Beginning of Colonial Loop

November 16-20, 2000 -- Guadalajara had treated me right, now I wanted to see the retiree hangout Lake Chapala, and on the off chance that there would be a bullfight, I wanted to head to Aguascalientes on the beginning of my colonial city loop. Then I want to hit Zacatecas, Guanajuato, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico City, Oaxaca, San Cristobal de las Casas, Yucatan, then into the great beyond of Central America. Need to be in Costa Rica by mid-January, so need to get a move on!

Lake Chapala

I woke up late on Thursday, had my traditional breakfast of fresh squeezed juice and fruit. Perhaps if I'm feeling sassy some mornings, I have one of Mexico's semi-sweet breakfast breads...amazing beyond description. You can get a roll for 10 or 20 cents, a big glass of juice for a buck, and a banana for 10 cents. Love it! Next, I went to the old cash machine. Was a bit apprehensive that my card wouldn't work, but alas, as often proves the case with my paranoias, it worked fine. The only hitch I had had the day before was that I thought I was withdrawing 200 dollars and it ended up being 200 pesos, I wouldn't have cared except for the 5 dollar cumulative service charge from the Mexican bank and my bank. No problems today though, withdrew 250 bucks and I was large and in charge.

There are two bus stations in Guad, one for long distance (Nueva Camionera) and one for short distances (Vieja Camionera). I walked the mile over to the Vieja Camionera, bought my 2 dollar ticket for the 1 hour ride to Lake Chapala, and I was in good. Here is my first retraction of a previous observation, I'm sure there will be many. I have decided to make no edits to my previous entries. This will give you a better understanding of my learning process and be more in the spirit of a diary. On to the retraction....so the movie starts, and what do my wondering eyes behold but a very saucy love scene from a cheap B movie. Oh yes, there was the snapping of her neck when the villain was finished having his way with her, but not before a lovely full frontal nudity shot :) I thought they didn't show nudity, but how wrong I was. This was not to be my last retraction for the day.

The bus ride takes you through the ugly outskirts of Guad, then into some lovely cornfields as you head due south. Then, you wind up and up over some hills for like 10 miles, and as you crest the ridge, there is this enormous lake, 15 miles by 65 miles someone later told me. Very impressive hills coming abruptly down to the water. The only comparison I have is if you plopped a lake right into the middle of the Central Valley of California, thus turning Modesto into the bottom of a reservoir, and then brought in some rather precipitous hills to ring the whole thing. If you had scuba gear, you could swim down to the 7 Eleven in Modesto for Cokes and Cheetos...but alas, I digress.

I got off in the town of Chapala, found a lovely inn called Casa de Huespedes de las Palmitas, and checked into my well-lighted room for 13 bucks a night. I have a little system now for what I do when I arrive in a town. Check my guide for a promising place, check in, then go out and get lost for awhile. Forget about street names, as often you can't find them, I just walk very slowly and look around as I pass every shop, seeing what treasures might be there...fresh fruit, tacos, pharmaceuticals, whatever. My landmarks are the shops, signs, almost never names of streets or anything, as they may not be posted or are all too often named after the same patriotic heros in every town, thus becoming useless as reference point to my easily befuddled mind. Pretty fun, cause at this point in my life, what the hell does it matter if I get lost for an hour or a day or whatever? I ended up down by the lovely little park near what used to be the lake shore. It appears that Guadalajara's thirst for water from the inlet river exceeds what is needed to keep the thing full, so since 1975, they have lost approximately 1/2 of the lake. I bought a Tecate beer with salt and lime, walked out the old pier, and down what used to be steps to the water, then proceeded to stroll the 1/2 to the new wooden docks where you can rent a boat to take you around the lake. It is incredibly beautiful, and I took some nice snaps of the colorful boats with Scorpion Island in the background. Took a little nap in the park, then after it got dark, went to this bar called the Caballo Loco.

At first I thought it was one of those whorehouse type situations, but the ladies were particularly lovely and young and not jaded, and I found out that I was in what they call a ladies bar down here. Oh sweet ladies bars, where have you been all my life? So this is my second retraction, because I didn't know that they exist, but they do, and serve as a oasis amidst the testosterone clogged cantinas, which are also nice, but don't allow women to enter. Anyways, I had a shot of the greatest tequila of my life. I have been practicing conversation starters, and I tried this one with the bartender...what is the best brand of tequila in Mexico? Questions like this are winners, because you are already implying a compliment with the acknowledgement that the best and only tequila comes from here, and you would love to know more about it. I ended up with a 5 dollar shot lined up in front of me, Herradura Reposado. I nearly shit my pants it was so good, smooth, like no other tequila. I later priced this at 29 bucks a liter down here, so you are probably looking at 50 bucks for it in the states. My advice to you is to BUY IT, and don't put it in a damn margarita. One way is to sip it like a fine wine. The other way to drink it I was told is called the Mexican flag: one shot glass of green, white, and red, the three colors in the flag. The white is the tequila (sometimes yellow, but who's checking?), the green is lime, the red is sangrita, a spicy tomato chaser. Sip of tequila, sip of sangrita, sip of lime. You will die, trust me.

My Spanish improves exponentially with the aid of tequila, and I spent an hour or chatting with the bartenders. After awhile, an old salt from San Antonio, Texas named Ken invited me over to have a beer with he and his other ex-patriate friend named Grady, also from Texas. I am so sad I didn't get a picture of them, because they both had Stetson hats with mildew on them, glorious white facial hair that only old cowboys have, and eyes that gazed into the distance and saw things that a young person never sees. They were talking about panning for gold in Alaska, and how there were rumors of gold mines all throughout the hills surrounding Lake Chapala that the Indians kept secret from everyone. One day, Ken came upon a black sand beach on the lake, and there were some Indians with what looked very much like sluice boxes set up down there. In fact, the black sand looked exactly like the black sand Ken had been chasing for years in Alaska, and one only had to look at the steep hills plunging into the lake to see that anything heavy on those hills would run right down into the bottom of the lake. He later asked them if they were panning for gold and if there were mines around there, the only answer was, we're not panning for gold, there are no mines here. End of story. Very memorable night with those old boys. I also met several other gringo ex-patriates, some of them very very rich, who lived there, golfed there, had flings and intrigues there. There is even one crazy gringo down there who has lived there for years, doesn't speak a word of Spanish, and for all intents and purposes, appeared totally deranged, but very friendly. He was babbling friendly, animated nonsense to all of the Mexicans, and they just spoke back in Spanish saying, sure, OK, will do, righto, laughing good-naturedly about it. I really have no idea what he was talking about, but he was having a great time saying it. Generally, retirement there seemed like an amazing life for anyone who should choose it. The richest gringos live in the nearby village of Ajijic, some of the houses running into the millions of dollars. There is even a golf course, 30 bucks for green fees. Make sure your shots are accurate if you play it, as there is no roll with the grass they have, so stick it right by the pin on your approach shots.

I sort of kick myself for not staying another night, but I headed out to Aguascalientes on Friday morning. I have been feeling a bit restless, and still haven't found the town I am looking for. I kind of have it in my head that it will be in Costa Rica, so I'm looking forward to an extended stay there in January.

Aguascalientes

Friday morning, I had some breakfast, logged on for a bit. Caught the bus down the hill, then caught a 5 dollar cab from the Vieja Camionera to the long distance Nueva Camionera. The cab driver was great, and we were talking lots about politics and all sorts of things. There are people in the world who are naturals at choosing words and speaking very simply so that foreigners can understand. I was deeply appreciative of his efforts to keep it simple for me as speaking with him proved to be effortless for me. The key is that I need to stay relaxed. At the bus station, I bought my ticket for 14 bucks and only had to wait 20 minutes for my bus. The bus service down here totally rocks, so far I haven't had to wait more than 20 minutes for a bus. Absolutely first class way to travel here. On the bus, I sat next to this 77 year old Mexican gentleman from the country. Now his accent was absolutely thick, and I just kept nodding my head and saying Si as he told me story after story of what I think was his journeys driving long distance truck, how he couldn't get papers in the United States, lots of other things about his long life. At one point, he started asking me questions very rapidly, I looked up a few of the words later, and I believe he was asking me, as a computer guy, if computers would conquer the world. In a panic, I answered Si again, and that was obviously the wrong answer, and I just kept having to repeat, sorry, I don't understand the questions, as he kept asking several. I'm sure he was wondering what the hell I had been doing sitting there saying Si for the last hour, but such is life. He was very sweet when I got off the bus and came over to say goodbye.

I caught a cab for 1.50 US into the downtown plaza area, and checked into the Hotel Reforma for 10 bucks a night. The Hotel Reforma is something of an anachronism. It is 1 block off the main plaza, and the bricks attached to it are literally hanging in rubble to make room for the voracious stinking Holiday Inn Express next door. I got a great picture of the destruction of the Hotel Reforma seemingly almost being gobbled up by butthead Holiday Inn. The Hotel Reforma has very high ceilings, is a bit run down and noisy, but I liked it a lot. That evening, I treated myself to a 10 dollar ribeye dinner at Chirri's, and although not as tender as a steak back home, still hit the spot. I went down to the plaza and watched as the sky turned that midnight blue behind the cathedral that you only see in Batman movies. This very cool guy named Jose sat down next to me and we started chatting. He is a waiter at a seafood restaurant, and everyday after work he comes to sit in the plaza just to relax and watch people. We had what was my first really in-depth conversation in Spanish. People bend over backwards to talk to you here if you make any effort at all. I was feeling a bit lonely, and he could see that I needed someone to talk to, so we chatted for probably 2 hours about the foreign experience, why people in Aguascalientes won't smile at you or say anything back when you say hi (something I found very disconcerting), spirituality, photographs of space. It was great, and I went to bed feeling great.

The next day, I got up and went to another church about a mile away from the plaza. The church has a statue of a black Jesus being crucified behind the altar. Jesus has this amazing, curly, long, hippie hair that hangs down below his shoulders. Apparently his left arm is miraculously growing, and when it touches the pillar next to it, a world calamity is predicted. Although I didn't see any evidence of creepy arm stretchiness in the heretofore mentioned Jesus, I did especially like that church. In fact, I love the churches down here, and like to just sit there and breathe like the Channeler lady Jaia taught me to do in Sayulita, breathing in and cherishing myself, breathing out and cherishing others. I love the feeling of awe I get in an empty church. After a few hours of reading outside the church, I went next door to the Posada Museum. Posada was the first modern mexican artist, and he made carvings of comics onto zinc plates that were then dipped in ink and pressed into newspapers as political satire against the Porfirio Diaz dictatorship. He was an amazing artist, and some of his depictions of firing squads and skulls riding around engaging in warfare are truly disturbing. Well, well worth the 2 dollar admission fee.

That night, I went into a cantina again. I asked the guy next to me what the best type of tequila in Mexico was, pretty soon, he was buying me shots of Cazadores (the Hunters), and we were having a merry old time. Then this other guy named Carlos, about 26 years old, approached and sat on my other side. Carlos eventually invited me to meet his family at his home, a great honor here as the home is a sacred place here, and we went out drinking with all of his friends. We had the bar to ourselves, and stayed very late. One of his friends, Juan, was gay, and we had a very interesting discussion about homosexuality. What I read about it in my guide book said that it wasn't discussed in Mexico, although it was common. They were very open about it and said it was no problem. Obviously these guys had been friends since they were kids, and they were all great buds and just gave each other shit about all sorts of things. I found their attitude to be very refreshing, live and let live, honoring the dignity of whoever, basing their judgments more on whether you are a good guy or not instead of on who you are sleeping with. I bought a case of beer and we drank it in the streets back in their neighborhood next to the reach out and touch someone Jesus. I had them laughing, because I kept cracking jokes in Spanish, my stomach hurt and and I kept saying I would like 500 sandwiches please, random shit like that, apparently it translates pretty well because they thought it was funny. Carlos let me crash at his house.

I woke up and he drove me back to my hotel. It was Sunday, and the deal was that If I sprang for the 5 bucks for tickets, Carlos, Juan, and I would eat for free in Juan's family seafood restaurant, then we'd go to the bullfights. Not sure what happened, maybe the restaurant fell through, but the bullfights start promptly at 5, and Carlos and Juan were supposed to be by to pick me up at 3, so when it got well past 4, I told the hotel lady to let them know I had already left and I'd see them there. I mistakenly went to the new bullfighting ring. Apparently this is only used in the spring during the Fair. As I was walking home, I saw a poster advertising the bullfight at the old bullfighting ring. I was late at this point, but I hurried over there, bought my ticket, and was in.

The event was very beautiful, horrible, awe-inspiring. I just had a discussion with Bobchuckx about this over email, and the reality is that we are insulated from death in America. Here, if you go to some butchers, they will kill the chicken before your eyes. The meat markets stink, have blood and flies, dead pig heads for sale with flies crawling in and out of their nostrils. The bullfight is the height of the animals glory and fury, and the height of male machismo in the face of potential death. In my opinion, it is very high and real drama. The wind came up and blew my empty beer over and offended a guy below me. I apologized, told him it was the wind, and after awhile he invited me to sit next to him. He explained the whole thing, all the swords, ritual...it is a play in several acts, executed precisely and with flourish. The only really disturbing thing I saw was when the last bull came out (there are 6 in a standard evening), the bullfighter couldn't kill it. You have exactly 16 minutes to finish the bull off, and if you can't do it in that time, you are disgraced and the bull is allowed to live. By this time, it was pretty messed up though. With very little time left to go, he finally killed it with a special sword to poke it in the brain, a sort of last resort tool for ending the thing. All his confidence was gone, and people walked out before it was finished. The most valiant fight had come early in the evening with the matador (literally translated = killer) being given two ears from the bull and making two cirles of the ring as people applauded and threw their hats and scarves into the sand at his feet. Love it or hate it, it was sad, awe-inspiring, and impressive.

All in all, my stay in Aguascalientes was amazing. Monday morning was the day of Revolution, November 20th. I saw a whole bunch of military displays in the square before heading out to catch my bus to Zacatecas, one of the amazing colonial silver cities whose buildings displayed the wealth of the mines. I don't understand why people on the streets of Aguascalientes are so stern faced, but I'll just chalk it up to a tradition or custom that I don't understand, because once I got to know people there, they were great.

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