I sat at a cafe table drinking extremely hot coffee and sampling a rich layered chocolate confection which bordered on decadent. A young man wheeled a motorbike, the name of the establishment emblazoned on a box on it's back, out of the tiny shop and past me across the front patio before taking off to make morning deliveries.
Despite it's hundreds of years of history, evidenced by it's wealth of venerable buildings, Guadalajara is a city, full of noise, traffic and masses and masses of people. In the morning hours men in suits rushed to work and casually dressed young people made their way to classes at the university just a few blocks away. People stand in long orderly lines waiting for buses, packed at that hour. I smiled thinking about how different this is than the sometimes chaotic scenes at the bus stops back home. Bells from the 17th century church across the street chime the hour. A line of students alights from a bus, backpacks in hand. The February morning is cool, by afternoon it will be pleasurably warm. The jackets and scarfs worn by some will be stuffed into bags or carried in hand. The shorts I wore left my lower legs almost uncomfortably cold yet I knew that by midday I would be enjoying the feel of warmth and air around them, a mid winter treat. It would be 2 months, at least, before I would be able to wear them at home.
I sat, relaxed and savored the remainder of the coffee watching the world go by as I eased into the day.
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