Buses in Guadalajara

Buses are known here not as autobuses as it says in dictionaries but as "camiones" which the dictionary will say means truck. Las camiones in Guadalajara are an experience. They are usually quite full, which isn't really a problem. The dirvers, however, make it a personal goal to make as many people fall on each trip as they possibly can. I have not yet fallen, but twice been fallen upon, once by a small child (no big deal), and once by a big lady (no small deal). Pictured here is the fullest bus we have boarded so far, and I am sure it will retain its number one ranking indefinitely. We had boarded a different bus to go downtown, but that one broke (not surpising the way it is driven), so we were all herded onto this bus which was already pretty full. For a little while, I was pressed right up against the door, and had the wind knocked out of me every time it opened. We were on this bus for about 40 minutes. It was easily over 100 degrees.

It sounds as though I complain and harbor resntment for buses, but in actuality I love them. They cost less than 50 cents per ride, and less than 10 cents in Chapala (blog coming soon), and are a wonderful place to practice Spanish. In el centro, the buses will go as fast as 60 mph down very narrow streets with cars parked on both sides. It may seem dangerous, then, to ride a bus, but I figure it's safer to be on the bus than in front of it. I have gained much confidence in drivers' ability as they navigate sharp corners and tiny streets with amazing smoothness. The hombres of the Guadalajara public transport system are among the most skilled professionals in all of Mexico, if not the world.

Tequila

Last Sunday, we six gringos from the Midwest grabbed a taxi and headed down to hop on the last surviving passenger train in the Republic of Mexico: the Tequilla Express. Running at 950 pesos per adult, tickets to board this decadent mode of transportation entitle the passenger to as much free alcohol and nueces (nuts) as one can consume without become violent or offensive. We realized the potential for intoxication and the possibility that we might all miss the return train if proper measures weren't taken. The plan we formulated was that I would drink little on the way down and play the part of guide the other five. Richard would cease consuming alcohol at lunch and then on the way back he was responsible for getting us a taxi and safely to our homes. This is all I will say of this: the plan failed miserably, but we all got home safely.
In the station, the passengers are presented with a fine group of mariachis. Here is a video for your viewing pleasure. These caballeros (gentlemen) also accompanied us onto the train to provide frequent serenading and great conversation in between. For many of these chavos, this is there sole employment and occupation: to play music on the Tequilla express. What a life that would be.


Aboard the train, chaos ensued. A principio (at first), we were surrounded by old, retired folk with big straw hats and golf shirts. After only a few minutes, the coordinator trotted back to ask the old-folk if they minded being moved to the middle of the train so that a group of loud, rambunctious Mexican youths could be moved to the back with the other jovenes (youths). Move they did, and our Mexican amigos arrived with trays of shots and chelas (drinks). Thus was broken the plan. Here are we all, throwing a little international pachanga (party). Except for the use of strong language, the trip could safely be rated PG-13. If one doesn't understand Mexican groseros (swear words), then it probably appeared to be more like PG-10 or 11.

We took a bus the last 10 minutes into Tequilla, where we went on a tour of 4 factories, one of which is now only a mueseum. Here, we were shown how Tequilla is produced. There is debate over how long this tour was. That night, Paco asked me how long it was and I said, "like ten minutes." Apparently, it was over two hours, say the others. I wasn't in the business of accounting for time until after lunch.
On the tour, we saw plants, very nice walkways, a really boring video, and finally, lunch. During lunch, there was entertainment including more marianchi music, some fancy lasso work, and dancing. At one point, Korey and Richard were dragged onto the dance floor by an old man with a dream of teaching gringos to dance. It ended kind of badly, with the old man encouraging Korey to jump onto him, at which point he was to swing her around. He is probably getting that hip replaced as I type.

Also pictured here are Lauren and me with the donkey guy. The posture I have right here, appearing to just be very freindly with Lauren, was more of a strategy for standing up. Not to say that Lauren and I aren't good enough freinds for a nice sidehug, but several of the people who received side-hugs from me that day were just acquaintences, or complete strangers who smiled at me, opening the door for a side-hug. These were usually old Mexican dudes or Mariachis. We talked about Michigan, about how the world isn't what it used to be, and about dancing. Any conversation can be enhanced by a single outstretched arm, lots of Tequilla, and a tropical environment.

The twins and I boarded the return bus while Richard and Korey were helping Janel to the bathroom (she drank too much.) The bus left without them, but we were told there would be other buses. There were, and they rest of team Michigan made it back just in time to board the train. The return ride was much more mellow, filled with conversation and number exchanging (should we ever need a place to stay in Oaxaca, D.F., or Guanajuato.) We got back to the station in Guadalajara and went to hail a cab when were were stopped by some freindly Mexican ladies who told us their friends could take us where we needed to go. We had a choice of two cars, one with a driver who was clearly plasted beyond his capacity to operate a vehicle safely, and one with Oscar. We got in (all six of us) into Oscar's car and went to get some Tacos Arabes. Richard left his digital camera in this car, and has yet to reacquire it. Pictured here is the completely drunk guy at Tacos Arabes sporting a luchador mask, something that sober people who aren't professional fighters rarely do. That being said, Richad has a couple times, enchanted with nostalgia for Ray Mysterio.

I said earlier that the return ride was much more mellow. That may be a false statement. I had forgotten the dancing that occurred on the way home. Here is a picture of that. Certainly, though, after the dancing stopped we the ride was much more mellow. For me, it had already calmed down. I am sitting in that blue-green chair just under the right nipple of Alejandro here, talking to Eduardo, who is a pilot in D.F. (Mexico City), and Hector (in the white shirt), who owns several restaurants in and around D.F. It was a nice chat, and I am not at all jealous of Korey, who had pure Tequilla sweated upon her, and 70% Tequilla drooled upon her from that outstretched tongue. A juevos.

Picture Introduction of La Familia

La familia that Richard and I stay with is easily the highest ranking family of any of the families hosting SVSU students--in all categories. Paco and Rosi live with their two grandchildren, Prescott and Sandra. They have no pets, apart from the occasional cockroach. Paco and Rosi have two sons, one of whom still lives here in Guadalajara and the other who lives in Las Vegas. They lead different sort of lives, the sons. We see Paco junior every couple days or so, he is 22. We call him Paco Junior, Paco Pequeno, Pacito, Poco Paco, Paco Menor, or Paco El Segundo.

I will begin with the kids, because I think Rosi and Paco are way cooler, and I like to finish strong. Prescott is 3 years old. 90% of his vocabulary is "mira" (look). He makes it his business to hold frequent, involuntary show-and-tell sessions, putting on display everything from toys, to pieces of food, to small acrobatic feats. He also patrols the living room and hallway on his bike, pictured here, with little regard for the well-being of toes. He is easily pleased by one picking him up and running around with him in an airplane position, or just spinning him around. That ended badly once; after Richard and him went for a tornado session, Prescott tried to walk too soon and smashed into Sandra. Chaos ensued. Once, Prescott wandered into our room, and said "mira." He didn't have anything in his hands and didn't try to do anything impressive, so we were confused. I asked "a que?" (at what?), and he said, "A mis pantalones nuevas" (at my new pants.) Good moment with Prescott. We also have occasional futbol showdowns en el jardin. In all honesty, Prescott has yet to develope any sort of coordination. He might just not have it in him, but he has fun because he just reinvents the rules to provide himself with an advantage.

Sandra is 2 years old. She is far more sinister than Prescott, nearly always the antagonist of the all-too-frequent guerritas (little wars), which involve lots of high-pitches screaming by both of the ninos. She is alot less fun to play with than Prescott, mostly because she responds poorly to being picked up and swung around usually, or when she decides she likes it, putting her down results in 5 seconds of attempts to climb you, followed by minutes of screaming and crying. This is how she deals with most situations, exploiting her grandparent's old age and depleted energy to obtain that which she desires at any instant. She also employs the following strategy: torment Prescott, hope to not get caught; if she does get caught, she immediately cries as though she has been somehow victimized. It's a dastardly move. I will offer Sandra one semi-compliment; every time Rosi turns on the sound system, she dances joyously and enthusiastically. However, this usually ends with either her or Prescott falling and being stepped on, which results in screaming and crying. BUT!, she does do a great impression of an old lady walking, which is pretty funny coming from a 2-year-old.

Next is Rosi, who I think I have mentioned could probably resolve the Isreali-Palestinian conflict with her cooking, though she confesses to not enjoying cooking. Rosi talks way too fast for us to understand, especially in the mornings. Her father was one of the founders of La Universidad Autonomo de Guadalajara (our school). She has a bad experience with a Chicano student who lived with them once, and decided to request Gringos. Following that request, she recieved two gringas that spoke no Spanish at all, and weren't interested in learning. She is therefore overjoyed to have Richard and I here, even if we only understand 40% of what she says. My ability to understand Rosi will be the standard by which I measure my improvement and progress in learning the Spanish language. Rosi has a fantastic sense of humor, always cracking jokes, which we usually understand, but if not, we laugh really hard to make her feel good, and Paco explains them to us later. I don't mind at all, because Rosi is fun to laugh with regardless of the level of comprehension. Last night, they had freinds over, and Richard and I sat with them drinking Tequilla in el jardin until 2am or so, when we went to bed. They didn't leave until 5am. Here in Mexico, there is no expected age at which one should cease having a nightlife. Keep on rocking.

Paco Mejor, Paco Grande, Paco Padrisimo, or simplemente (simply) Paco, is the business. There is no area of his character in which there is room for improvement. He is fantastically hospitable, genergous, patient, friendly, humorous, helpful, and kind. He too, is fun to laugh with, but he is better at reading when we don't understand than Rosi, and is very gifted at communicating his ideas. He would be an Olympic Charades player if given the opportunity. Paco is an abogado (lawyer), working for the government as either a prosecutor or a public defender, I'm not sure. The house gets alot of calls from the jail though, so I am thinking public defender. Paco is also a huge fan of Google Earth, and often has us show him where we live, go to school, and even our favorite restaurants. Paco is also very conscious of his health. Each day, he eats a designated number of gorgojos. Now, you might be asking yourself, "what the hell are gorgojos?" Well, I'll tell you what gorgojos are. They are tiny little insects that, when ingested, secrete chemicals that improve one's health in several ways. Pictured here are the benevolent bugs. Paco's character is such that his eating bugs makes me consider doing it instead of declaring that he is crazy. Buen hombre. Padrisimo (super cool.)

That is the family. I leave you with these three pictures, of Korey and Richard drinking micheladas, and me loving mine. These were far superior to the other micheladas, but still could not win the hearts of my gringo friends, who have since resorted to fruity drinks or Coronas.

Video Arial Tour of El Mercado de San Juan de Dios

This is me explaining the nature of El Mercado de San Juan de Dios while Richard films. Ideally, I would have liked the camera to turn back on us, but Richard isn't clever like that, and I was just the narrator, without the authority to dictate shots. One can find a translation of the events in the comments on this blog.

El Centro Parte Tres: San Juan de Dios

Today, we slept in until about 10pm. We woke up, smashed some rich, Mexican breakfast prepared by Rosi, and then proceeded to sit around for an hour before las chicas (Korey, the twins, and Janell) arrived at our house to depart for El Centro yet again, this time with the intention of familiarizing ourselves with the wonders of the market of San Juan de Dios. En camino (en route) to our destination, we experienced one of the most trying bus rides of our stay--the most trying. Homer himself could not have invented a more chaotic, twisted, unending, dramatic series of events. Unfortunately, all the photo documantation of this was recorded with Laurnen's camera, so I will wait to describe it in detail. After we got off that God-foresaken camion (bus), we had a short journey 'de pie' (by foot) to the market. On a catwalk over a busy street, we saw another incredible panorama that captured the look of Guadalara, pictured here.

The market itself is said to contain a multitude of thins typical to Guadalajara: leather goods, pottery, other artwork, apparel supporting local athletic teams or rising luchadores, and dulces (sweets.) The aisles were narrow and the shelves were high, and we were constantly hounded by salespeople with a talet for persuading people to buy useless crap. It was easy to pick out the artisans from the plebian employees, because the artisans were very relaxed, confident that their beautiful goods would sell themselves to all eyes that fell upon them, while the employees sought commission like hounds. The market created the illusion that there were many independent merchants in massive conglomerate of tiendes (shops), but actually it was one giant store with many of the exact same tiendas in several different locations. From the crowded aisles of the lower level, it's hard to imagine what it looks like from above, but here it is. I will also attempt to upload a video narrative of this view, but in a different entry to avoid losing an entire blog entry (it's happened.) There was also a great deal of fresh produce being sold that only the locals seemed to be buying. The reason for this was very clear after we approached the food--it was covered with hornets, especially the sweets. We later encountered the same problem at the restaurant we ate at, as we were under constant attack from bees trying to

delve into our drinks. After we terminated 4 or 5 of them, rendering our table an apparent bee-graveyard, other bees got the message and avoided the vacinity: a little trick I learned from the Iriquois (a peaceful tribe who repelled invasion once, and put the heads of the invaders on pikes to warn other potential agitators. This occurred at Iriquois point, a half hour from my house in the U.P.)

We bought a few movies at the market, along with a Chivas t-shirt (local soccer team.) The movies are clearly pirated, but every time we asked "como se hacen?" or "como las hizo?" (how are these made, or how did you make these?" they told us, "compro copias originales." They were roughly $2 a piece, so we figured we would take the risk. They are actually very high quality, we found out, but unfortunately for Korey, she purchased one of the worst movies ever made. We watched about 15 minutes of it before abandoning our efforts to enjoy it and doing homework. After leaving the market we went to get lunch. In the main plaza, we came across some really unique--freaky even--copper or bronze furniture. Here were are pretending to not be in pain from the 200-degree, solar heated artwork. As we ate, we "enjoyed" some live performances by authentic Mexican musicians and dancers. The coolest thing they did was dance around with fifths of Tequilla balanced on their head, but only Lauren got a picture of that. The food was delicious--all seafood (the place was called Mariscos Chidos or "cool seafood), but the prices were a little crazy. We will probably not return.


We found relief from the intense heat, which has left Richard a little lobsterish, in this fountain, in which public swimming is permitted. It's larger than the pool in Korey's neighborhood, so we will probably visit it in the future for cooling off. There was even once little kid that stripped down to his whitey-tighties, but we didn't want to take a picture and be prosecuted for child-pornography. Just take my word for it.


Pictured here are some of the dancers, and the musician that boarded our bus on the return trip. Remembering the last time we shared a bus with aspiring musical artists, we all were a little disappointed to see the driver allow him to board. He got on, spotted Korey, and immediately walked to stand directly over her and stare at here intensely while he played three songs...beautifully. We was a talented musician with a voice like a lion, but gentle. He followed us off the bus and gave Korey his number. His name is Alex. We would be chillin out tomorrow if we weren't boarding the train to Tequilla in the a.m., and coming back full of our destination in the p.m. Look for entries about Tequilla, the peril of buses, and classes and a



picture tour of UAG in the near future.

El Centro Parte Dos: El Palacio Gobiernal de Jalisco

As mentioned in the "El Centro Parte Uno," one of the interesting places we visited was the governmental palace of the state of Jalisco. This building houses the state congressional sessions, as well as large works of art, important historical documents, and really funny looking employees who learn a few English phrases like, "can't you read?! no flash!"

Here is one of the said large works of art, a giant mural of Miguel Hidalgo, the acknowledged liberator of Mexico from the hold of Spain. There was much more to this mural than we could understand: tons of swasticas and flames and people in various significant uniforms. We asked the wierd looking guy who yelled at Korey for not turning off her flash, and he said, "it's a long history." So apparently, he doesn't know. Here also is another mural, this one in the hall of congress, of Miguel Hidalgo. He always is depicted looking very sad, with lots of blood and guts around him. I suppose revolutions, while necessary, are not happy times to live in.

There was one room entirely dedicated to acknowledging the past governors of the state of Jalisco with 2'x3' portraits. The three of us were very surprised to see that both Professor Youngstedt and Bill Clinton served as governors of Jalisco, as one can plainly see here.

Also for your enjoyment, here are some additional pictures of very old and important buildings that we didn't go into. After the fourth building or so we decided that they all were mas o menos (more or less) the same thing. It didn't make them any less spectactular from the outside, but in the interest of time, we decided to forego attempting to enter every one.

El Centro, Parte Uno

The first adventure we went on once we were settled into our houses was into "El Centro." We weren't really sure what El Centro would be like; to us, it was just a magical place where everything cost under a dollar, mariachis serenaded la gente (people) at every corner, and all the food would swoon that creepy French critic from Ratatouille. In actuality, very few things are less expensive than they are in the United States, with the leaders in great deals being shoes, toiletries, and clothes. Las Galeries (the mall near our house in Zapopan), is a conglomerate of expensive stores. One could easily buy clothes for ridiculously high prices without looking for too long, and dine at Applebees or Hooters to satisfy the hunger that developed while shopping. Gringo-American is everywhere in Guadalajara, apart from the very poor barrios (ghettos) that we wondered into breifly looking for a bus home; we saw a few fellas who looked like that had killed one or two people in their day so we headed back from whence we came. As a testiment to Americanism in Mexico, I offer this picture of an Uncle Sam monument proudly displayed on the side of a plaza which contains a starbucks and neighbors a Burger King.

We took a bus into El Centro, following the direction of Rosi y Paco. Buses in Guadalajara kill a surprisingly low number of people. They are about 100 degrees when filled to 50% capacity, break nearly every traffic law that exists, and the drivers have an awful realationship with their clutch, constantly abusing it and testing the balance of all their passengers. Nevertheless, riding the bus is a great experience, a way of seeing large portions of the city at 5 pesos (less than 50 cents) per ride, and a Godsend to our weak, tired, gringo-feet.

The first order of business when we arrived in El Centro was to get some food. We wanted some authentic Mexican cuisine, so we avoided anyplace that looked very commercialized and flat out rejected anything displaying a hint of "el otro lado" (the United States). We arrived at a little hole-in-the-wall place in the middle of a bustling market with a density of pedestrians that caused traffic to be redirected. As people hollered out the prices of their various fruits or garments, we feasted on some very mediocre chilaquiles (breakfast dish, but I wanted Korey and Richard to try it) and I introduced Korey and Richard to micheladas (a Mexican beverage: beer dashed with salsa and lime.) I was introduced to this wonder at my brother's wedding in Cancun, and it took 9 or 10 of them to win me over, but now all other beverages just seem to lack flavor. Korey and Richard, after two attempts at appreciating micheladas, will most likely not venture a third. More for Stu.

We then roamed the city looking for interesting things until it started to get dark. On the list of interesting things are a host of churches and cathedrals, the Governmental Palace of Jalisco (the state in which is Guadalajra), some markets, statues, and some very interesting looking people. We even briefly crashed a wedding. We wanted a picture of all three of us, so we asked the largest, most imobile-looking lady we could find to reduce the risk of somebody absconding with our camera.

The mariachis were not what we had imagined. Very few played on the street, but one pair of hombres--one with an accordian and the other with a guitar--wandered onto our bus and serenaded all the passengers. All the Mexicans were very clearly irritated by their presence, but Korey and Richard insisted on showing appreciation, even applauding them and inspiring an encore (which provoked the guy behind us to call us gobachos, a vulgar word for gringos; I told him in Spanish that we couldn't help it, white people just love bad music and he laughed and we chatted until the end of our ride.)

More to come later. For now, we are going to get some dinner, some chelas, and some peliculas (movies and drinks.) I leave you with these pictures, and expectations for entries that will elaborate more on El Centro (for tomorrow), classes (for tomorrow), and the tale of our train ride to Tequilla that we will be taking on Sunday (for Monday). Also, here is a picture that displays nicely the incredible mix of modern and colonial that exists in Guadalajara.

Hasta luego (until then),


buenas suerte y salud.