Almagro is situated in the southwest of the plains known as La Mancha. It's the kind of place San Miguel de Allende was thirty years ago, except with more money. As in most Spanish and Latin American towns, life centers on the town square.

Almagro's is large, and while lacking shade trees, provides an expanse where children can play impromptu futbol games.

The plaza is aligned east-west, with shady arcades on the north and south sides. In an unusual architectural twist, the arcades are formed by wooden balconies supporting two stories fronted by continuous rows of windows.

The two floors are residential; undoubtedly pleasant on peaceful days (like when we visited), awful during weekends and festival weeks. Stacks of chairs hint at the incipient arrival of weekenders, only an hour's drive away in Madrid.

Note the long, brown beam supported by all those white columns. My inner engineer compels me to comment on details of their construction.

In the 16th Century when these were built, tall, straight oak trees could still be found in nearby forests. Half a millennium later, these old timbers have endured as only oak can, a phenomenon that causes me to wonder every time I see it, whether in an old English stone cottage or a half-timbered house in an ancient German city.

The trees from which these beams were cut were left to dry for years after felling. You can see this today because they have not warped and twisted like the ones in wetter climates such as England. While very long by today's standards, still several had to be pieced together to make the 400'-long arcade.

The beams were joined together using a variant of an old structure called a butterfly. In the photo on the left, you can see a wooden butterfly, on the right you can see one made of iron.

(Sorry. I get off on this kind of stuff.)

An open ironwork belfry supports the town clock bell on city hall.

I don't see these often. Too bad; I think their airy, delicate look is charming. The airy, delicate communications antenna behind the belfry does nothing to enhance the structure's beauty. Why the hell do they do stuff like that? San Miguel has antennas sprouting all over its colonial buildings. They would be every bit as effective sprouting over the ugly Gigante building at the edge of town.

And while I'm bitching, look at the telephone line strung across the town square in the first photo. Almagro has gone to a great deal of effort and expense to preserve the town. Why allow someone to screw it up?

Almagro looks as much like a colonial-era town as possible when you have cars and electrical lines and election posters.

A note to San Miguel's Architecture Police: This is the way a colonial city is supposed to look. White. That palette of earth tones we're restricted to using: they didn't have paint in those colors in the 17th Century. They had white. That's all. Our brick reds and ochers and yellows and browns are lovely. OK by me if everyone cooperates and uses them. But don't be talking about authenticity to justify your regulations. Authentic is white.

Jean and I sat under umbrellas at a café in the square and drank cokes. (Two bucks a pop for eight ounces—the standard price in Spain.) Next to us sat two local women talking. Once in a while, one of their children would check in, then run off to do more kid stuff. Neighbors would stop by, and ask if they had seen this person or that, or would just sit and gossip for a bit before going on with their day.

It seems like a nice, safe town. Small children have the run of the plaza without parental supervision. People walk their well-behaved dogs without leashes. Reminds me of growing up in a small town in New Jersey.

And unlike their reputation in Mexico, policemen seemed to be genuinely concerned about the welfare of citizens.

In this benign atmosphere, no threatening or dissolute characters live. And wonder of all wonders, there's no graffiti.