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.