At first it looks like one of those inflatable creatures car dealers rent to promote a sale, made of fabric and kept constantly wobbling by a fan underneath.
But from the high vantage point of the Libramiento, the bypass highway that girds San Miguel, you realize this goose, sitting contentedly on its own puddle of blue water, is not some makeshift creation.
|Meet Señor Goose: Towering but kinda cute.|
According to one of the newspapers, lawsuits already have been filed by preservationist sourpusses and fussbudgets whose aesthetic sensibilities have been upset by the appearance of the goose, which admittedly is hard to miss.
Stew and I figured it to be about sixty feet high, from the sidewalk to the tip of its head. We also hope the suit is summarily dismissed by a judge with the proper sense of humor and perspective.
We're rooting for the San Miguel Goose.
Just give it time and it's bound to become another San Miguel landmark, certainly far more creative and unique than some of the cell phone towers and microwave antennas that surround the city, or the banal faux-colonial structures that keep popping up as if the last new architectural trend around here took place sometime in the mid-eighteenth century.
For sure the Goose is far more interesting than the condominium building, seven or eight stories high, that went up a couple of years ago and now towers over the town, clinging to the Libramiento like an overgrown barnacle.
Stew and I drove down to visit the Goose--it isn't that hard to find, you just keep your eye on its head rising above the surroundings--and the closer we got the more we were awed.
Unfortunately, the man responsible for this creation, reportedly an American last-named Kagan and who is a naturalized Mexican citizen, didn't want to talk to us even after a couple of visits and several phone calls. Too bad, because I would have congratulated him for his creativity and unmitigated chutzpah, and his willingness to put his money behind his unorthodox idea.
From what we could gather from outside and from talks to a couple of workers, who didn't want to say much, the Goose is the centerpiece of a combination motel and shopping arcade built around a large parking lot that has been under construction for over a year.
A sign outside the permanently shut gate announces the Hotel Buenos Sueños, or "Good Dreams", which is not exactly the reaction of a woman who lives across the street, who calls the Goose una locura, or a "crazy stunt."
The entire project is called Plaza San Arvino, supposedly in honor of the patron saint of the shiftless--a bit of humor that for now remains a mystery.
The Goose is not by any means a shoddy piece of construction and it could fit nicely into a theme park, albeit one with Jurassic Park-size creatures.
The skeleton of the structure is made mostly of rebar, and various other metal reinforcements, carefully molded and assembled. The proportions are accurate and lifelike, reflective of a real goose's head, neck and body, though outsized in relation to the neighboring, and totally unremarkable, buildings.
The plumage, I was told by one of the workers, is made of fiberglass molded around the metal bones. Details simulate the plumage, and the wings supposedly lift slightly to provide ventilation on hot days or nights for the ballroom underneath. The eyes are made of stained glass and will be lit from inside. Several spotlights that surround the base will ensure no one misses the Goose at night.
Despite the careful detailing and workmanship, the Goose has become known as the Duck, "El Pato," to Mexicans in the neighborhood, even though one of the workers patiently explained that if you look at it carefully it's unmistakably a goose. Others think they see a swan.
I vote for a goose. Its neck is too long for duck and too short for a swan.
But why a goose? Why not an elephant or panda? Mr. Kagan is not talking but one of his workers said that "everyone loves a goose."
Not quite everyone: There's a yellowing "Obra Suspendida" ("Project Shut Down") sign on the gate from the city's building department. Judging from the age of the sign and the continuing construction, it's clear that Mr. Kagan is not worried about sanctions from the local design police.
Or maybe he knows something the rest of us don't about the workings of the municipal government.
Fact is that outside the Disneyfied central area of San Miguel, where strict restrictions abound not only about the design but also the color and height of the buildings, and what can be remodeled and how, much of the town is pretty much an architectural free-fire zone.
One of the most remarkable buildings on the Libramiento is a lime-green, two-story building decorated with cement frogs and until recently a lively brothel, called "Las Ranas" or "The Frogs," the animal symbolism as enigmatic as the Goose. It's now closed and for sale.
Indeed, most of the Libramiento is lined with half-finished buildings, slums, tire repair shops and other eyesores that don't add anything to San Miguel's reputation as a World Heritage Site.
In the subdivision of Los Frailes, two monstrosities stand out: A full-size, Cinderella-style castle and a home with pieces of glass embedded on the mortar, trying to emulate a Gaudi-type design.
I'd rather have geese, ducks or swans any day.