The wall looked like the inside of a Mayan Temple, and reminded me of the reliefs at Palenque. They were hardly the Stations of the Cross, or pictures telling the story of Christ, or a picture of Old Testament prophets, or New Testament parables.

Real del Monte took up most of my day. I headed for Queretaro but as the sun dropped, I looked at my map and I could see, I could not make Queretaro before dark. No Thanks. Daylight is tough enough on the Grand Marquis and me.

I came to the town of Ixmilquilpan. I was on the main road through town when traffic hit zero mph. I turned the Grand Marquis towards the center and the spire on the tall, boxy tower of the church.

Now you'd think that I'd had my fill of churches, and yes I have. But..... darn if I wasn't curious. It's size and style, a mixed Gothic-Roman Temple, just drew me in. The church was once a convent, and it must have served thousands. It soared in height, had narrow buttresses, which seemed more for decoration than support. But inside this robust, boxy, fortress church, were the most fascinating murals I've ever seen.

The wall looked like the inside of a Mayan Temple, and reminded me of the reliefs at Palenque. They were hardly the Stations of the Cross, or pictures telling the story of Christ, or a picture of Old Testament prophets, or New Testament parables.

I can't tell you what they represented or how they instructed the early converts. They looked like battle scenes between pre-Hispanic tribes. Eagle-men fighting Jaguar-men, battles clubs, one man grimaced with his head lopped off as if Santiago had just struck down a Moor. Wild battle scenes covered the walls and ceiling.

I asked and found an informative lady ready to close the convent section, which I would have liked to see. Kindly, she took her time and told me that the church was part of the convent. It was named San Miguel Archangel (same as the ex-hacienda where I stayed last night). It was build by the Augustines in 1550. That's really early in the period of The Conquest. The church is huge and has no colonial aspect in my opinion.

I noted the Gothic arches and the Roman Temple faade. But the lady said that it was all explained in an authoritative book written under the auspicious of the State of Hidalgo Cultural Heritage, but of course, it was out of print.

(When I got home, I Googled: Ixmiquilpan murals. I found David Charles Wright Carr's interpretation and drawings of the murals, which he called, Blood for the Sun, at www.prodigyweb.net.mx/dcwright/sangre.htm.)

My side trip now made Ixmiquilpan home for a night's rest. But it's the weekend and this is a water sports, recreation town. Bathers enjoy thermal baths and the kids ride the water slides. So I hoof it around looking for a hotel and got turned down. Best hotels are full.

I lower my quality standards. There is a downtown hotel. I ask to see the room. It's cement, windowless, airless, an interior cell that would have the monks changing faith. It's an oven. So I turn it down. Then hidden under the downtown arches, I found a hotel. Nice to look at, but not much better than what I declined. Hotel Palacio at least has a window and although it might steam a tamale, it won't bake this tourist turkey. Things do get relative real quick when I'm feeling desperate.

They didn't have a single, only a double, so I took it for $27. You get what you pay for, well sometimes. In this case I got less. Patio noise echoed directly into my room. Cars pulled in late at night and early in the morning. There was about 2 hours maximum quiet. I stayed awake to enjoy it.

Parking is a squeeze. Next morning is a back up ordeal. These old building with inner patios are being space challenged by SUVs and my Grand Marquis barely made it among the guests.

After I checked in I took a deep breath and a walk, once around the plaza where lovers snuggled on public benches seeking unlighted corners.

As I approached my hotel I spied Teatro Hidalgo. I went over and asked, "Is there a program?" I'm answered, "It started about 20 minutes ago, it's a trova (romantic singer), come, come in." There was no charge.

I found myself a seat on the right aisle. Hector Cervantes was playing. He's a longhaired, stout fellow, dressed in near black. When he finished singing, the audience of 38 sounded like a full theater. They cried for an encore. He sang a ballad about lost love then introduced his friend. Daniel Venegas.

Daniel composed his own lyrics, which focused on his romantic past. Before each song, he gave the audience a brief history. He mentioned the girls that he once loved and in particular told a story about a girl whose father was the cause of the breakup. The father did not approve of Daniel. Daniel wasn't the right guy for his daughter. I tended to agree.

Daniel wore late-night musician as a badge.

He told us this story. When his love was restricted, the romance was carried on over the telephone. Then the father said, "No more talking on the phone."

Daniel wrote a song, Seranata TelefonÍca, which he would shortly sing for us. Since the father had forbidden talking, Daniel would sing. He called his love. She answered and he sang. Daniel heard weeping and he was unaware that the girl's mother was listening on the other line.

It was the mother crying.

Daniel sang his ballad. It was personal to Daniel, but a universal story for the audience.

Early next morning I pointed the Grand Marquis north. There comes a moment on every trip when you want to go home.

This is the final story from my Forty Days in Mexico.
The previous story in the series is Hacienda Trail, Mining and Marvels.