We had passed by one another briefly my first morning at the guesthouse. He came into the breakfast room just as I was leaving it. The next morning we got to know another a bit better. We, the owner and a couple of other guests, made sport of my wound from my encounter with the Mexican wrestler the previous night.
The day before my departure it was he, myself and the owner at the table. After one of the now familiar social/political cinema discussions he said it was the one day he had nothing concrete planned. I invited him to join me in my excursion to Talquepeque, a venerable small town that had been swallowed up by the city as it expanded.
It is an area of stone streets, turn of the 20th century mansions and lush courtyards. Many of the buildings have been transformed into shops, galleries and restaurants. Some of the shops sell the crafts found in other shops around town and the stalls that line plazas in the city center. Some of the galleries sell pricey art in upscale settings. One gallery specialized in massive religious statues. We wondered aloud about what the size of the market for these items could possibly be and how they could be shipped, let alone fit through the old wooden doors of the gallery. Street vendors also offered wares. 2 men sought money from the crowds in exchange for the caged birds they displayed offering a prayer for them. It seemed to me that if one wanted to pray one could do so for free without the assistance of a feathered friend, but who am I to question local customs.
We stopped into what, at first glance, looked like a small silver shop, eventually being led by a saleswoman through several case lined rooms not visible from the street. The pieces were from Tasco, Mexico's "Silver City". After looking at several I settled on a lapel pin, an Art Nouveau inspired figure of a nude woman. We returned to the beautiful sunshine of the afternoon, strolling down the stone street shopping, admiring the sometimes centuries old architecture and sharing personal stories.
We stopped for lunch at a sprawling complex where 18 separate restaurants with separate menus and kitchens share space. Tables spread from the sidewalk street side to an inner courtyard with a gazebo in its center. Folk dancers performed in the gazebo as I sipped a glass of cool white wine and we enjoyed the excellent Mexican fare I had grown accustomed to during my stay.
Later at the guesthouse the two of us sat at a table on the 2nd floor gallery setting up Facebook and text message contacts with one another. It was a bit more complicated than it should have been. I joked about what happens when you have 2 60ish year old men attempting to utilize I phone technology.
My new friend left for I drink and I went to the massage appointment the guesthouse owner had arranged for me in one of the rooms of the house. The masseuse was well trained and his manipulations left me blissfully wobbly. It was a most pleasant way to end my stay in Guadalajara.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - Social, Personal and Political Discourse
At the guesthouse is a long banquet style table made up of 3 tables placed end to end. Each morning it is set with 12 place settings of colorful, traditional Mexican pottery, a plate, bowl, coffee mug and tumbler. It is here that the guests have the opportunity to get acquainted with one another. Often the owner, who lives on the premises, breakfasts with his guests. He is well read, politically aware and, like myself, very opinionated. Breakfast discussions and debates ranged from topics such as global warming, politics, including the pros, cons and history of the electoral college, to local attractions, cinema and personal stories.
One morning it was just he and I at the table. He told me his journey to guesthouse ownership. I learned of the sometimes radical tactics of the Mexican Teachers Union and his current assessment of the new president of Mexico. He told me about the Byzantine nature of historical preservation in Guadalajara. He had to wade his way through it while renovating the guesthouse, an old hacienda, which he estimates dates from the 1880's.
One morning he asked a Canadian guest his opinion of the Canadian health care system. The guest, who is in the health care profession, sang it's praises. The U.S, citizens at the table, myself included, grumbled about ours. We discussed what he described as the last stand of the straight, white male in the U.S.
We shared stories about coming out. It is this last subject, in part, that has made him resolve to keep his business, as much as possible, exclusively Gay. Incomes, nationalities, ages and professions may differ among the guests but sexual orientation is the common denominator they all share. It is our common rallying point. It creates community, even if that community is only transient and temporary. A couple from Nice, France happened to come into the restaurant where I was having dinner one evening The language barrier had kept our breakfast conversation limited to Good Morning. But across the tables we waved and warmly smiled, acknowledging one another. We had a common bond. We were, for that brief moment in time, members of the same community.
One morning it was just he and I at the table. He told me his journey to guesthouse ownership. I learned of the sometimes radical tactics of the Mexican Teachers Union and his current assessment of the new president of Mexico. He told me about the Byzantine nature of historical preservation in Guadalajara. He had to wade his way through it while renovating the guesthouse, an old hacienda, which he estimates dates from the 1880's.
One morning he asked a Canadian guest his opinion of the Canadian health care system. The guest, who is in the health care profession, sang it's praises. The U.S, citizens at the table, myself included, grumbled about ours. We discussed what he described as the last stand of the straight, white male in the U.S.
We shared stories about coming out. It is this last subject, in part, that has made him resolve to keep his business, as much as possible, exclusively Gay. Incomes, nationalities, ages and professions may differ among the guests but sexual orientation is the common denominator they all share. It is our common rallying point. It creates community, even if that community is only transient and temporary. A couple from Nice, France happened to come into the restaurant where I was having dinner one evening The language barrier had kept our breakfast conversation limited to Good Morning. But across the tables we waved and warmly smiled, acknowledging one another. We had a common bond. We were, for that brief moment in time, members of the same community.
Guadalajara 2019 - Wandering With No Particular Plan
Originally I had planed to visit the Regional Museum of Guadalajara. I had been there on my previous trip but at that time several of the exhibits, including what I had read was an excellent mineral collection, gems and minerals are a strong interest of mine, were closed. To my dismay, after paying a modest entry fee, I discovered that, on that day, only one gallery was open. The skeleton of the mammoth, the museum's signature piece, was on display of course, The rest of the one open hall seemed to contain artifacts highlighting moments in the Mexican state of Jalisco's history. Everything was in Spanish, I didn't understand a word. On one wall 2 primitive folk art paintings shared space with an abstract, modern piece. Making the best of a bad situation I spend time wandering around the courtyards, staircases and covered walkways of the venerable building that houses the museum, which is recognized as an excellent example of colonial architecture.
Stepping back into the afternoon sun I decided to revisit the silver vendors I had been to earlier in the week, located a short walk away from the museum. I ambled along the stone streets and strolled across plazas enjoying the historic centers architecture and the sights and sounds surrounding me.
A group of musicians played the country bluegrass classic "Old Cotton Fields Back Home" on traditional Mexican instruments. I indulged in people watching, particularly the ubiquitous cute Mexican boys that abound in Guadalajara. I found myself pondering where they found jeans that displayed their assets so well.
I stopped for lunch at an awing covered outdoor restaurant. The breeze caused the plants hanging overhead to sway gently. One of the waiters was a bulked up lad that reminded me of the Luchadors I had watched, and come into such close contact with, earlier in the week.
Next to the restaurant is a large building containing row after row jewelry cases. There are scores of vendors spread out over the buildings 3 floors. I attempted to take a photo but a member of a small army of security personnel made me delete it from my phone, watching me to ensure that I did so.
A rainbow of semiprecious stones were on display. Turquoise, carnelian, abalone and amber, among others, set in gleaming sterling silver. One problem I encountered that afternoon was that all the men's rings I looked at were too large for my fingers. Since Mexican men are not, in general, large people I had to assume that the pieces were designed with the heftier, U.S. male in mind. Persistence paid off. As I looked in one case the charming young woman attending it said "You can speak English". As I have discovered on several of my trips to Mexico with my blonde, now white and balding, pate and Midwestern winter white skin, I do not blend. In her case was a ring that fit, albeit on my index finger. It is a simple design of alternating strips of silver and marcasite, a stone I , remarkably, didn't own. I have a lot of jewelry.
I slowly made my way back to the guesthouse. Along the way I chanced upon a trio of costumed musicians playing reed flutes on a small street which is flanked by century plus old arcaded walkways. The plumes in their extravagant headpieces moved with them as they swayed with the music. I bought a CD of the traditional music from a fourth member of the troupe so I wouldn't feel like a heel for taking their picture. The music is actually kind of soothing.
The Friday afternoon crowd was out in full force. There are often hordes of people in many of Guadalajara's streets. A cast of thousands of all genders, ages, shapes and sizes fill the pedestrian only streets shopping, eating, laughing or enjoying one of those moments when the world is just the two of you, or you and your family, even though you are among a sea of humanity.
Stepping back into the afternoon sun I decided to revisit the silver vendors I had been to earlier in the week, located a short walk away from the museum. I ambled along the stone streets and strolled across plazas enjoying the historic centers architecture and the sights and sounds surrounding me.
A group of musicians played the country bluegrass classic "Old Cotton Fields Back Home" on traditional Mexican instruments. I indulged in people watching, particularly the ubiquitous cute Mexican boys that abound in Guadalajara. I found myself pondering where they found jeans that displayed their assets so well.
I stopped for lunch at an awing covered outdoor restaurant. The breeze caused the plants hanging overhead to sway gently. One of the waiters was a bulked up lad that reminded me of the Luchadors I had watched, and come into such close contact with, earlier in the week.
Next to the restaurant is a large building containing row after row jewelry cases. There are scores of vendors spread out over the buildings 3 floors. I attempted to take a photo but a member of a small army of security personnel made me delete it from my phone, watching me to ensure that I did so.
A rainbow of semiprecious stones were on display. Turquoise, carnelian, abalone and amber, among others, set in gleaming sterling silver. One problem I encountered that afternoon was that all the men's rings I looked at were too large for my fingers. Since Mexican men are not, in general, large people I had to assume that the pieces were designed with the heftier, U.S. male in mind. Persistence paid off. As I looked in one case the charming young woman attending it said "You can speak English". As I have discovered on several of my trips to Mexico with my blonde, now white and balding, pate and Midwestern winter white skin, I do not blend. In her case was a ring that fit, albeit on my index finger. It is a simple design of alternating strips of silver and marcasite, a stone I , remarkably, didn't own. I have a lot of jewelry.
I slowly made my way back to the guesthouse. Along the way I chanced upon a trio of costumed musicians playing reed flutes on a small street which is flanked by century plus old arcaded walkways. The plumes in their extravagant headpieces moved with them as they swayed with the music. I bought a CD of the traditional music from a fourth member of the troupe so I wouldn't feel like a heel for taking their picture. The music is actually kind of soothing.
The Friday afternoon crowd was out in full force. There are often hordes of people in many of Guadalajara's streets. A cast of thousands of all genders, ages, shapes and sizes fill the pedestrian only streets shopping, eating, laughing or enjoying one of those moments when the world is just the two of you, or you and your family, even though you are among a sea of humanity.
Guadalajara 2019 - UBER Misadventure Part 2
The challenge of UBERing to the aquarium was equaled by the challenge of UBERing back. Apparently, the designated UBER pick up spot is not, as one might assume, in front of the aquarium where I had been dropped off, but in the parking lot to it's side. While looking for my ride a call came through on my phone. I could tell from the are code that it was local. I answered and a voice began speaking to me in rapid fire Spanish. It was the UBER driver. It soon became apparent that we were not communicating with one another effectively. A young woman smoking a cigarette strolled by. Anxiously I looked at her and said "English, Spanish?" She said "Yes", in English. I handed her my phone explaining that it was an UBER driver I was supposed to meet. She spoke with him for a few seconds and motioned for me to follow her. She led me to the parking lot and shortly I was ensconced in the back seat of the car returning, through the maze of streets that is Guadalajara, to the guest house.
Thank you you bilingual woman, whoever you were.
Thank you you bilingual woman, whoever you were.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - The Aquarium - Fish, Amphibians, Otters and Parakeets
The aquarium is small but has a nice collection and several rather innovative exhibits. First up is a Pearse's Mudskipper, an odd little creature that can breath on land because it has gills that can store water. Some tiny amphibians in this area can be difficult to spot due to the heavy vegetation in the cases. They are, after all, camouflaged in nature to keep them from becoming someones lunch. And while on the subject of lunch, there is the Red Striped Eartheater, which absorbs soil and sediment in it's mouth in search of small crustaceans and invertebrates.
I marveled at the extraordinary colors of some of the fish on display and the way schools of them assume almost sculptural forms. I stop to offer, using hand gestures, to photograph a young couple together in front of a large boa constrictor as it twisted it's body around a branch in it's enclosure.
There are interactive exhibits where visitors can reach into pools and feel fish. I choose not to do so. In an outdoor area where a small park is separated from the aquarium grounds by a fence sits off to one side, scores of small children in their school uniforms watched with glee as otters swam playfully in a large 4 sided exhibit which allowed them to view the animals on land and in the water. In this area is also an aviary where a flock of colorful parakeets land on the visitors heads and shoulders. I attracted a particularly tenacious one. The little yellow creature seemed as if it would be perfectly content to stay on my shoulder all afternoon. After taking a selfie with it I had to negotiate a number of awkward twists and turns in an effort to get it to leave its perch.
Back inside a tank spans one wall and curves above the visitor's head creating a tunnel of fish. The bottom of a shark was visible as it rested on the ceiling, or, from it's perspective, floor, of the exhibit. From on upper gallery I watched Manta Rays as they swirled gracefully, occasionally rising to the surface and flapping their winglike fins, splashing the giggling children that surrounded the pool before heading back outside and summoning an UBER.
I marveled at the extraordinary colors of some of the fish on display and the way schools of them assume almost sculptural forms. I stop to offer, using hand gestures, to photograph a young couple together in front of a large boa constrictor as it twisted it's body around a branch in it's enclosure.
There are interactive exhibits where visitors can reach into pools and feel fish. I choose not to do so. In an outdoor area where a small park is separated from the aquarium grounds by a fence sits off to one side, scores of small children in their school uniforms watched with glee as otters swam playfully in a large 4 sided exhibit which allowed them to view the animals on land and in the water. In this area is also an aviary where a flock of colorful parakeets land on the visitors heads and shoulders. I attracted a particularly tenacious one. The little yellow creature seemed as if it would be perfectly content to stay on my shoulder all afternoon. After taking a selfie with it I had to negotiate a number of awkward twists and turns in an effort to get it to leave its perch.
Back inside a tank spans one wall and curves above the visitor's head creating a tunnel of fish. The bottom of a shark was visible as it rested on the ceiling, or, from it's perspective, floor, of the exhibit. From on upper gallery I watched Manta Rays as they swirled gracefully, occasionally rising to the surface and flapping their winglike fins, splashing the giggling children that surrounded the pool before heading back outside and summoning an UBER.
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - A Trip to the Aquarium, an UBER Attack
At the suggestion of the guesthouse owner I set out one morning to the aquarium, a rather new addition to Guadalajara's attractions.
Although the brochure for the aquarium, oddly, didn't contain an address for the institution, I thought "over the last few days I have overcome both being stranded in an unfamiliar city and being smacked down by a Mexican wrestler, it's going to take more than a missing address to defeat me!" I looked up the aquarium on Google and ordered an UBER using the online address for my destination. The car arrived and began to drive through the maze that is Guadalajara and came to a stop in the middle of a nondescript block. I could sense immediately that something had gone awry. I used my phone to show him where I wanted to go. He used his phone, in translate mode, to tell me I had entered the wrong address. He told me, via his phone, that he would have to close out my current ride and then used my phone to order a different driver to take me to the aquarium. I stepped out of the car in a a part of the city I believe is referred to as "God knows where" and waited for the replacement driver. He arrived within moments and I was soon deposited at the entranced to the aquarium.
A line of huge, brightly painted Coca Cola bottles stand outside the building. The company is a major sponsor of the venue, you come across their iconic images over and over again among the exhibits. In a rather unsettling manner the ticket window is mirror glass. I suspect this is so that the bright sun does not make life uncomfortable for the people working inside. A disembodied voice addresses me in Spanish. I don't understand a word. I take out my credit card and place in the slot hoping my intentions were obvious to the unseen person inside. The tips of fingers, all I ever saw of the woman in the booth, takes the card then returns it, along with a ticket, receipt and credit slip for me to sign. As with much of Guadalajara this action takes place with me standing outside in the Mexican sunshine. It was frighteningly cold at this time in Chicago, the sun was fine with me. I have a band with a bar code on it by another attendant, this one I can see, and am scanned through the turnstile.
Although the brochure for the aquarium, oddly, didn't contain an address for the institution, I thought "over the last few days I have overcome both being stranded in an unfamiliar city and being smacked down by a Mexican wrestler, it's going to take more than a missing address to defeat me!" I looked up the aquarium on Google and ordered an UBER using the online address for my destination. The car arrived and began to drive through the maze that is Guadalajara and came to a stop in the middle of a nondescript block. I could sense immediately that something had gone awry. I used my phone to show him where I wanted to go. He used his phone, in translate mode, to tell me I had entered the wrong address. He told me, via his phone, that he would have to close out my current ride and then used my phone to order a different driver to take me to the aquarium. I stepped out of the car in a a part of the city I believe is referred to as "God knows where" and waited for the replacement driver. He arrived within moments and I was soon deposited at the entranced to the aquarium.
A line of huge, brightly painted Coca Cola bottles stand outside the building. The company is a major sponsor of the venue, you come across their iconic images over and over again among the exhibits. In a rather unsettling manner the ticket window is mirror glass. I suspect this is so that the bright sun does not make life uncomfortable for the people working inside. A disembodied voice addresses me in Spanish. I don't understand a word. I take out my credit card and place in the slot hoping my intentions were obvious to the unseen person inside. The tips of fingers, all I ever saw of the woman in the booth, takes the card then returns it, along with a ticket, receipt and credit slip for me to sign. As with much of Guadalajara this action takes place with me standing outside in the Mexican sunshine. It was frighteningly cold at this time in Chicago, the sun was fine with me. I have a band with a bar code on it by another attendant, this one I can see, and am scanned through the turnstile.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - Mexican Food
I promised myself I would eat better than I had on my previous visit. Breakfast, fresh fruit,a variety of cereals, yogurt and toast, was provided with the room. The communal dining table allows an opportunity for the guests to meet one another. Our morning conversations cover a vast array of topics, ranging from personal tales to global issues.
I soon discover that chicken can be difficult to come by. That being said after viewing the murals and jewelry shopping I find a restaurant near the guesthouse that serves an excellent enchilada verde, just the right amount of spicy, and a waiter that has some command of English, this quality can sometimes be in short supply. In fact the language barrier is one of the biggest challenges I have encountered during my visits to Guadalajara.
That evening I walk back to the area of the Cathedral. There is a restaurant located there I remembered from my first trip. It is on the second floor above the Cathedral Plaza. It's main draw for me, a snifter of Chivas Regal costs the equivalent of $5. A scotch of this quality is usually too rich for my pocket book. As I walk to the plaza I pass a string trio playing under a centuries old arcade. The view from my table through the french doors is the classical facade of the municipal building which fills one side of the square. Music from the singer in the restaurant below wafts through the doors, open to the cool, refreshing night air. The food is excellent, the Chivas a rare treat. I leave and return to the guesthouse stuffed and happy.
Then there was the lunch of Cesar salad with tender strips of chicken and generous wedges of garlic bread. The dinner of breaded shrimp so amazing I had to restrain myself to from moaning out loud at the table....if I had stayed any longer I would have returned weighing over 200 pounds.
I soon discover that chicken can be difficult to come by. That being said after viewing the murals and jewelry shopping I find a restaurant near the guesthouse that serves an excellent enchilada verde, just the right amount of spicy, and a waiter that has some command of English, this quality can sometimes be in short supply. In fact the language barrier is one of the biggest challenges I have encountered during my visits to Guadalajara.
That evening I walk back to the area of the Cathedral. There is a restaurant located there I remembered from my first trip. It is on the second floor above the Cathedral Plaza. It's main draw for me, a snifter of Chivas Regal costs the equivalent of $5. A scotch of this quality is usually too rich for my pocket book. As I walk to the plaza I pass a string trio playing under a centuries old arcade. The view from my table through the french doors is the classical facade of the municipal building which fills one side of the square. Music from the singer in the restaurant below wafts through the doors, open to the cool, refreshing night air. The food is excellent, the Chivas a rare treat. I leave and return to the guesthouse stuffed and happy.
Then there was the lunch of Cesar salad with tender strips of chicken and generous wedges of garlic bread. The dinner of breaded shrimp so amazing I had to restrain myself to from moaning out loud at the table....if I had stayed any longer I would have returned weighing over 200 pounds.
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