San Miguel de Allende wears its history on its sleeve, but you can hear it in its heartbeat too—each chime of the monumental clock in the main square. For 46 years, Raúl Vázquez has wound, oiled, cleaned, and calibrated that French-made marvel, carrying on a tradition born when the clock first ticked in 1901. Today his son Daniel continues the work, ensuring the gears of time keep turning for everyone in town.
Raúl’s journey began in 1979, when the clock stood silent—its dials cracked, its quarters mute, pigeons treating the mechanism as home. With his own funds he rebuilt the floor, laid bricks, bought special oils and tools, and, piece by piece, brought the tower back to life. He polished the original metal alloy parts until they gleamed, nourished the wooden beams, and restored the chimes that mark every fifteen minutes. He never drew a salary. “Some jobs you don’t do for money,” he says, “you do for honor.”
Behind every monumental clock lies a story. In the 1890s a group of Querétaro landowners decided they wanted their own timekeeper. After scouring Europe via the prestigious La Esmeralda jewelry house in Mexico City, they purchased one of three sister clocks made by a French firm. Gold and silver ingots paid the way. After a month at sea the mechanism finally arrived in Veracruz, then Mexico City, then San Miguel. Local masons, led by Don Zeferino, had built the tower long before— they only needed the heart that would begin to beat inside it.
Life wasn’t easy for Raúl. He ran away from home at twelve, slept in parks, washed in fountains, worked in factories and restaurants. He learned watchmaking from his brother-in-law, and by nineteen he had his own workshop. When the chance to care for the clock came, he took it. Over decades, he watched neighbors grow old, tourists snap photos, and hears every chime as a memory passing through time. Once an elderly woman begged him to stop the clock— “I’m getting older,” she said— and he gently paused the mechanism so she could hold time in her arms.
Daniel grew up in the shadow of those gears. At fourteen he learned to wind the clock; today, at twenty- something, he disassembles and reassembles the entire mechanism once a month. He knows every gear’s tooth. His pride is clear: “As long as I live, that clock will never stop ticking.” The other two sister clocks vanished in wartime; this one stands alone, priceless and original.
Every quarter-hour the bell tower reminds San Miguel’s people that time moves forward—even as they pause to remember who they are. Raúl and Daniel’s dedication shows that heritage lives not just in stones and paint, but in the daily ritual of care. In their hands, a French machine from 1900 still sings, weaving lives together through the simple act of marking minutes and hours.
Maybe that’s why the clock feels like a heartbeat— because it links past and present in a living rhythm. And as it ticks, it tells a story of honor, family, and a town that counts its legacy in chimes.
