For years, I’ve heard about San Miguel de Allende in Guanajuato, Mexico’s central highlands, exerting a kind of mythical pull over foreigners as a mecca of arts, architecture and food. In the ‘70s, my cousin Jenny packed all her belongings into her Volkswagen Beetle, sped off from Boulder to San Miguel, and never looked back. The city repeatedly topped CN Traveler’s Readers Choice Awards when we worked there; those photos of ochre- and red-painted colonial buildings lining narrow cobblestone streets looked so enchanting and unlike the gritty patina of Mexico City, 150 miles to the southeast. What was the deal? And is this place for real?
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