Mexican Days Journeys into the Heart of Mexico

1. Once Upon a Time in Mexico So what do you make of this?" said Xavier. I watched, from behind a cordon of yellow police tape, Antonio Banderas in a mariachi outfit, and Salma Hayek in far less, dangling from cables affixed to the rooftop of the Hotel San Francisco in San Miguel de Allende's central plaza, el jardin. Walkie-talkies crackled in Spanish and English. A utility van edged slowly past with a card taped to its windshield reading ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO. "Accion!" A volley of fake gunshots burst forth; cameras droned. As the pair descended on the cables in the burnished early twilight, kicking the air, I realized they weren't Antonio and Salma at all but stunt doubles. "Cut!" I heard in English. Then I saw, over the heads of the gawkers, the real Johnny Depp, pale and slight, emerging from Xavier's dad's restaurant with his lady, Vanessa Paradis, on his arm. Willem Dafoe swung into view, followed by Cheech Marin. Was that Mickey Rourke across the plaza? Ruben Blades? Girls' screams signaled the arrival of the true Banderas, Melanie Griffith close beside him; then la Salma herself with her swain, Edward Norton. Cast and crew had been shooting for months in and around San Miguel, Xavier said. Local nerves were frayed. First flutters of pride and curiosity had given way to resentment. Shopkeepers were up in arms at street blockades preventing access to their stores. An old gringo had cursed out a camera crew some days earlier, to the amusement of the local town paper, Atencionas if he had any more or less right to be here than they did. Hungry locals, hoping to hire on for a few days' work as extras in a bullfight scene, complained about low pay and dry sandwiches. News had leaked out that Melanie Griffith refused to leave the room while a woman masseuse attended to Antonio. "They've rented our town," Xavier said. "Or maybe I should say they've bought it." Banderas and director Robert Rodriguez, of El Mariachi fame, hoping to mollify criticism for "not giving something back to the community," were going to show Spy Kids for free in the plaza that night for the benefit of local youth. The massive movie screen had been installed in front of the Museo Ignacio Allende, obscuring the statue of San Miguel's native son and revolutionary hero, and folding metal chairs were stacked against the old wall across from the Parroquia, the parish church. Banderas would speak to the kids beforehand, thank the community, and introduce the film. It was a late summer afternoon, the town walls flaring brick red as the sun tipped the mountains across the Guanajuato Plaingolden time for the cameras, no doubt. Over and over the couple dropped like spiders from the Hotel San Francisco roof, accompanied by flurries of gunshots. "They've been shooting the same scene for three days," Xavier said bleakly. I'd been away for a while, doing necessary things, all the while dreaming of sweet return. I suppose I should have been amused at the irony: former refugee from the movie capital of the world finds himself tripping over cable wires, kliegs, and booms trying to get back to his house in this once-remote old town in the central Mexican highlands. But it had been a tough trip: two weeks earlier, the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Leaving LAX for Mexico that morning had been like passing through an armed camp. This was hardly the soft landing I'd imagined on the flight down. We slipped away from the flower sellers, bullhorns, and stargazers crowding the portales around the plaza and headed down CaCohan, Tony is the author of 'Mexican Days Journeys into the Heart of Mexico', published 2006 under ISBN 9780767920902 and ISBN 0767920902.