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When we booked our trip to San Miguel de Allende, I thought I would be most excited about a little R&R, margaritas, European style architecture, and tacos, tacos, tacos. 
Instead, I was the doors. 
Yes, doors. Maybe because there was very little R&R to be had with a 5-month-old infant, and as a breastfeeding Mum I had to take it easy on the margaritas. So as we walked the streets, the charming, narrow, medieval village style streets, it was the doors that captured me. 
Fascinating doors. Some well cared for, polished and oiled, wood shining brightly in the sunshine. Doors set into bright orange and soft pink walls. Others were shabby and somewhat forgotten, wood chipping in places, paint rubbed off and peeling. But rich or poor, gleaming or grungy, the doors were all eye-catching. 
Generally, doors in foreign cities cause a bit of curiosity. Who lives there? What happens behind that closed door? What are the lives like of those that spend their days behind it? It&…

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