If you're feelin' salty, I'm your tequila..

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But, to be honest, we're not really beach people. It was time to head inland, back to the real folk.

We got up, hailed an open top veedub golf cart thingo, and went to the bus station to catch a bus to Guadalajara. The bus was late, very late, but when you've got no place to be that is not something that means that much.

Interestingly for me, one of the videos on the bus was a BBC doco about firestick farming in northern Australia – watching the indigenous mob dubbed into Mexican Spanish was entertaining. Tip for the bus – sit towards the middle. They'll let you pick the numbers – go for 20 to about 28. Far enough away from the dunnies so it doesn't smell, but close enough so that when you go you only smack 5 or 6 people in the head as you walk down the aisle of the viciously swaying vehicle on the way, rather than the whole bus load. Makes for a whole lot less irritated Mexicans, which can only be a good thing.

Finishing the last few pages of the historical novel I picked up at some hostel, I slipped into a satisfying doze. Upon awakening, I had a moment of disorientation and panic.
Disorientation because I awoke to see cane fields and eucalyptus and assumed I was on the way to Bundaberg or something; panic because we were driving on the wrong side of the road. It took a moment of thought, and the first sight of extensive agave fields, to put me right.
We were in tequila country.

As luck and the Latin American work schedule would have it, we arrived at about 7 – right in the middle of rush hour, and Guadalajara is a decent size city – a little bigger than Sydney. Eventually we found the hostel we wanted, and it was fantastic. A tree lined courtyard surrounded by well appointed rooms, huge kitchen with a restaurant-quality stove, great terrace on the top floor. Heading out into the city, we were just a short walk from a relaxed square, past a number of funky bars and restaurants. We sat down at a bar with tables flowing into the square, a duo was playing some restrained Latin music, the clientele comprised students and young folk having a few drinks on their way home from work.

With a knowing nod we quietly added Guadalajara to the list of places that would actually be good to live in.

The next day we got up early to wander around. First on the agenda was to find a tourist office, the taxi driver the night before having told me about a football match on that weekend. Not open Saturday, the tourist office, but we did find the most annoying man in Mexico next to one.

On a more positive note, we happened across some sort of art competition in a plaza. In front of a government building there was hundreds of people drawing chalk on the ground, from reproductions of classic pieces to anime-inspired modern designs. Very well done, a lot of them. And it didn't look like it would rain, which was lucky.

We finally found an active tourist information booth, and went to ask about the football.
“Fútbol?” he said, “Solamente el la tele, no en Guadalajara este fin de semana.”
Great, the taxi driver had been making stuff up. No football on this weekend.
“Pero, you can do a tour”
They always offered tours.
We weren't interested, and began to turn away.
“Es un tur de tequila.” Our interest gained, he sold us 2 tickets on the tequila tour the next day. Unfortunately, it wasn't on the giant tequila bottle bus, but that would have been twice the price.

Grabbing a sixpack and some tequila, we headed back to the hostel, and proceeded to drink most of it. At some point we decided to head back into the centro to check things out, and walked smack into a huge festival in one of the squares. Mariachis, dancers, singers – it was all happening on a huge stage set up at the front. We watched for a bit, then spied some sort of commotion at the edge of the crowd.

Making our way over to investigate, we found a group of street performers doing some impressive acrobatics. Politely making our way closer to the front, we could see that one young bloke was grabbing people from the crowd, and getting them to line up next to the earlier victims. They would then half crouch, bending at the waist. Meanwhile, his tattooed mate would take a huge runup, sprint toward the four crouched blokes, and, at the last moment, do a spiralling backflip over their backs.
Hardcore.
Someone with less alcohol floating in their veins might have kept it low key. Not us, as we clapped loudly. Inevitably, spotting the pale gringo with the red beard, they grabbed me out of the crowd and made me part of the act. To make the most of it, I was put at the front of the line of crouched victims, which by this stage was seven long. As Shirtless Dude ran straight at me, over and over as they added more victims, trying different backflips, I kept in mind that it probably wouldn't hurt more that the broken collarbone from soccer, and at least I wasn't the guy at the other end who was going to cop feet in the back of the head.

After all the excitement, we needed a drink, so, following some uni types in a non-menacing manner, we found a bar to go to.
And what a bar.
The first indication that it might be alright was the Pantera drum kit and the huge mural, complete with naked chicks on Harleys and cow skulls attached with fencing wire.

The band had started. Everyone one of them a Helmet reject, long black hair bouncing as they belted out atmospheric non-vocal metal in double dropped D. We found a table at the back and sat, mere seconds before a plate of chips appeared in front of us.

Actually, I should mention chips at this point. Every Australian knows, or should do, that chips and sauce is a good thing. Mexican food, by and large, is fantastic and they would also agree that chips and sauce is good – but they have made a horrible mistake. The chips and sauce here are not hot chips – they're crisps from a packet; and the sauce, instead of adding that special something, simply turns them into a soggy unappetising mess.

But they were free, so, I ate them. And it was only just around the corner from where we were staying.

We dragged our arses out of bed early again the following morning. Tequila tour day. Not normally a huge fan of tours, but this was different. Mostly Mexicans, some Ecuadorians, Slovenians , and a couple of yanks made up the group. The first stop was near Atitlan – the Tres Mujeres tequila factory, which unpretentiously proclaims itself as one of the best three tequilas in the world.
First, a look at the agave fields, and a demonstration by a jimador – the tequila harvester bloke. Tequila is made from the blue agave plant. First the leaves are cut off, leaving the core of the plant (called piña due to its resemblance to a pineapple). Then the core is baked in huge ovens to get the sugars metabolising. Once that's done, the piña is crushed, and the juice fed into giant vats to ferment.
The fermentation is open topped, and uses mostly wild yeasts. Once fermentation is complete, the distillation begins. After a few stages, the raw tequila is about 75%!a(MISSING)lcohol.
We got to taste each stage. This one was a lot like paint stripper, but good paint stripper.
When it is more refined, and back down to a more civilised 40%!,(MISSING) it is known as Blanco – a clear spirit. We had some of that too. Not that great – best left to margaritas and nail polish removing. This stuff is also mixed with basic white spirit (made from cane sugar) to make the tequila that most Australians would know and drink with a scowl. It can't be called tequila unless it is made from at least 51%!A(MISSING)gave sugars, but the other 49%!m(MISSING)ay as well be metho – you want the good stuff, the bottle needs to say “100%!A(MISSING)gave”.
The next best is Reposado (rested in Spanish). This has been matured in oak barrels for at least 2 months, but not more than a year. It's actually pretty good, and is generally sipped neat like a good scotch, but with a bit of lime and salt added.
Añejo is better again, aged for longer, and is starting to get nice and smooth by then.
Extra Añejo is the best one, aged at least 3 years. This stuff is fantastic, the good brands as good as any scotch you'll find.

After shots of all of these we were a little unsteady, and piled back on the bus to head to the town of Tequila itself. A nice little place as you might expect for a place dedicated completely to alcohol.
There was a Jose Cuervo (the bloke credited with perfecting the recipe for tequila way back when) museum tour, but we decided to find something to drink.
Feeling like a soft drink we had a beer, and a margarita, which seemed to be the cafe's speciality. The Mexican family at the next table let their 6 year old have a whole margarita to himself. We were horrified, but also mightily entertained as little drunk Oscar careered around the square, spraying some sort of fake snow in a can at surprised random strangers.

Finally, the bus made its way back to Guadalajara, the incessant mariachi music playing over the speakers punctuated regularly by the snuffles and grunts of tequila induced sleep.

The last day in Guadalajara was a day of disappointments. First, another tip- you CANNOT buy malaria medication (if it's an antibiotic) over the counter in Mexico without a prescription. We tried 3 different pharmacies. Do not listen to idiots on internet forums, sort that stuff out before you come. We had ummed and ahhed about the necessity, and in the end decided the risk far outweighed the reward. Sure, you can take a punt, but the hassle of popping one pill a day is sweet FA stacked against the hassle of losing a few weeks in some crappy hospital after getting bitten by one infected mosquito. Have a read through the WHO info on malaria. It doesn't carry on, just lays it out in a clear and concise manner.

Next, the post office woman wouldn't sell us a box. We decided that we wanted to get rid of the boots we bought in Chihuahua, but, no dice. And we knew she had them, damn it.

Finally, we decided to watch a movie, so walked 3 ks to find the cinema. It was a theatre.

Our attempts to find cheap beer and food were more successful– we may stick to that in future. Heading the other direction from our hostel we came across the commercial centre, and some more uni bars. Picked one, we sat down as the shadows lengthened, well lubricated by cheap beers and free soggy chips with sauce, as we watched a the Modelo beer guy sort thousands of returnable beer bottles from Saturday night into their right boxes.

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Comments

[Asian Safari]

Hi
Beautiful pictures........