Into the City

November 13-16, 2000 -- After several days at the beach, decided to see the action of Mexico�s second biggest city. Popping fantastic pillow, losing travel guide, wilder nights than i would have liked, Orozco murals, donuts, beet juice, smiling, the hotel hamilton

Guadalajara

Nate, Jon, and I arrived at the Puerto Vallarta bus station (called the Camionera) around noon. For some reason, Sayulita and Puerto Vallarta have different time zones, although they are only an hour apart. To be honest, I never really know what time it is, so far it hasn't hurt me much though. Anyways, for 26 bucks we caught the nicest bus any of us had ever been on to Guadalajara. For anyone with any concerns about busing it here, it is truly easy, readily available, cheap, and totally the way to go. Gas is like 2.50 a gallon right now, and the toll roads we took charged 7 bucks every 30 miles or so, so the bus was a real bargain. Plus, we got a Chevy Chase cop movie that was in English with Spanish subtitles so I could study, although the tracking was messed up. The next film, Chill Factor, was dubbed in Spanish so they cranked the volume and we got to enjoy one of the many violent films that are shown in public, no nudity allowed, but lots of violence. The ride goes through tropical windy mountains for 3 hours to Tepic, where you start heading inland. We passed a pretty impressive volcano, and then entered the high desert. Around the town of Tequila, everyone grows agave cactuses for distillation in the factory. I guess you can take a Tequila Express train from Guad to Tequila for 50 bucks and tour the factory. Supposedly there is plenty of booze for free. Drink up kids. The only other notable thing about the bus ride was that I found out my Basic Design handy dandy travel pillow was irreparably popped along a seam from riding in the back of the truck on the way to the bus station. I guess it didn't like the 185 pounds of bouncing fat ass for an hour, although the guy from the People's Guide to Mexico said it was perfectly suited for this. I tossed it in the trash at the Guadalajara bus station.

We caught a cab from the bus station downtown, supposedly from the Lonely Planet, it should cost 4.50 according to zones having set rates, although he quoted us 7 bucks. Just to verify though, the meter read 45 pesos when we arrived, but we were charged the higher rate. More disconcerting to me though was that I left my Lonely Planet in the back of his cab for I'm sure what amounted to an eye popping tip along with what he had already gleaned off of us. We checked into the Hotel Hamilton, a divey sort of place, but cheap at 7 bucks (for future reference, 10 pesos = 1 dollar, and if I say bucks or dollars, I mean US money, pesos mean pesos). After an uneventful dinner, we wandered around a bit and saw many incredible colonial buildings. Downtown Guad is amazing, with expansive squares, cathedrals -- really really impressive.

It started getting dark and we wanted to find a bar. We started talking to random strangers, telling them our predicament, and a 55 year old man named Manuel (Manu) offered to show us the ropes. Sure, what the hell, let's go boys. He started walking us into the east side of the city, which we had been warned about. He was really nice, but I was getting uncomfortable with the repeated questions about how much money I made, etc. I just blew these off with, demasiado (too much), or ahora nada (now...nothing). We rounded the corner into a very seedy dark part of the city, and all of our sphincters started to constrict, but onward we went to what turned out to be a neon lit whorehouse with plastic tables. I got the first round of 8 Tecates in a plastic bucket filled with ice. The advantage of whorehouses is cheap beer and lots of free antojitos (snacks). The bad thing is the women are attrocious and you feel like a total loser for being there. Nothing is forced on you though, and we just sat and drank and talked with Manu. He was teaching us lots of swear words, and the conversation stayed on extremely macho subjects. He ended up taking us even deeper into the district to another bar where we met one of his friends. Jon didn't speak any Spanish, and this guy slurred so much from double fisting booze that he was incomprehensible anyway, but he insisted on hanging on Jon's shoulder and talking to him. He was pretty harmless though. We all looked at each other and had had enough of this shit though, so we made for the door.

As I was leaving though, a pimp called to me and asked me if I liked his bitch, if I wanted some of his bitch. I felt so sorry for the poor, pathetic strung out girl, I told him no thank you, you're very kind, but we need to leave to go to bed now. It took several repeats of this to leave, but we finally were out of there, and after a few blocks, we lost our amigos Manu and his buddy. All in all it was good, and we were glad we saw it, but it is just not my thing at all and I'll try to avoid that kind of thing in the future. Just puts you too much in the face of poverty, sadness, and desperation. We stumbled into another bar to get our bearings. Everyone was nice and was singing along to the juke box. Ate a disgusting pickled raw pork tripe or fat snacklet called cueritos, I recommend avoiding these at all costs. A smiling guy came up to me and asked me if I was acquainted with San Francisco, I told him yes, and that I lived a few hours south of there when I was growing up. Another guy started talking to Nate, explaining him the intricacies of conversational Spanish and the things that we were messing up. He was very cool and smart, spoke English perfectly. He asked if we knew we were in a gay bar, and Nate said no, but he had had a feeling. I liked the bar, everyone was nice, and it was a welcome relief from what preceded it.

The next day, we went to the museum - El Museo Regional de la Guadalajara. Amazing art, an entire woolly mammoth skeleton standing there, various documents and stuff. Almost got kicked out when Nate jokingly walked up to a priceless painting and started poking it. Ah well, the security guard seemed to blow it off. We had had no luck finding a replacement for my Lonely Planet, and Jon super-gracefully offered to sell me his -- huge thanks! For 10 bucks and my copy of The People's Guide to Mexico, I was back in business. We ended up in an incredible bar called the Maestranza that night. It is decorated with tons of memorabilia of bullfights, 50+ year old posters, stuffed bull heads of extremely valiant bulls, very high ceilings, blaring U2 and other songs I liked. A young, hip crowd. Loaned the boys some pants because they couldn't get into this one bar that looked promising, but it turned out to be a completely empty bar with a terrible band that was going to have male dancers later. We left after one very expensive round. Finished with another round in what turned out to be a whorehouse again. Of the six bars we hit, I believe 3 were whorehouses. Just as a way of warning, if you hear live music, and the doors are somehow obscured or large, it�s probably a sex bar of some kind. I didn't really like these places, so be advised.

The boys took a midnight bus home, and I got up the next morning and had a giant cup a beet/carrot/orange juice and a donut fried right up there on the street in a pot of grease, then sliced and filled with jam and rolled in sugar. I was in heaven. At this place called the Instituto Cultural de las Cabanas, I saw the coolest murals of my life. A guy named Orozco painted in the 1930's I believe, a theme of Hernando Cortez' conquest of Mexico. The murals are amazing, culminating in a dome with the Man of Fire, Hombre de Fuego, a burning, hellish looking figure that appears to be ascending. I don't know what the art critics say, but it looked like a damnation of colonialism, war, and Catholicism to me. Very profound, disturbing, amazing art. I went back that night to see the Ballet Folklorico do some boot stomping numbers in regional dress. Very cool for 4 bucks. As I suspected, spending the day alone forced me to use Spanish exclusively and made me far more approachable. Lots of nice conversations, one with an old teacher named Manuel at the murals, he reminded me of my Grandpa, and one with a hairdresser named Norma near a fountain. It's very exhausting for me right now, because I don't understand a lot and have to translate constantly, but I know it will improve. I'm off this morning to Lake Chapala, to see where all the gringos retire, and also to check it out because my brother-in-law has family there. It's a short 20 mile bus ride from the old bus station, which I can walk to. Guadalajara is an amazing city, and I recommend it to anyone. Once I knew the town, I felt very safe cruising around, even around 11 or 12. Just need to stay out of the rough areas.

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