Pete and I had planned on heading south all the way to Chiapas, but after a maldestined couple days in La Manzanilla, a sleepy fishing-turned...surprise... tourist town, we woke up in the morning both quite ready to make a break for the mountains.
Despite a few happy incidences of only-when-your-traveling magic, including running into our Finnish friend Laura whom we met in La Paz, as well as befriending Sebastian, a perma-traveler from Belgium, and Andre and Alain, two chill cats from Montreal, we were done with the beach for a while.
Instead, we ended up that night in the second largest city in Mexico, Guadalajara. A city of 8 million people, it somehow felt absolutely like same-sized Chicago. No skyscrapers to speak of, no interstates, and instead of the Loop, at its heart was a five-hundred year old city center. We stayed at the cheapest hotel yet in our Mexico adventures, only a few blocks away from the massive cathedral, surrounded by four busy plazas that makes up the center of the city. And seems to be the rule, rather thant the exception in this country, we found out that a huge festival was taking place. Instead of a religious festival however, it turned out to be the Viva La Tequila Festival, blocks and blocks of Tequila booths from all over western Mexico, each with their scantily-clad buxom women offering free tastes of their particular award-winning liquors.
Pete and I decided to go to the symphony. Yeah, I know. But it was a fun concert of French composers in a quite spectacular theater. I didn´t have nice enough clothes, so I even bought a cheap pair of fancy shoes and new Mexican Man Pants. I even showered, and so after a long while of feeling scuzzy, I finally felt fit for the town.
Unfortunately, the big city caught up with us rather quickly, and we made a run for Guanajuato, the small university town tucked into the mined mountains of the central highlands. A few days turned into a week of language school. During that time, we met some great fellow travelers who we explored the very-Italian-feeling city. We attended a free baroque/opera concert in the beautiful Don Quixote museum, we rode the funicular, we dodged hail on a daily basis, we drank beer inside of a cave-room, we saw a Mexican rap/reggae concert, we ate and drank a lot, and just last night we even attended a Klezmer concert in the cavernous Juarez Teatro in the heart of the city. It was another dream moment. Witnessing these Eastern European folks rocking out in Hungarian with their electric violins and saxophones and drums and haunting voices. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that there are so many beautiful cultures, beautiful people, beautiful places in the world. And I am resigned to the truth that I will do just about whatever it takes to witness them. I was astounded by the Klezmer Band Vodku´s performance, actually. Their chords moved me somewhere deep.
And now, Pete and I are returning south. Back to Oaxaca, a more "American" place, in the indigenous sense of the word. And I think we´re ready for the beach again.
