¡Viva San Martin!

4 a.m. comes early. Before San Miguel de Allende's church bells could jar me from my sleep, the alarm clock did. Dressing in the dark before dawn, I mumbled something to Josh about this feeling a lot like work.

Francisco, our faithful driver, stopped his taxi in front of our building at 4:30, as planned. The journey was cold and quiet. Neither able to communicate effectively, neither sufficiently awake.

The town we were headed to -- San Martin -- is not on a map. But when the occasional burst of a distant firework lit up the sky, we knew we were getting close. Through the dark, winding, mountain roads, we knew nothing of what was ahead. Coming down a hill, Francisco slammed on his brakes, my heart racing, unsure about what was going on, until the dim beams of his headlights traced the faintest outlines of about a dozen horses and their riders, galloping down the two-lane road... headed to the same place as us.

We got as far as we could in the car, the rest we'd have to do on foot. The ever-present "welcome to Mexico and Mexican food 24-7" quest for a bathroom led me off the dusty, dirty road, through alleyways and past vendors starting to cook breakfast for the tens of thousands about to descend on San Martin....and into one of the most beautiful sites I've ever seen. Off in the distance, every inch of hillside, was coming alive with the pink light of morning, the red fires of caballeros trying to warm to the day and the blue steam rising off the backs and breath of their horses. A priest clad in black robe, entered a circle of cowboys, blessing them and their horses with holy water.

2,500 horses... 25,000 people...

I stood, dumbfounded for a minute... sensory overload... not sure of where to begin. One of the best parts of being a photojournalist is getting to witness things that others don't. Being let into intimate, private, REAL moments. Getting to see beauty in its purest form. Meeting genuine people and getting to share in something special. San Martin was all of those. There are very few times in life where I walk away from something feeling as though there's no way the pictures could have done the scene justice... this however, was one of those times.

12 hours later, hitchhiking down a long, dusty road, thumb out, and hand-scrawled San Miguel sign being held up at every passing chance, a truck pulls over and takes pity on two wayward travelers. Thankful, we sat in the bed of the pickup truck, watching the mountains roll by, silence overtook us both. Reflection on all that we had just seen and done weighed heavily on our minds. Smiles on our sun-soaked faces.

I know a picture is worth a thousand words, but the experience needs only one: epic.