Federico Tapia

Yesterday, we decided to head to San Isidro, a small village 25 km from San Miguel de Allende. The road (if you can even call it that) is terrible: you can only get there with a good 4x4, on foot, or by horseback. Along the way, we got lost several times and, since there was no internet connection for a map, we used a drone to figure out where to go.

In those 25 km, we only met one woman. We stopped for a chat, and she invited us to have lunch at her house, which is somewhere in the midst of all that greenery.

This is something extraordinary about Mexico (and also, in my experience, Latin America in general): despite everything that happens, people aren’t afraid; the default attitude toward strangers is always one of trust and openness. We declined the invitation, but we exchanged phone numbers.

The landscape was stunning; the air was filled with butterflies, some of them enormous: I've never seen such large ones. There were also small votive chapels that, as is often the case here, blend Catholicism with animist elements.

We arrived in San Isidro: about twenty houses, a tiny shop, a kindergarten, a primary school, and a secondary school (in total, there are 25 students). Here we met Federico, a 70-year-old man who has lived here all his life with his wife and sister. They farm the land, mainly growing corn, and take care of the village’s water reservoirs, which are essential for the free and happy animals that graze there.

They invited us to eat with the customary phrase: “Nuestra casa es su casa.” This time, we didn’t refuse… polite, yes, but not foolish: in Mexico, food — whether simple, like in this case, or sophisticated — is always (always!) incredible. After eating, the real magic began / more...