed Spanish and indigenous heritage, and other mixed-race groups, followed by indigenous people and those of African descent. Though rigid in theory, this system allowed some social mobility through wealth,  marriage or official status changes. 

Juan O'Gorman was invited by Antonio Arriaga Ochoa, the director of the National Museum of History, to complete the project that had initially been commissioned by his friend, Diego Rivera, who had died three years earlier in 1957.

The STRUGGLE WAS REAL: MEXICO’S WAR of INDEPENDENCE

The Salón de Independencia (Hall of Independence) features the Retablo de la Independencia (Independence Altarpiece), a monumental mural painted by architect and muralist Juan O’Gorman between 1960 and 1961.  

The mural is divided into four sections, each representing a different stage of the Mexican independence movement. At the center stands the white-haired figure of Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, dressed in clerical robes and brandishing a torch in his left hand. During Mexico's fight for independence, he took a banner depicting the Virgin of Guadalupe from the Sanctuary of Jesús Nazareno de Atotonilco, using it as the flag for his insurgent army. Look for the flag in the case below the mural. Hidalgo’s call to arms, known as the Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores), ignited the fight against Spanish colonial rule.

Nearby, José María Morelos is depicted gripping a sword, with a white bandana tied around his head. Morelos was a key leader in the movement, organizing insurgent forces to abolish slavery and the casta system.

Among other figures, Josefa Ortiz de Domínguez appears wearing a green dress and a purple rebozo (shawl), seated on a white horse and surrounded by indigenous victims of exploitation, hunger and death.

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The western terrace, or Patio de Juan de la Barrera, was named in honor of one of the young Mexican cadets who died during the Battle of Chapultepec fighting in the Mexican-American War.

Pergola Terrace, or Patio de Juan Barradas

Wally and I stepped out of the building and into the sunlight-drenched western terrace. A gurgling fountain stood before us and an expansive pergola stretched out to the right, offering shade and views of the park’s artificial lake and city beyond. 

At the back of the garden stands La Madre Patria, Agradecida a sus Hijos Caídos (The Motherland, Grateful to Its Fallen Children), a classical monument commemorating the Niños Héroes. Designed by architect Luis MacGregor Cevallos and sculpted by French-trained Mexican artist Ignacio Asúnsolo, it was inaugurated in 1924.

Asúnsolo finished the monument to the Niños Héroes in a mere three months, fulfilling President Álvaro Obregón’s request to have it completed and inaugurated before the end of his term.

The top of the pylon-shaped memorial features a solemn veiled matron, an eagle at her side, its wings spread protectively. Encircling them is a coiled, feathered serpent, a creature from pre-Hispanic mythology that symbolizes the deity Questzacoatl and reflects the national coat of arms. Below, four muscular figures of young native warriors clad in loincloths represent a different aspect of sacrifice and struggle, each facing a different direction: Supreme Sacrifice (east), Desperation in Defense (north), Unequal Fight (south) and The Epic (west).

The mural Sufragio efectivo, no reelección (Effective Suffrage, No Reelection) by Juan O’Gorman is named for the rallying cry of President Francisco I. Madero against the long dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz.

Fall of the Feudal Empire

When we stepped back inside from the terrace, we entered a room to the right, where a series of murals by Juan O’Gorman covered the walls. These paintings depict a turbulent chapter in Mexico’s history — the fall of the Porfirian dictatorship and the revolution that followed.

(Incidentally, O’Gorman wasn’t just a painter — he was also an architect. He designed strikingly modern homes for Frida and Diego, which pissed off the neighbors.)

One of the most striking murals, Sufragio efectivo, no reelección (Effective Suffrage, No Reelection), dominates one of the walls. Part of O’Gorman’s Retablo de la Revolución (Altarpiece of the Revolution), it captures a pivotal moment in the Mexican Revolution: the Marcha de Lealtad (March of Loyalty). At the center, Francisco Madero rides on horseback, wearing the presidential sash across his chest. The mural portrays his journey from Chapultepec Castle to the National Palace on the morning of February 9, 1913, escorted by students of the Military College. This march would mark the beginning of the Decena Trágica (Ten Tragic Days), a coup that would ultimately cost Madero his life.

Madero had risen to power in the wake of the Mexican Revolution, which erupted in 1910 against the long rule of President Porfirio Díaz. Although Díaz modernized Mexico and maintained a period of stability known as the “Pax Porfiriana,” his policies overwhelmingly favored the wealthy and foreign investors while leaving much of the population — especially indigenous communities — trapped in near-servitude. His ousting paved the way for Madero’s election as president, ushering in hopes of democracy and social justice.

But Madero’s time in power was short-lived.

The Decena Trágica was a violent siege that led to his downfall. What began as an armed revolt quickly turned into a bloody standoff in Mexico City, with intense fighting around the National Palace and the Ciudadela armory. In a devastating betrayal, Madero’s own army chief, Victoriano Huerta, turned against him. Forced to resign on February 18, 1913, Madero and Vice President José María Pino Suárez were executed just days later, on February 22, under Huerta’s orders. Their deaths threw Mexico into further chaos, deepening the revolution that would reshape the nation.

Looking into the gift shop in a central courtyard of this wing of the castle

Cannonball Run to the Gift Shop

The museum shop is located on the ground floor at the center of the Patio de Cañones (Patio of Cannons), so named for the cannons that can be found in the courtyard of the museum. The space is anchored by a sculpture by David Camorlinga dedicated to Emiliano Zapata, a key figure in the Mexican Revolution, known for championing land reform and peasant rights under the rallying cry, “Tierra y Libertad” (Land and Liberty).

The somewhat cartoonish bronze statue of revolutionary leader Emilano Zapata by David Camorlinga can be found in the Courtyard of Canons near the gift shop. The artwork captures Zapata’s defining features, including his iconic walrus mustache and broad-brimmed charro hat.

When we visited, a team was renovating the mural Batalla de Zacatecas (Battle of Zacatecas) by Ángel Bolivar from 1965. 

During our visit, the whimsical and informative temporary exhibit Juárez/Max, Reflejo de dos vidas (Reflection of Two Lives) featured dioramas that told the story of the second Mexican empire, as well as the arrival and establishment of the republic, complete with cute felt Day of the Dead-style dollies of President Benito Juárez, First Lady Margarita Maza, Maximilian von Habsburg, and his wife Princess Charlotte of Belgium.  

An ornate door in the Salón de Malaquitas

Green With Envy: Salón de Malaquitas 

This richly decorated room takes its name from its impressive malaquita (malachite) and gilt metal doors, fountains and vases. They’re actually composed of carefully fitted slivers of malachite that combine to create the illusion of a seamless surface. 

The malachite objets d’art came from Russia, purchased by Díaz from a collection shown at the first World’s Fair in 1851.

These pieces were fabricated at the Imperial Peterhof Lapidary Factory and sent by Tsar Nicholas I to showcase the artistic achievements of Russia at the first World’s Fair in London in 1851. Later, they were purchased by Díaz for the Palacio Nacional before ultimately being installed here. The vibrant green color, with their undulating bands of contrasting hues, come from naturally occurring copper carbonate deposits.

The Salón de Virreyes at Chapultepec Castle displays portraits of all 62 viceroys of New Spain. Among them is Antonio Sebastián Álvarez de Toledo y Salazar, the 18th viceroy, who served from 1664 to 1673.

Salón de Virreyes, the Hall of the Viceroys

Rounding out the museum is the Salón de Virreyes (Hall of the Viceroys), a gallery showcasing every viceroy who ruled New Spain from 1535 to 1821. It’s fascinating to see how attire and hairstyles evolved over the centuries — but the portrait that stood out most to me was of Bernardo de Gálvez, who governed from 1785 until his early death in November the next year. Created in 1796 by two friars using the sgraffito technique — derived from the Italian graffiare, meaning “to scratch” — this piece feels strikingly modern. While Gálvez’s face, hands and hat are painted, his uniform and prancing horse emerge from an intricate web of white spirals, loops and squiggly lines revealed by the “scratching” or removal of the top layer of paint. 

The surprisingly modern equestrian portrait of Bernardo de Gálvez, the 49th Viceroy of New Spain, was painted in 1796 by two friars: Jerónimo and Pablo de Jesús. 

This room was a fitting close to the National Museum of History as the castle’s buildings sprang forth from viceroyalty and evolved into a spectacular showcase of Mexico City’s past.

With the museum’s murals, artifacts and revolutionary history behind us, we stepped out into the sunlight once more. But Chapultepec Castle wasn’t done with us yet — next, it was on to the imperial side, where Maximilian and Charlotte once reigned in opulence. –Duke

Museo Nacional de Historia Castillo de Chapultepec

Primera Sección del Bosque de Chapultepec 
San Miguel Chapultepec, C.P. 11580
Delegación Miguel Hidalgo
Mexico City
Mexico

 

Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum

The studio and home of prolific artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo at the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo wows as a striking example of 1930s Mexican modernist architecture. 

You definitely have to tour Casa Azul and Anahuacalli Museum — but this site is also worth visiting if you have time.

When Wally and I talk to friends about our travels in CDMX, the conversation often turns to the places we’ve seen, and the places on our list for our next trip. 

One of the places I’d been wanting to visit was the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo, the former home and studio of two of the city’s most revered artists — though I’d argue that Frida has eclipsed Diego in fame since their deaths in the 1950s. It felt like a fitting comeuppance for how he treated her. But more on that later. 

“Whenever Frida wanted to visit Diego, she had to pull herself up an exterior floating staircase and cross a narrow footbridge.

Diego had specifically requested this to make it difficult for Frida to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. ”

San Ángel: An Escape From the City

The historic house museum is located in San Ángel, an enchanting neighborhood southwest of Mexico City. Once a separate municipality, San Ángel served as a retreat for wealthy families who built grand country homes to escape the chaos of city life during the rise of the Industrial Revolution. Ancient lava flows shaped this rugged terrain, where its cobbled streets and colonial estates were eventually consumed by the ever-expanding sprawl of Mexico City.

Duke and Wally stand on the terrace by the walkway that connected Diego’s home to Frida’s.

We planned our visit to coincide with the Bazar Sábado, a weekly market held on Saturdays, where artists and artisans set up shop and sell their wares. 

Our Uber driver dropped us off at the museum’s entrance on Calle Diego Rivera. As we waited for our guide, we couldn’t help but notice valets dressed in traje de charro, the traditional attire of mariachis, running past us in pairs. They were undoubtedly heading to the entrance of the nearby San Ángel Inn to park arriving cars. Known for its restaurant, the historic inn is a favorite dining spot for both locals and tourists, especially on weekends.

O'Gorman's Mexican fence post cactus barriers (and modern aesthetic) pissed off his traditional neighbors.

Wally and I walked to the front of the property, which faces Avenida Altavista. In our opinion, the best view of the two buildings is from across the avenue. On the left is the big house, a boxy white and red structure with a distinctive sawtooth roof and water tanks, which once served as the residence and studio of the plus-sized muralist Rivera. 

It’s linked at roof level by a narrow walkway and contrasted by the little house, the vivid blue home on the right, which belonged to his unibrowed surrealist painter wife, Kahlo.

The building that now serves as the restrooms originally functioned as a darkroom for Kahlo’s father, Guillermo.

Not the Blue House: The History of Diego and Frida’s San Ángel Studio Home

When the site opened at 10 a.m., we met our guide, Fernanda, in the museum’s courtyard. She resembled a proto-punk Japanese schoolgirl, with her nose ring and dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt under a black sweater, grid-pattern miniskirt fastened with oversized buttons and shiny black loafers. Joining us were a couple from Alabama celebrating their pandemic-postponed honeymoon and a towering white-haired man on a business trip from Germany who had added a day for sightseeing. 

Before the tour began, Fernanda asked how many of us had visited Casa Azul, Kahlo’s family home in the boho Coyoacán neighborhood. She explained that a lot of visitors show up here thinking they’re about to see the Blue House.

“It’s important to understand the difference,” Fernanda explained, “because that’s the house where she was born and where she returned after divorcing Rivera in December 1939.” 

She continued, “Here, there isn’t much furniture — it’s more of a photographic history. But what makes this site significant is the architecture of these three buildings.”

Our charming tour guide, Fernanda, was an expert on O’Gorman, Rivera and Kahlo.

Kahlo only lived here for six years. The couple moved into the home in January 1934 after Rivera was essentially forced to return to Mexico following the controversy surrounding his mural at Rockefeller Center, Man at the Crossroads. The mural, which included a depiction of Vladimir Lenin, led the Rockefellers to order its destruction and terminate Rivera’s commission. Rivera later re-created the mural in Mexico City. This version, titled Man, Controller of the Universe, can be seen at the Palacio de Bellas Artes murals in Mexico City.

Kahlo and Rivera remarried in December 1940, a year after their divorce, at San Francisco City Hall in California; however, she never returned to San Ángel. Her declining health made it more practical for her to remain in the beloved house of her childhood, la Casa Azul, which now serves as a popular attraction. This house offers a comprehensive glimpse into her life, showcasing her furniture and personal belongings. Rivera, however, lived in the studio home until his death in 1957.

In 1981, the National Institute of Fine Arts (INBA) acquired the houses from Rivera’s daughter, Ruth Rivera Marín, and, after nearly 16 years of restoration, it opened to the public. And three decades later, INBA acquired the Cecil O’Gorman House and incorporated it into the museum campus.

You can imagine Juan O’Gorman’s bold modernist design didn’t go over so well with the neighbors, who lived in colonial-style homes.

Cecil O’Gorman House 

Thanks to his interest in sports, Juan O’Gorman was the first to discover that the pair of tennis courts belonging to the San Ángel Inn were for sale.

In 1929, the aspiring 24-year-old architect purchased the plot at 81 Las Palmas, now Calle Diego Rivera, using money he had earned as chief draftsman at Carlos Obregón Santacilla’s atelier. 

He then began constructing a revolutionary dwelling inspired by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, whose work he had studied at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). The design adhered to the principle that buildings should be created solely based on their purpose and function. 

Nearly a century later, the structure remains one of the earliest examples of functionalist architecture in Latin America. Its stripped-back, utilitarian design was radical for its time, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding 18th century colonial homes.

An exposed concrete spiral staircase swirls up the side of O’Gorman’s house.

By 1930, O’Gorman had completed the Cecil O’Gorman House, which, according to his autobiography, he designed as a home and studio for his father. 

But that’s not the whole story. 

His father, the Irish painter Cecil Crawford O’Gorman, was an avid collector of colonial art and antiques. He already owned a spacious hacienda nearby and had no interest in downsizing to the modernist glass box that his son had built. In reality, it’s likely that O’Gorman designed the house to showcase his architectural ideas and intended it to serve as a prototype for low-income housing, though the project never came to fruition.

Elevated on pilotis, slender columns that raise the reinforced concrete structure off the ground, this innovative construction method eliminated the need for traditional load-bearing walls, allowing O’Gorman to incorporate an entire wall of articulated glass windows. 

Access to the second floor is provided by an external spiral staircase, but unfortunately, it was closed during our visit due to the installation of an upcoming exhibition.

We weren’t able to go upstairs in the O’Gorman House because they were setting up for a new exhibition.

Like Rivera, O’Gorman had socialist inclinations and sought to challenge the norms of his time. He wasn’t just building a home — he was making a declaration of functionalist design amid the traditional architecture that characterizes much of San Ángel.

The neighbors were said to be outraged, demanding that his architectural degree be revoked. 

The locals didn’t care for the home’s curb appeal, either. Enclosed by Pachycereus marginatus, a tall columnar cactus, also known as Mexican fence post cactus, and landscaped with agaves, it reflected the aesthetic of an indigenous Mexican village rather than the prevailing manicured European style.

Rivera, on the other hand, appreciated O’Gorman’s vision. He commissioned him to construct a similar pair of homes for himself and his wife, Kahlo, on the adjacent lot. 

A model of the property inside the O’Gorman House.

Inside, what formerly served as the dining room and kitchen now holds a glass case with a scale model of the trio of buildings as well as a series of photographs by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá, Kahlo’s grandniece. Among the photos are images of the hospital gowns Kahlo wore during her stays at the American British Cowdray Hospital in Mexico City, on which she often used to wipe excess paint from her brushes while she painted.

These doodles became the mural Entre Filosofía y Ciencia by O’Gorman.

In 2012, the museum’s restoration team uncovered the sinopia, or preparatory sketch, for the fresco Entre Filosofía y Ciencia (Between Philosophy and Science) on a layer of lime plaster beneath where the completed mural by O’Gorman originally stood. The fresco was purchased by Banco Nacional de México in 1957 and, when it’s not traveling, can be found in the Museo Foro Valparaíso.

Recall that Frida had leg and back issues, and imagine her having to walk up and down this floating staircase onto her roof and then across the walkway to get to Diego’s house.

Frida and Diego’s Complicated Relationship 

After we exited the Cecil O’Gorman House, Fernanda directed our attention to the floating staircase perched on the exterior of Kahlo’s house. Its tubular steel handrail leads from the second floor studio windows to the rooftop terrace. We couldn’t believe anyone would have used those stairs — especially Kahlo, whose chronic health issues significantly impaired her mobility. 

As a child, Kahlo contracted polio, which left her right leg weakened and deformed. Then, as a teenager, she was in a horrific accident when the bus she was riding collided with a trolley car. The impact left her with a fractured spine, and a handrail pierced her body, entering through her back and exiting through her pelvis.

RELATED: 9 Fascinating Facts About Frida

Yet, whenever she wanted to visit Rivera, she had to pull herself up those stairs and cross the narrow footbridge. Rivera had specifically requested this particular feature from O’Gorman to make it difficult for Kahlo to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. It was a marriage strained by mutual jealousy and infidelity. Rivera didn’t fit society’s standards of handsome — Kahlo nicknamed him el Sapo-Rana (Toad-Frog) — but his fame, confidence and charisma made him irresistible to many women. 

Tour groups meet in the small courtyard in front of Diego’s house.

Rivera’s House and Studio

In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the museum is Rivera’s house. It still contains some of the original furniture and artwork from when he lived there. 

The bedroom has a set of small windows high on the wall, which limited the amount of direct sunlight and helped keep the room cool. Next to the bed, there’s a pair of shoes, an enamel bedpan and a leather suitcase sitting atop the woven coverlet, awaiting its next trip. An articulated gooseneck task lamp and a small bust of Chairman Mao sit on the olive green-painted nightstand, with a watercolor landscape by Rivera hanging above it.

Diego’s bedroom

Like his bedroom, the studio was mostly left as it was at the time of Rivera’s death. The main section, with its double-height space, was perfect for large works and transportable murals. The design facilitated easy handling of the panels, allowing them to be moved in and out of the studio through the folding windows.

Our favorite pieces among the personal items were Rivera’s collection of larger-than-life cartonería (papier-mâché) figures. Known in Mexico as Judases, these brightly colored effigies, with features like oversized or abnormally small heads and stubby limbs, commanded the room with their massive presence. Originally, these figures were depictions of Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ. Rivera’s collection includes devils, skeletons and other fantastical creatures, which were traditionally burned, exploded or flogged on the Saturday before Easter. 

Some of Diego’s collection of papier-mâché Judases in his studio

Many of these larger-than-life-sized effigies were created by the Mexican folk artist Carmen Caballero Sevilla. One Holy Week, Rivera visited the Mercado Abelardo Rodríguez and was impressed with Sevilla’s Judas figures and invited her to work in his studio in San Ángel. (He admired the working class, which is why he often wore overalls.)

Cool metal skeletons covered the walls.

Diego collected handicrafts like these Judases.

Brushes and trays with reserves of dried paint remain exactly as Rivera had left them, offering a glimpse into his creative process. Among them were shelves with jars of pigments that reflect his color palette — including Paris Green, a highly toxic emerald green powder made from copper and arsenic. 

Diego’s paints line the shelves of his studio but have long since dried up.

There are bookcases filled with pre-Hispanic and indigenous folk art. On one of the easels was a painting of the Latin American actress Dolores del Río, who was rumored to have slept with both Rivera and Kahlo. 

Diego painted Dolores del Rio, a beautiful Latin American actress who is said to have slept with his as well as Frida.

Fernanda pointed out a papier-mâché torito, a little bull, hanging high above us. She explained that this tradition dates back to the mid 19th century. These creations are mounted on a kind of scaffolding that rests on the wearer’s shoulders, stuffed with fireworks like roman candles and bottle rockets, which are set alight as part of the annual festival in the town of Tultepec honoring Saint John of God, the patron saint of (what else?) fireworks makers. 

Sound dangerous? It sure is — but that didn’t stop Fernanda’s brother from participating in one. And he has the burns to prove it. 

Our group followed Fernanda up the staircase to the second floor, where we could take in a full view of the studio. Fernanda explained that this was the very spot where Kahlo discovered Rivera with her younger sister Cristina — an incident that became the proverbial last straw, which led to their separation and brief divorce. It wasn’t Rivera’s or Kahlo’s numerous indiscretions that caused the rift; it was the fact that Rivera was having an affair with her closest confidant.

Just off the landing, we entered Rivera’s private office, a space with a desk and a typewriter and additional bookcases filled with pieces from his prolific collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts, an obsession that can be seen at the Anahuacalli Museum in Coyoacán. 

Diego’s typewriter and some of the pre-Columbian artifacts he loved to collect.

From Rivera’s office, a door opened onto the rooftop terrace and the narrow bridge connecting his former residence to Kahlo’s. However, Fernanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of taking the infamous floating stairs. Instead, we followed her back through Rivera’s office and down the staircase to the courtyard below.

Frida’s house leaves much to be desired — but at least O’Gorman painted it the vibrant blue of her beloved family home, Casa Azul.

Kahlo’s House

Our group paused outside Kahlo’s house as Fernanda pointed out an interesting feature: a carnelian red painted garbage chute extending from the second floor, connected to a steel drum barrel. Its purpose? To collect kitchen waste.

By this time, the site had grown much busier, with dozens of visitors streaming in and out of the buildings.

The rooms inside Kahlo’s house were noticeably smaller and compact than those in Rivera’s, in large part because there wasn’t an open studio space. Unlike her husband’s residence, Kahlo’s house was devoid of decorative objects or furniture, leaving the space feeling even more austere.

The tiny kitchen exemplified functional design, featuring a concrete countertop with a gas cooktop, a small sink, and the opening of the chute that connected to the steel barrel outside. 

A man from Germany insisted Wally pose for a picture in his bright T-shirt to contrast with the blue of Frida’s house, next to the kitchen garbage chute.

We peeked into the modest bathroom, the very space where Kahlo’s 1938 oil painting, Lo que el agua me dio (What the Water Gave Me), was conceived. Fernanda told us that there weren’t any good spaces for Frida to paint in her home, so she chose the bathroom, which had better lighting. 

Frida’s home is small and dark, so she preferred to paint in the bathroom. One of her most famous works, Lo que el agua me dio, came from this period.

Wally paused in front of a framed letter that Kahlo had written to Hungarian-born photographer Nickolas Muray, with whom she shared a decade-long, on-again, off-again relationship, and read this poignant sentence aloud: “Please forgive me for having phoned you that evening. I won’t do it anymore.”

One of the glass cases in Kahlo’s house displays an open copy of the book Complete Anatomy of Man by Martín Martínez, and included a handwritten dedication from Kahlo to Dr. Juan Farill, the surgeon who performed seven spinal surgeries on her. 

The final room we explored was her small bedroom — a fitting conclusion to our visit. The room was concealed behind thick black drapery that we had to pull aside to enter. Inside, an installation by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá features numerous lightboxes  illuminating Kahlo’s medical records from the American British Cowdray Hospital. The air in the room felt heavy and still, with the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat emanating from a hidden speaker. 

We knew beforehand about Diego and Kahlo’s turbulent relationship. But standing in the dark, claustrophobic space Diego had O'Gorman design as her home was a different kind of gut punch. It was hard not to feel the weight of it — the realization that someone as fiercely powerful as Kahlo could be confined like this by a man who claimed to love her. It really shook us, and we didn’t linger.

Our group poses under the entrance to Frida’s house.

Know before you go

We purchased tickets prior to our trip through a site called Tiqets. At $30 per person it’s definitely more than the $2 price of general admission, but we felt it was worth it. 

Our guide, Fernanda, was charming and incredibly knowledgeable, offering all the insights we could have hoped for about the site. She didn’t shy away from discussing the complexities of Rivera and Kahlo’s relationship either. And even though the tour was scheduled to last an hour, she stayed with us for an hour and 45 minutes, never once making us feel rushed.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Admission is 40 pesos for adults, while children under 13 and seniors can enter for free. On Sundays, admission is free for everyone. –Duke

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened wide to allow transport of Rivera’s large-scale mural panels into and out of his studio. 

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera s/n
San Ángel Inn
Álvaro Obregón
01060 CDMX
Mexico

 

Saints and Social Change: A Q&A With Artist Laurie Buman

Discover how Laurie Buman’s art, heavily influenced by her travels in Mexico, shines a light on social issues through her captivating saint and botanical series.

Saint Monarca of the Milkweed

Duke and I popped into Everybody’s Coffee in our neighborhood of Uptown in Chicago — and were instantly captivated by the striking art gracing the walls. Laurie Buman’s works are a visual feast: wide-eyed saints with a hint of steampunk flair and Day of the Dead influences, each collage exuding a powerful spirituality. Among the holy figures were unique creations like a holy canine and the butterfly-infused Saint Monarca of the Milkweed, canonized straight from Buman’s imagination. We couldn’t help but be intrigued by the stories each piece told.

We reached out to Laurie a few months ago to learn more about her artwork and process. –Wally

Artist Laurie Buman

Let’s start from the beginning. What inspired you to become an artist and develop your style?

Since I was little, I knew I was an artist. I would draw from around 4 years old and always loved coloring and drawing. My parents noticed I had a natural ability to draw realistically, so they nurtured that talent. I received an art scholarship to the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design and later finished my degree at the University of Milwaukee. Over the years, I took continuing education courses in design and art, earning a BFA [bachelor of fine arts degree]. I spent many years working as a designer full time, which consumed a lot of my time, but I’ve gradually increased the time I spend in my studio.

Saint Cabrini of the River

How does Mexico influence your art?

I’ve been traveling to Mexico since I was 17. My first trip was for Day of the Dead, and I was captivated by the landscape’s beauty and the culture. It’s very unlike Wisconsin, where I grew up. The people in Mexico are so welcoming and inviting, and their culture is rich in history, color and ritual. It draws you in. My art was influenced by these experiences, especially my Day of the Dead photography.

What are some of your favorite places in Mexico?

Oaxaca is very dear to my heart, with its intense culture and natural beauty. I also love Mexico City and Mérida. I’m excited to visit Chiapas in spring 2025, which has a rich indigenous culture.

Can you tell us more about your saint series?

The series started with Saint Catherine of Bologna, an incorruptible saint whose body did not decompose. I channeled her and created my first saint piece, and the series grew from there. I've created pieces addressing social issues like femicide and mental illness, each piece becoming a shrine where people can put their thoughts and prayers. The process is therapeutic for me, as it allows me to bring light into the darkness.

What’s your artistic process like?

I spend months thinking about a particular saint. I do extensive research, layer images in Photoshop, and bring in original photography and found objects that add dimension and meaning. For example, I use rosaries and milagros in my pieces and top them with hand-applied gold leaf.

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha of the Indigenous

What other themes do you explore in your work?

In the past two years, I’ve been focusing on the environment and global warming, creating pieces about monarch butterflies and bees. My latest work, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Native American saint, celebrates ecology. I’ve also been working on botanicals and cyanotypes, exploring themes of nature and spontaneity.

What are some of the biggest challenges you face as an artist, and how do you overcome them?

Keeping momentum can be challenging, especially when starting. Making connections and finding venues to show my work helps. Having a studio at the Bridgeport Art Center provides a monthly audience and a supportive community. It’s vital to share your work and feel inspired by those around you.

Tell us about 3rd Fridays at the Bridgeport Art Center.

All the resident artists open their studios, and there are galleries on the third and fourth floors. We always have a show or two going on. I have a small gallery called Galería Azul, where I feature a guest artist every two months.

Daffodils + Fireflies

How has your work evolved over the years?

As I’ve aged and grown more confident, my work has become more expressive. My experiences at the University of Chicago and the Bridgeport Arts Center have elevated my work and given me the confidence to be myself and share my ideas.

Night Sky

What do you hope people take away from your art?

With my saint series, I hope people feel compassion towards the subject matter and think about social issues. With my botanical pieces, I want people to delight in spontaneous moments and appreciate the beauty of our world, realizing how precious our planet is.

A Day of the Dead ofrenda by Buman at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City, featuring Saint Agatha of the Forgotten Daughters

Are there any upcoming projects or exhibitions you’re excited about?

Yes, I have a Day of the Dead show at the Patrician Gallery in Wilmette and a potential show in December at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City. 

Infant Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls

Is there a particular piece that holds significant personal meaning for you?

All my pieces are special, but Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls is very dear to me. I used to do pit bull rescue, and this piece commemorates a pit bull named Ben who had a significant impact on my life.

The Black Madonna of Light

What legacy would you like to leave as an artist?

I hope to have brought attention to social issues, brought light into the world and added beauty. If people said I reminded them of Frida Kahlo, that would be a great honor.

Anything else you’d like to share?

Just that I’m grateful for this opportunity to share my story. I love connecting with others who share a passion for travel and culture.

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Gorgeous Guanajuato: The Ultimate Day Trip From San Miguel de Allende

A one-day itinerary for travelers looking to experience the best of Guanajuato City, including the Museo de las Momias, the Teatro Juárez and the funicular to the Pipila Monument and overlook.

If you’re staying in San Miguel de Allende, you’ve gotta take a day trip to Guanajuato — and we’ve got the perfect itinerary for you.

Even if you’re not into displays of desiccated corpses, the charming and colorful capital of Guanajuato, Mexico has plenty to offer. It makes for a delightful day trip from the tourist hotspot San Miguel de Allende. 

“The sights in Guanajuato are equal parts beautiful and bizarre.”

A Brief History of Guanajuato

Originally inhabited by indigenous groups, the region was conquered by the Spanish, and the town of Guanajuato was incorporated in 1554. 

Like San Miguel, Guanajuato was an important and wealthy colonial city due to the region’s large silver deposits. It played a pivotal role in Mexico’s struggle to break the Spanish yoke. The city was the site of the first major battle of the Mexican War of Independence, which took place in 1810. Guanajuato also played a significant role in the Mexican Revolution, which began in 1910 — it was the site of the first battle (which the revolutionaries won).

Hop to it! Follow this walking tour of charming and quirky Guanajuato.

Guanajuato Day Trip Itinerary

With this tried-and-true one-day itinerary, you’ll experience the best of colorful and quirky Guanajuato, taking in the top attractions, flavors and vistas that this charming city has to offer.

Start your day at the Mummy Museum, then head to the Plaza of the Frogs before strolling along the main street of town. Here are the places we recommend stopping at, before ending with a funicular trip to overlook this incredible mountain town. With its vibrantly painted buildings and lively plazas, Guanajuato is one of Mexico’s most beautiful colonial towns.

Museo de las Momias

Looking for a bit of spook-tacular fun? The Museo de las Momias has you covered. In our estimation, this is the town’s main attraction. The macabre museum features the desiccated husks of some of the city’s former residents who couldn’t pay their burial tax, were dug up and discovered to be naturally mummified due to the arid climate. It’s a morbidly fascinating experience that’s not for the faint of heart.

LEARN MORE: The Haunting and Horrific Mummy Museum of Guanajuato

Explanada del Panteón Municipal s/n

Plaza de las Ranas

Hop on over to Plaza de la Hermandad, also known as Plaza de las Ranas (Frog Plaza). The centerpiece is a fountain created by French sculptor Gabriel Guerra and installed in 1893. It looks a bit like a swimming pool, but the stars of the show are the whimsical frog statues made of stone that decorate the open plaza. 

Why frogs? The name Guanajuato comes from the indigenous Purépecha words Quanax-Huato, which means “Place of the Frogs.” One theory is that the town took its name from a pair of colossal boulders resembling giant frogs. Seeing this as an auspicious sign, the Purépecha decided to settle here. They were a powerful empire that dominated western Mexico prior to the Spanish conquest. 

Fun fact: Guanajuato was the birthplace of Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, who referred to himself as “el Sapo-Rana,” the Frog-Toad. 

Galereña Dulces Típicos de Guanajuato

Want something sweet? Next stop: Galereña Dulces, a candy store that’s been around since 1865. They’ve got all kinds of traditional Mexican sweets — but don’t get your hopes up about mummy gummies. Much to our dismay, those don’t exist. 

The cellophane-wrapped caramel-colored confections we found are actually known locally as charamuscas. They’re a type of hard candy made from spun boiled cane sugar twisted into a mummy figure shape. Which, now that I think about it, these gnarly, crunchy versions are actually more fitting. 

Avenida Benito Juárez 188

Empanadas MiBu

Feeling a bit peckish? Time for a snack at Empanadas MiBu. I always say: If there’s a Heaven, there will be empanadas up there. These tasty little pockets of joy come in all sorts of varieties, from savory (rajas con queso are my fave) to sweet (you can never go wrong with Nutella), and are the perfect snack to munch on while exploring the city. They’re made to order and served in paper bags, making them the perfect handheld food to eat on the go. 

Avenida Benito Juárez 65-A

Jardín Reforma

Escape the hustle and bustle of the city by taking a stroll through this serene park that’s just past Empanadas MiBu. Head through the classical arch into a tranquil oasis that’s surprisingly peaceful for being mere steps off the city’s main drag. The loudest sound you’re likely to hear here is the gurgling of the fountain in the center or the chirping of birds.

Be sure to pop into G&G Cafe, the coffeeshop in the corner of this small park, if you need a caffeine fix. 

Basilica of Our Lady of Guanajuato

Continue down Avenida Benito Juarez until it turns into De Paz. The yellow Basílica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato, dedicated to the city’s patroness, Our Lady of Guanajuato, is hard to miss. The yellow edifice stands proudly on the historic Plaza de la Paz (Plaza of Peace), the main square. However, unlike most Spanish colonial cities, the plaza is not a square but a triangle, to better fit Guanajuato’s hilly geography. 

The church’s façade was designed in the Mexican Baroque style and is adorned with carvings of saints and features two bell towers and a red clay dome. The interior is just as impressive, with soaring arches, intricate gold leaf detailing and a stunning main altar that encompasses the local likeness of the Virgin Mary. 

Calle Ponciano Aguilar 7

Teatro Juárez

While you’re in the vicinity, stop by the Teatro Juárez, a majestic Neoclassical theater, built from 1872 to 1903. Bronze statues of the Greek Muses, who represent the arts and sciences, stand on the roof.

We didn’t get a chance to go inside, but it looks impressive, awash in red velvet and gold details, with a colorful ceiling motif in the Neo-Mudéjar style, a nod to the mix of Spanish and Arab design popular in the South of Spain.

The landmark hosts a wide variety of performances, from concerts and operas to plays, international movies and dance. It has served as the main venue of the Festival Internacional Cervantino since 1972. 

De Sopena 10

Funicular and El Pipila Monument 

End your stroll through town with a ride on the funicular. The station is close by the Teatro Juárez. A cable car system built in 2001 takes you up the hill to an overlook and costs 60 pesos (about $4) for a roundtrip ticket. We had to stand in line for a bit, but it was worth the wait. The ride up is pretty fun — but the view is breathtaking. I was utterly captivated by the hilly landscape and the colorful, densely clustered  patchwork of buildings that stretched out before us. I leaned against the railing and gazed out at it for a long time. It’s easy to see why the enchanting city center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Pro tip: When facing the city below, head off to right for a less-crowded viewing platform above the basilica.

Crowds of tourists and locals gather in the shadow of the El Pipila monument, a towering 80-foot statue built in 1939 to commemorate a hero of the Mexican War of Independence.

So who exactly was this Pipila fellow? His real name was Juan José de los Reyes Martínez, who, during the siege of Guanajuato, crawled towards the Alhóndiga de Granaditas, a granary used as a fortress by Spanish troops. He had a large stone slab used to grind corn (a pipila — hence his nickname) on his back. Once he reached the door, he used the stone to break it down, allowing the rebel forces to enter and defeat the Spanish troops.

De La Constancia 17

Outside the Mummy Museum, we watched a performance of men in drag mock-fighting. The sights in Guanajuato are equal parts beautiful and bizarre.

SMA Day Trip

All told, we spent about four hours in Guanajuato. We hired a driver from San Miguel de Allende through our hotel’s concierge. The ride is an hour and a half each way. We got dropped off at the Mummy Museum and then texted our driver at the end of the day once we on our way back down on the funicular.

From truly disturbing to truly delightful, Guanajuato is a day trip not to miss. –Wally

San Miguel de Allende’s Knockout Door Knockers

Knock, knock! Who’s there? It doesn’t matter — just keep a lookout for the Mexican town’s amazing and Instagrammable door knockers.

People go ga-ga over doors. When I was younger, I remember seeing posters of the doors of Dublin or Tuscany. And while I’m able to appreciate these elements of design, something else jumped out at me as Duke and I wandered the streets of the charming colonial town of San Miguel de Allende: nice knockers.

Door knockers, that is.

 San Miguel de Allende, or SMA, as many call it to save a few syllables, is known for its rich cultural heritage and stunning architecture — and its door knockers are no exception. These decorative pieces not only add a touch of charm to the town’s doors but also reveal the history and cultural influences of the region.

I’m obviously not the first one to note the proliferation of door knockers around town. “I love how each door knocker in San Miguel de Allende tells a story. It’s like a miniature work of art that you can appreciate every time you enter a building,” says Kevin Raub, a travel writer for Lonely Planet.

From rustic wrought-iron to ornate brass, SMA’s door knockers come in a variety of shapes and sizes, though you’ll mostly see animals (especially lions, fish and horses) and faces. 

Unlocking the Past: Exploring the Origins and Evolution of SMA’s Door Knockers

The tradition of elaborate door knockers in San Miguel de Allende has its roots in the city’s rich colonial history. During that era, many families were all about showing off their wealth. Door knockers became a popular status symbol and were often made from expensive materials like brass or wrought iron.

As the city grew and evolved, the tradition of ornate door knockers continued, but with a new focus on craftsmanship and artistry. Today, the door knockers of San Miguel de Allende are more of a reflection of the city’s artistic heritage.

So, whether you’re a fan of history or art, or just appreciate the quirky things in life, San Miguel de Allende’s door knockers are sure to catch your eye and knock your socks off. –Wally

Meet the Mojigangas: The Larger-Than-Life Puppets on the Streets of SMA

What’s a mojiganga? From their origins in the 16th century to current wedding celebrations, here’s everything you need to know about this big and bold Mexican folk tradition. 

Spend some time in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and you’re sure to come across the giant puppets known as mojigangas. OMG, is that Frida on the right?!

On our first day wandering through the hilly cobblestone streets of San Miguel de Allende (aka SMA), Mexico, we stumbled upon a sign that read, “Mojigangas.” Being the curious adventurers that we are, we couldn’t resist the urge to investigate. We stepped off the street and saw that the metal door to the workshop of the Sanmiguelense artist Hermes Arroyo wasn’t fully closed, and decided to take a peek inside. We caught a glimpse of a few of his colorful, larger-than-life creations. 

We couldn’t help ourselves. Seeing that Hermes was talking to an assistant, we passed by his studio and walked into what we learned was the courtyard of his family home. We admired the cast of characters lined up against the walls. Catrinas — tall, female skeletons wearing fancy hats — stood shoulder to shoulder with a bride, groom and grinning devil wearing a striped shawl. 

Moments later, we were greeted by the master puppet maker himself. He was more than happy to show us around. 

“Mojigangas are very important to Mexican culture.

They are a representation of our customs and traditions, and they allow us to pass down our heritage to future generations.”

— Hermes Arroyo

When we asked to take a photo with them, he called over one of his assistants so Duke and I could both be in it with him.

Hermes regaled us with stories of his life and how he began making mojigangas (pronounced mo-hee-gon-gahz), a traditional Mexican folk art form of papier-mâché puppets with oversized noggins. He learned the art of making mojigangas from a master craftsman named Genaro Almanza, who was a coworker of his father. While apprenticing with Almanza, he became adept at working with a variety of materials, including resin, plaster, wood, fabric and paint.

Mojigangas come from a longstanding tradition of entertaining the public — and best of all, they don’t even mind being groped!

The Origin of Mojigangas  

Mojigangas are an essential component of the local culture. These towering figures are a familiar sight, bringing the streets to life with their vibrant colors and playful antics.

These puppets, also known as gigantes, or giants, have been around since the Spanish brought them to Mexico in the 16th century. In Catalan, capgrossos, or giant heads, were worn for street theater performances that provided comic relief. 

A mojiganga of Anado, the artist behind the ultra-quirky Chapel of Jimmy Ray, outside of SMA

Nowadays, the puppets reflect the country’s diverse cultural influences, with many sporting traditional indigenous dresses. The Mexican love of poking fun at death and sin is evident in the high number of skeletons and devils. And some pop culture icons have popped up as well, including Maleficent and Frida Kahlo. 

The top part of a mojiganga

The Art of Making Mojigangas

How are these quirky, supersized puppets made? First, an armature, or skeletal wire frame, is constructed in the shape of the figure. Then, using cartonería (from the Spanish word for cardboard), layers of paper and paste are affixed to the frame to create a base. After the base is dry, several more layers of paper are added, each getting progressively thinner and smoother. Once the paper layers are complete, the mojiganga is painted with vibrant colors and decorated with accessories like teeth, cloth arms and hands, clothing and other details.

Mojigangas grace the entrance to many shops in SMA.

Today, thanks to modern materials like foam and fiberglass, some mojiganga makers create even more impressive and intricate figures — some even have blinking eyes, mouths that open and pipes that smoke!

SMA has become a major wedding destination, and no celebration would be complete without a parade that includes mojigangas depicting the happy couple.

Here Come the Mojigangas: A New Wedding Tradition

Mojigangas have become a popular addition to wedding celebrations in San Miguel de Allende. Couples often customize their mojigangas to resemble themselves, complete with traditional wedding attire. The puppets then lead the wedding party through town in a parade called a callejoneada, where everyone dances and sings in celebration of the newlyweds.

If you’re thinking about incorporating mojigangas into your wedding, a customized pair of mojigangas typically costs between $500 and $1,000. It’s a memorable way to celebrate your big day. 

Hermes Arroyo graciously posed for a picture with Duke and Wally in his studio in San Miguel de Allende, and gave them a quick tour.

Hermes Arroyo: Master Mojiganga Maker

Our new friend Hermes has been making mojigangas for over 30 years. His work has been featured in exhibitions and festivals all over Mexico and the world. 

“Mojigangas are very important to Mexican culture,” he told Culture Trip. “They are a representation of our customs and traditions, and they allow us to pass down our heritage to future generations. It’s important to preserve these traditions, so that they can continue to be a part of our culture for years to come.”

Hermes’ dedication to preserving the traditions of mojiganga making has earned him a reputation as a master craftsman and a cultural ambassador for Mexico. His work has been featured in museums and galleries around the world, such as the Museum of Latin American Art in Long Beach, California and the Museo de Arte Popular in Mexico City. 

He has also inspired others to take up the art of mojiganga making by teaching workshops and sharing his knowledge and skills. 

The Day of the Dead parade that kicks off the Bond flick Spectre, complete with skeletal mojigangas, was so popular, it has become an annual tradition in CDMX!

His puppets were featured in the opening scene of the 2015 James Bond movie Spectre, for which he created dozens of mojigangas for the iconic Day of the Dead parade. He’s also appeared in the History Channel documentary series The Strongest Man in History in 2019, where he challenged four buff dudes to carry his mojigangas through the streets of San Miguel de Allende. His puppets stand between 16 to 20 feet tall and weigh over 40 pounds, or 18 kilograms. 

Some of the fun folk art for sale at Hermes’ shop, la Casa de las Mojigangas

We popped into his shop and came home with a much more manageable, smaller luchador sporting a blue mask and trunks. 

Meeting a master craftsman like Hermes is just one of the many delightful surprises that SMA has to offer. If you want to experience part of what makes San Miguel de Allende so special, head to his shop and studio and discover the magic of mojigangas. –Wally

La Casa de las Mojigangas

San Francisco 62
Zona Centro 37700
San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato 
México

 

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Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s Fascinating Connections to Fallingwater

A seduction at the iconic Frank Lloyd Wright home. The influence of Frida’s home, the Casa Azul. Juan O’Gorman’s insulting mural project. And the Kaufmanns’ role in the Mexican artists’ success. We explore the artistic ties that bind these fascinating personalities.  

Frida standing with The Two Fridas

Imagine visiting Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic masterpiece. You’re surrounded by stunning natural beauty, and the architecture is simply breathtaking. 

But what if I told you that two of the most famous Latin American artists, Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, were also friends with the Kaufmann family, who commissioned and lived in the home? It’s a story that’s as fascinating as the house itself.

“When [Levy] returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!”

— Hayden Herrera in "Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo"

E.J., Edgar jr. and Liliane Kaufmann at Fallingwater, their now-legendary weekend home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

The Kaufmanns: A Family of Taste and Distinction

Edgar Jonas Kaufmann, or E.J. to his friends, was the head of a well-known Pittsburgh department store family. He was a highly respected businessman, aesthete and philanthropist who, along with his wife, Liliane, turned the family retail empire into a center of culture and fashion. 

Fun fact: The surname Kaufmann fittingly means “merchant” in German. 

As lifelong patrons of the arts, E.J. and Liliane enjoyed spending time with architects, artists and other creatives. Their only child, Edgar Kaufmann jr. (the lowercase “jr.” was his preferred abbreviation), inherited his parents’ love of art. He was particularly interested in modernist design, and he believed that functional objects could also be works of art.

Diego Rivera standing with a study of his mural-that-was-never-to-be, Man at the Crossroads. Rockefeller, who commissioned it, found it to be a bit too Communist for his tastes.

The family’s weekend home, Fallingwater, was filled with a formidable collection of artworks and objects. If the Kaufmanns weren’t already familiar with the socialist works of Mexican artist Diego Rivera, they most certainly became aware of him when his unfinished mural, Man at the Crossroads, caused a major controversy in 1933. The mural, which featured a portrait of Vladimir Lenin, was commissioned by the Rockefeller family, but they were so outraged by the inclusion of the Marxist leader that they had the mural destroyed. (Rivera’s re-creation, Man, Controller of the Universe, is on display at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City.)

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera had a lot to thank the Kaufmann family for in helping them gain fame.

When the Kaufmanns Met Frida and Diego

It’s possible that the Kaufmanns were introduced to Rivera by John McAndrew, the newly minted curator of the Department of Architecture and Industrial Art at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, aka MoMA. McAndrew visited Fallingwater in 1937 to document the house for the upcoming exhibit, A New House by Frank Lloyd Wright on Bear Run.

Fallingwater has a surprising connection to Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

It’s not hard to imagine that McAndrew would have talked about Rivera to the Kaufmanns during his visit to Fallingwater. McAndrew had previously traveled and studied architecture in Mexico, where he was inspired by the country’s rich cultural heritage. 

E.J. and Liliane were drawn to the rustic charm of Casa Azul, Kahlo’s childhood home in the Coyoacán neighborhood of Mexico City. The Kaufmanns saw it as an antidote to city life and wanted to create a similar sense of peace and tranquility at their weekend home, Fallingwater.

Frida Kahlo at her home, Casa Azul, which provided inspo for Liliane Kaufmann.

They appreciated the objects that Kahlo had filled her home with, including sculptures by the self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña. Four of these sculptures are on display at Fallingwater, and a reproduction of one is available for purchase at the Fallingwater museum store. (Completing the loop, a photograph of Fallingwater hangs in the permanent collection at Casa Azul.)

One of the works by Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña found at Fallingwater

In the 1930s, E.J. and Liliane became patrons of Rivera, and later of Kahlo, his wife. For nearly two years, E.J. provided Rivera with a monthly stipend of $250, totaling $5,000. That’s equivalent to about $86,000 in today’s dollars. Although Rivera never ended up being commissioned to paint anything by the Kaufmanns, he and the couple were friends, and two of his works are on display at Fallingwater.

Look for Diego Rivera’s Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat hanging in the guest bedroom at Fallingwater.

Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) by Diego Rivera, in the passageway that leads out to the guesthouse at Fallingwater

Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat originally hung in E.J.’s private Wright-designed office at Kaufmann’s sprawling Pittsburgh department store. And Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) was first placed in E.J.’s study on the third floor of the house but was later relocated to its current location on the enclosed bridge that leads out to the guesthouse.

Liliane Kaufmann found Frida Kahlo to be “most interesting.”

A Love of Latin America 

The Kaufmanns’ interest in Latin American culture grew, and in May 1938, Edgar jr. and Liliane took their first trip to Mexico City. The newly reestablished government of Mexico was eager to forge a national identity that promoted its pre-Hispanic heritage to American tourists. 

While there, Junior and Liliane visited Diego and Kahlo at their home and studio in the neighborhood of San Ángel, a modernist structure designed and built by their mutual friend, Juan O’Gorman. It was a place of creativity and conflict. While the couple were both artists, they had very different approaches to their work. Rivera was a well-known and successful muralist, while Kahlo was a more private painter who focused on self-portraits. 

Liliane wrote:

Yesterday we visited Diego Rivera at his home in San Ángel. It is a very interesting house inside and he is a very simple charming man. He showed us a lot of things and took us over to meet his wife who was most interesting. She paints also, very delightfully, and we had a swell time.

At the home and studio, Kahlo played the role of dutiful wife. She also served as Rivera’s secretary, entertaining and courting patrons for him. While Rivera enjoyed socializing with high society, Kahlo resented it. 

Don’t be sad, Frida! You’re about to catch a big break!

Frida Kahlo’s Big Break 

It was during this period that Kahlo retreated to Casa Azul, where she developed her commanding signature style. She had a difficult life. She contracted polio when she was 6, which left one leg thinner than the other. And when she was 18, she was in a bus accident that left her severely injured. She hid this by wearing long ruffled skirts, boxy shirts to conceal her surgical corsets and adorned herself with jewelry. Inspired by traditional Mexican indigenous clothing, her style came to represent a patriotic identity and a defiance of traditional gender roles.

Kahlo’s first big break occurred a short time after Liliane and Junior’s visit. In the summer of 1938, Hollywood actor and art collector Edward G. Robinson, famous for playing gangster types in film noirs, purchased four of Kahlo’s paintings for $200 each while vacationing in Mexico City. 

Edgar G. Robinson might have played tough types in the movies, but he was blacklisted in Hollywood as a Communist and helped launch Kahlo’s art career.

At the time, Kahlo was virtually unknown in the United States and she was always a bit shocked when anyone liked her work. She had often given it away for free, and she later wrote of the Robinson sale:

For me it was such a surprise that I marveled and said, this way I am going to be able to be free; I’ll be able to travel and do what I want without asking Diego for money.

When the French writer and founder of the Surrealist movement, André Breton, included Kahlo among its canon, she refused the label. She said, “I never painted dreams; I painted my own reality.” 

But she did understand the power of marketing. Breton introduced her to Julien Levy, a New York gallery owner who specialized in being the first to present avant-garde artists to American viewers. When Kahlo met him, she knew that he could help her reach a wider audience.

We wish we could see your reaction to Frida Kahlo’s My Birth.

In November 1938, Kahlo’s first solo show at Julien Levy Gallery in New York marked a shift in her artistic career. E.J. and Liliane were in attendance and purchased two of her paintings: My Birth (1932) and Remembrance of an Open Wound (1938). The latter was lost in a fire at the country home of Edgar jr. and his companion, Paul Mayén, sometime in the 1980s. The exhibition was a great success, and Time noted that it was “the flutter of the week in Manhattan.”

The Kaufmanns invited Kahlo and Levy to visit Fallingwater. Biographer Hayden Herrera recounts that Kahlo’s visit was one for the books:

The gallery owner Julien Levy, who seems to have gotten lucky with Frida Kahlo at Fallingwater

Once Levy took Frida to Pennsylvania to visit his client and friend Edgar Kaufmann Sr., who, Levy said, wanted to be Frida’s patron. The train ride was everything train rides are supposed to be — a slow but inexorable buildup of erotic anticipation. When they arrived, however, Frida flirted not just with Levy, but with their elderly host and son as well. She was very cavalier with her men, Levy recalled. She liked to play one off against the other, and she would pretend to one suitor that she thought the other was a nuisance or a bore. At bedtime, Levy and the senior Kaufmann tried to wait each other out so as to spend the last moments of the evening in romantic solitude with Frida. When she retired, Fallingwater’s complicated double stairway [the exterior steps up to the guest room] served as the stage for the evening’s drama. After biding his time until he thought everyone was peacefully asleep, Levy emerged from his room and started up one side of the staircase. Much to his astonishment, he found his host climbing the stairs on the other side. Both retreated. The same confrontation took place several times. In the end, Levy gave up. But when he returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!

Liliane and Junior’s continued travels to Mexico laid the groundwork for the fittingly titled Below the Rio Grande, a shoppable exhibit at Kaufmann’s flagship store, which introduced consumers to Mexican antiques and folk art. Some of these items were later incorporated into Fallingwater’s décor. 

Nearly a dozen small pre-Columbian objects can be found in the guesthouse. These were likely gifted to the Kaufmanns by Rivera, who was a passionate collector of pre-Columbian art. During his lifetime Rivera amassed over 50,000 pieces, many of which are housed at the must-visit Anahuacalli Museum in CDMX. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico by José María Velasco hangs in the bedroom of the guesthouse at Fallingwater.

One of the guesthouse bedrooms features a large oil painting by José María Velasco, a mentor to Diego. The work, entitled Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, hangs over the bed. Velasco’s artistic endeavors are so esteemed that the Mexican government considers them national monuments. This painting was acquired by the Kaufmann family around 1937 for $500. In 1954, it was hanging in E.J.’s suite at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh, and was moved to its current location by Edgar jr. in 1960.

Juan O’Gorman, whose mural commissioned by Edgar Kaufmann Sr. featuring prominent Pittsburgh tycoons below a toilet, was deemed too controversial for the Young Men’s and Women’s Hebrew Association

Kaufmann’s Rockefeller Dreams and Botched Mural

Pittsburgh society was dominated by wealthy families like the Carnegies and Mellons. This made it difficult for the Kaufmanns, who were Jewish, to achieve positions of power and influence. Despite lobbying for many public works projects throughout his life, E.J. saw few of them come to fruition. 

In 1940 he invited the socialist architect, painter and muralist O’Gorman to Pittsburgh to submit a proposal for murals for the interior walls of the Young Men’s and Women's Hebrew Association, of which he was president. 

As a guest of the Kaufmann family, O’Gorman spent a weekend at Fallingwater, which he later described as “one of the most beautiful buildings in the world.” 

When it came to the mural, though, O’Gorman clearly missed the brief: His preparatory sketches for the project portrayed Pittsburgh tycoons Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick and George Westinghouse as the kings of a polluted plutocracy that arose from consumer capitalism. As if that wasn’t enough, O’Gorman further emphasized his sentiments by prominently featuring an open toilet and a roll of toilet paper above the tableau. 

O’Gorman’s proposed mural was clearly at odds with the organization’s mission to celebrate the moral development of youth. As a result, the project was rejected and O’Gorman returned to Mexico City. As compensation for the failed project, E.J. sent the artist a check to subsidize a mural at the Biblioteca Gertrudis Bocanegra in the town of Pátzcuaro, Mexico. 

Even though he kiboshed Juan O’Gorman’s Pittsburgh mural, Edgar Kaufmann footed the bill for this astounding mural in Mexico.

Divided into four sections, the mural vividly depicts the history of the Purépecha people. The first shows the indigenous people before the Spanish conquest; the second, the arrival of the Spanish and the beginning of the conquest; the third shows life after the conquest, when the Purépecha were forced to adopt Spanish customs and religion; and the fourth shows Gertrudis Bocanegra, the martyred heroine of the 1820 War of Independence, her white dress smeared with blood from her execution by firing squad. 

Frida Kahlo’s What the Water Gave Me

Edgar Jr.’s Artful Encounters, From MoMA to Madonna

Edgar jr. traveled with McAndrew to Mexico in 1939, looking for works of art to include in the MoMA exhibit Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art. The pair recognized Kahlo’s talent, and the show, which opened on May 15, 1940, featured no fewer than three of her paintings: The Two Fridas (1939), What the Water Gave Me (1938) and The Wounded Table (1940). 

The Wounded Table by Frida Kahlo

In 1943 Junior purchased and donated Self Portrait With Cropped Hair to the MoMA. The painting is part of the museum’s permanent collection and was conceived shortly after Kahlo’s divorce from Rivera. It’s thought to be a reflection of her feelings of anger, sadness and independence after the separation. Kahlo’s oversized charcoal gray suit (surely Rivera’s) and short haircut are symbols of her rejection of traditional femininity, while the scissors she holds suggest her decision to take control of her own life.

Self Portrait With Cropped Hair by Frida Kahlo shows the artist after her divorce from Diego Rivera, wearing one of his suits and having chopped off her locks to resemble his hairstyle.

After his parents died, Junior brought Kahlo’s My Birth to his apartment in New York City. The painting is a deeply personal and imaginative work of art, depicting Kahlo’s birth from a dead mother.

According to Fallingwater director Justin Gunther, Edgar jr. had a dry, ironic sense of humor. Case in point: He kept the painting hidden in a closet in his New York apartment, and would only reveal it to his guests at the most unexpected moments. He loved to see the look of surprise on their faces when they saw it for the first time.

Madonna purchased My Birth from Edgar jr. She says you can’t be friends with her if you don’t like it.

In 1987 Edgar jr. sold the painting through his dealer to the pop star Madonna. Although worldly, he didn’t know who she was when he met her, and had planned on selling My Birth to her for just a little more than what his parents had originally paid for it. But his dealer told him, "We can do better than that,” and quoted a much higher figure.

Madonna was later quoted in Vanity Fair saying, “If somebody doesn’t like this painting, then I know they can’t be my friend.” –Duke

From Starter to Star: How Boulenc Became the Must-Visit Café in Oaxaca

Say bonjour to a taste of France at the hottest bakery and breakfast spot in Oaxaca City, Mexico.

The open-air dining area of Boulenc has a bohemian vibe and an eye-catching pendant.

For Wally and me, the best places are often the ones shared among friends. This is how we came to make a pilgrimage to Boulenc, after one of my coworkers stayed at the attached hotel for a couple of days and raved about the food and atmosphere. 

However, we didn’t realize how easy it is to pass by.  

“Let’s talk about the real reason you go to Boulenc: the food and drink, which is beautifully presented and delicious.

They definitely serve up one of the best breakfasts in town. ”

Somehow we found ourselves getting lost in Oaxaca de Juárez, Mexico more often than we typically have in other cities. Centro, the “downtown” of this laidback town, has a dense and irregular network of streets that more than occasionally change names. 

The unassuming façade of Boulenc is easy to pass by.

For this reason, we walked past the faded blue façade on Calle Porfirio Díaz a couple of times before realizing it was Boulenc. If the metal grille doors covered with flyers and a chalkboard that lead to the main dining patio happen to be closed, you’d never know you’ve reached one of the culinary hotspots of Oaxaca. 

However, we were determined — and by our third day in the enchanting city, we arrived early and soon found ourselves having breakfast there. Boulenc is attached to and part of the panadería, or bakery, that brought the artisanal bread movement to Oaxaca nearly a decade ago. 

Stop into the bakery next door for some delicious pastries and artisanal breads.

Juan Pablo: The Pope of Pastries

But let’s start at the beginning. The bakery’s mastermind and co-founder, Juan Pablo Hernández aka “Papa,” first took an interest in teaching himself how to bake bread, specifically sourdough, while working at a friend’s restaurant. 

No one knows for certain how Papa acquired his nickname. However, Boulenc’s co-owner Bernardo Dávila has a theory. They’ve been friends since their teens, and Juan Pablo has had the moniker since he was very young. Bernardo thinks that it could be because Juan Pablo attended a Catholic school, and at the time, the name of the sitting pope was John Paul II aka Juan Pablo. In Spanish, the word for Pope is Papa — not to be mistaken with Papá, which means Dad. 

Since his friend’s restaurant was only open for lunch and dinner, Juan Pablo asked if he could use the kitchen before it opened for the day to experiment and learn to make different types of non-traditional loaves, including the bread that started it all, sourdough. 

Great food, great service and a charming boho chic vibe to boot

Starting From Scratch: The Rise Of Boulenc

In January 2014, Juan Pablo invited his good friends Bernardo and Daniel López to Oaxaca de Juárez to convince them that it was the right time to open a bakery. He had been selling his artisan bread as a side hustle. He had created a logo and landed on Boulenc, which comes from the word for bread maker in the Picard dialect of France. 

“We came to Oaxaca right before the boom,” Bernardo recalls. “We knew that it had to be located in Centro, because that’s where all the restaurants and tourists are.” 

The trio found a suitable location that was formally an art gallery space. It was within their budget — and became the first incarnation of Boulenc. It didn’t have much, Bernardo says, but it did have three capable co-owners who were up for the challenge. 

Boulenc moved to a larger space and now has a boutique hotel attached (and some cool murals in the restaurant).

Their instincts had proven right. The bakery was quite popular and quickly found devotees. About two years later, one of their loyal customers asked if they might be interested in relocating to the colonial-era home across the street at Calle Porfirio Díaz 207.

“It’s a huge house,” Bernardo says. “When we went to check it out, there were just three people living there with three massive Neapolitan mastiff dogs. It was a little weird but it was also a good deal, so we said yes.” 

So, in 2016 Boulenc relocated and went from being a cafeteria counter limited to seven customers to a full-blown restaurant that can accommodate up to 25 people. 

Juan Pablo is known for his amazing pastries and breads.

A Passion for Baking and Local Ingredients 

Juan Pablo is known for his passion for baking and his use of fresh, regional ingredients. He sources his flour from a nearby mill in Nochixtlan, and fruits, nuts and other ingredients from small local producers. 

“I believe in using natural, healthy ingredients and making everything from scratch,” Juan Pablo told Plate magazine. “I’m very particular about the ingredients that I use, and I like to know where they come from.”

Boulenc has something for everyone, and serves breakfasts, salads, sandwiches, pizzas and a variety of beverages too long to list here. If you just want to grab something to go, there are European-style artisan breads, delectable pastries and coffee you can get at the bakery counter next door to the restaurant. 

The bar at Boulenc has a cool wire sculpture created by the owners’ friends at Máscaras de Alambre.  

A Fresh Start

Boulenc expanded the business by renovating and adding Boulenc Bed and Bread, a seven-room boutique hotel. 

Paulina García, another co-owner of Boulenc, moved from Saltillo, Mexico and began making jams and preserves in the kitchen above the restaurant patio before experimenting with fermented foods. Eventually she and Daniel opened Suculenta, a provisions store next door to the café. 

Both projects were completed and opened to the public in 2020. 

Despite their success, the founders of Boulenc are constantly trying out new recipes and techniques. 

“I’m always experimenting and trying new things,” Juan Pablo told the Oaxaca Times. “I’m constantly looking for ways to improve and refine our recipes, and to create new flavors that people will love.” 

Most recently, the founders organized and attended a five-day cheesemaking workshop with David Asher from the Black Sheep School of Cheesemaking at a ranch outside of Oaxaca de Juárez. And knowing them, they’ll find a way to introduce some incredible homemade cheeses in the future. 

Be sure to stop into Boulenc at least once during your time in Oaxaca — you won’t be disappointed!

Breakfast at Boulenc 

Over the seven days that Wally and I stayed in Oaxaca, we came to Boulenc twice, and that’s high praise since they had tough competition from our hotel’s in-house coffeeshop, Muss Café. 

Boulenc’s dining room proper is just beyond the doors I mentioned earlier. Inside is a tranquil, open-air courtyard with rustic wooden tables and chairs.  

The walls of the interior courtyard reminded me of another excellent restaurant we dined at in Fez, Morocco called the Ruined Garden, which occupied part of a former dar, or traditional Moroccan home. 

But let’s talk about the real reason you’re here: the food and drink, which is beautifully presented and delicious. They definitely serve up one of the best breakfasts in town. 

During our first visit, I ordered a velvety cold brew that was so good I didn’t need to add milk. Wally had an iced latte, and since he ordered a second one, I know that he enjoyed his drink, too. 

For breakfast, I got a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes made with rice, oat and almond flour served with bananas, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries and figs. This was accompanied by maple syrup served out of a copita, a small gourd cup, and housemade granola. Wally had the turkey ham and cheese croissant with a fried egg, chipotle mayonnaise and fresh tomato. Not traditional Mexican fare, but sometimes when you travel, you crave something continental. 

There’s not a lot of seating, and Boulenc is a popular spot, so be sure to get there early.

A word of advice if you’re interested in having breakfast at Boulenc: Arrive early to avoid waiting in line. It’s a popular spot, and Wally and I made sure to arrive just before 8:30 a.m, when the restaurant opened. We were able to get right in. Breakfast is served until 1 p.m.

The restaurant runs like a well-oiled machine. The staff are friendly, knowledgeable and attentive, which made for a wonderful experience. And while we certainly didn’t feel rushed, there was already a line forming when we left at 9:15. 

To one side of the restaurant is the bakery; on the other is Suculenta, an adorable provision shop.

After breakfast, we popped into Suculenta. You’ll find delicious jarred foods, cheeses, natural wines, organic fruits, vegetables and more. 

We bought mustard with capers, mango and pineapple marmalade, a cocoa peanut butter and jabón de cacao (an exfoliating soap with cacao nibs from Mamá Pacha Chocolate). 

Suculenta offers a selection of homemade condiments and other items, all charmingly packaged.

A variety of booze is on offer at the tienda, with a focus on natural wines.

If the store’s not open, you can also purchase a variety of their goods at the bakery counter. 

The verdict: You might have to keep your eyes peeled to find it, but be sure to add this to your Oaxaca itinerary. And should you have to join the queue, know that it’s worth waiting for. –Duke

Boulenc 

Calle Porfirio Díaz 207
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
México

 

Pretty in Pink: Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel

Discover the strange history of this iconic church, the lively Jardín it overlooks and the riotous Festival of San Miguel. 

Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel, an icon of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

“It’s just like the Disney Castle!” 

It’s a refrain you’ll hear often when you show pictures of the iconic church in San Miguel de Allende. Only, for my money, it’s cooler, cuz it’s pink — and I’d much rather be in Mexico than Disney World. 

“The church was designed by a self-taught indigenous stonemason named Zeferino Gutiérrez, who was inspired by a postcard of a Belgian church.

Apparently, Gutiérrez had never seen a cathedral in person, so he just winged it, scratching his design in the sand with a stick. ”

You’ll never tire of seeing the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel (they really need to come up with a solid nickname). And the good news is, almost every time you head out to explore the charming colonial town, you’ll find yourself passing by the church and the main square, known locally as el Jardín. 

Behind the church is a quaint cobblestone street.

A Towering Legacy: Construction of San Miguel’s Most Famous Landmark

The exact date of construction is a matter of debate. There’s a convoluted history on the church’s website, stating that the first iteration was in 1564 — while others believe it wasn’t completed until the 1700s. The church has undergone so many renovations and additions over the years that it’s difficult to discern what the original structure looked like.

Perhaps all those renovations is why San Miguel Arcángel is a delightful mishmash of different architectural elements. The exterior features a Neo-Gothic façade that was added in the late 19th century, while the underlying structure is more Mexican Baroque. 

San Miguel de Allende is for lovers.

But let’s face it: The real stars of the show are the towering spires. They’re the stuff of legend, designed by a self-taught indigenous stonemason named Zeferino Gutiérrez, who was inspired by a postcard of a Belgian church. Apparently, Gutiérrez had never seen a cathedral in person, so he just winged it, scratching his design in the sand with a stick. 

Whatever the case, the end result is magical — he created those fantastical, otherworldly spires that look like they belong in a fairytale.

Part of its undeniable charm is the fact that it’s pink. The stones used in the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel’s façade are cantera, a volcanic rock likely sourced from nearby quarries. Over time, the stones have taken on a more vibrant shade of pink, winning the hearts of visitors and locals alike.

Duke sits on the steps at the side of the church.

The church sort of leans to one side, which has led to various theories about how it came to be that way. Some say it was built askew on purpose to ward off evil spirits or to align with the position of the sun. Others attribute its slant to an earthquake or even the Devil himself. In reality, the tilt is likely due to the sandy soil San Miguel Arcángel was built on, which has shifted over time. This natural phenomenon is known as subsidence and is a common problem in many parts of the world.

In recent years, efforts have been made to stabilize the church and prevent further subsidence. However, the tilt remains a distinctive feature of the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel and adds to its unique character and charm. Hey, it worked for that Tower of Pisa.

The Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel has seen some violence over the years.

The Cristero War and the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel 

The San Miguel Arcángel parish has seen some real action over the years. For one thing, it was witness to the bloody Cristero War of the 1920s. This violent conflict pitted Catholic rebels against the anti-clerical government of Mexico, with both sides fighting tooth and nail for their beliefs. San Miguel Arcángel wasn’t spared from the brutality — bullets and bombs left the church’s walls scarred and pockmarked. In addition, some of the priests of San Miguel Arcángel were killed or exiled during the conflict. 

The church was later repaired, a testament to the resilience of the locals and a symbol of Mexican history and faith.

The interior of the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel didn’t go entirely as planned.

A Work in Progress: The Interior of Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel 

While I’m utterly smitten with the whimsical exterior of the Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel, the interior ain’t too shabby, either. It also features a variety of architectural styles, including Gothic, Baroque and Neoclassical. The high ceilings and intricate details create a sense of grandeur and awe. The main altar is adorned with gold leaf and features a statue of San Miguel, aka Saint Michael the Archangel, the church’s namesake. 

Wally thinks this would be a great place to propose to someone.

Off to the side is a smaller chapel adorned with surprisingly modern murals that look Cubist. 

A chapel in the back corner of the church has a Cubist-esque mural showing indigenous Mexicans on one side and Catholic monks on the other.

As impressive as the interior is, though, it’s not quite finished — or what was first intended. In fact, the original plans for the interior were much more grandiose, but due to a lack of funding and resources, many of the ideas were never fully realized. 

On the side of the church is a statue of Fray Juan de San Miguel, who founded the city and was, in turn, named for Saint Michael the Archangel.

Saintly Swordsman: The Legend of San Miguel

So who exactly is the archangel the church is named for? 

Well, with a name like Miguel, which means “Who Is Like God,” it’s not surprising that he’s the commander of the heavenly host. He’s often depicted with a sword, ready to do battle against Satan and his minions. 

San Miguel is also the patron saint of police officers and soldiers. 

Plaza Allende, commonly known as the Jardín, is the bustling center of this charming colonial town.

The Heart of San Miguel: Exploring the Jardín, the City’s Vibrant Central Park

Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel overlooks the main town square, the Jardín, formally known as Plaza Allende. This lively square is the beating heart of San Miguel de Allende. If you’re looking to people-watch, hear a mariachi band, pose with the giant puppets called mojigangas or grab some street food (we had elotes one night that were delicious), this is the place to be. 

Dancing by the gazebo

A mariachi trumpeter

Mariachi bands entertain the crowds in the plaza in front of the church.

The Jardín is situated right in the center of town, which makes it a prime location for all sorts of festivities and events. It’s flanked by the church on one side, and rows of shops and restaurants on the others, so there’s always something to see and do.

Grab dinner at the elote stand.

Wally digs into his elote.

But the Jardín wasn’t always the lovely green space it is today. In fact, it used to be a marketplace where vendors sold everything from produce to livestock. It wasn’t until the early 20th century that the town decided to convert it into a park, complete with benches, a gazebo and trees that have been trimmed into circles.

If you can, time your trip to coincide with the Feast of San Miguel at the end of September.

Feast of San Miguel and the Crazy Castillos of the Town’s Biggest Fiesta

Duke and I happened to be in SMA during the Feast of San Miguel — but, as odd as it might sound, no one told us about it! Thank God we happened to be walking through the Jardín and noticed that they were erecting wooden scaffolds in front of the church. 

We looked at a flyer pasted to the wall that listed local events. Lo and behold, it was none other than the town’s biggest frickin’ festival! 

There was a café on the corner we’d been wanting to check out, so we popped in there and got some drinks while we waited for the festivities to begin. 

The week-long Festival of San Miguel, aka La Alborada, takes place around September 29, the saint’s feast day, usually culminating on the following weekend. 

The festival’s firework show was the most impressive we’ve ever seen — in part because of the gorgeous backdrop of the church spires.

And what a festival it was! A crowd gathered in front of Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel, and mariachis played their tunes. But the pièce de résistance were the castillos, those towers we had seen, rising up like giant matchstick sculptures in front of the church. 

Local craftsmen build these towering infernos, using skills and techniques that have been passed down through generations. It’s truly a sight to behold. 

The castillos are a wonder to behold.

When they’re lit, stand back — and let the sparks fly! The pyrotechnicians manning the castillos are like mad scientists, firing off bursts of firecrackers in all directions, painting the night sky above San Miguel Arcángel in a kaleidoscope of colors amid ear-splitting booms. The fireworks on the castillos emit high-pitched wails, spin like Catherine wheels, and form images and words. The whole spectacle was unlike anything we had seen before. 

Forget the drawn-out firework shows you see in the States; this was a machine-gun riot of color and explosions — the best we’ve ever seen. A huge grin was plastered on my face, and I’d turn to my neighbors, strangers united by sharing this marvel, and we’d shake our heads and laugh, unable to believe we were witnessing such magic. –Wally

Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel from el Mirador, overlooking the town of SMA

Parroquia San Miguel Arcángel

Principal s/n
Zona Centro
37700 San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato
Mexico