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Published: January 23rd 2011
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Calle Campenero, Guanajuato
The view from the terrace of the hostel, Estacion Esperanza We decided to get up a bit earlier that morning to catch the bus to
Guanajuato. We had, without too much coaxing, happily fallen into the habit of sleeping until 10.
The standard practice is to ask the hostel staff if they can call a taxi for you. By a happy coincidence, there was a German bloke also about to leave, and the lady had already called a taxi. He was happy to split a cab, which was lucky as the fare was likely to be a bit over 100 pesos.
The German bloke didn't say much but seemed nice enough. The fare turned out to be 120 pesos, and in the spirit of international relations we offered to split it 3 ways so he only had to pay a third. He handed money to me, I handed some to Klaire, Klaire handed some back to me, I handed some to the driver, he handed me back the change.
When we got inside we realised that we had paid 20 pesos, and the German had paid 100. Honestly we did try to find him in the bus terminal. To no avail. Ah well, at least he saved 20 pesos, right?
Guanajuato, and a brief moment of trepidation when there was only one taxi at the bus station and the driver wouldn't talk to us. There was a bit of queue for the taxis. In Mexico, the purpose of queues is to keep idiots neatly arranged so the pushy older Mexican women can easily go to the front. A few well placed elbows and we were in a taxi, heading into a tunnel.
Guanajuato is a town of tunnels, and a little like Zacatecas. It's not what one would call a budget destination. It's a beautiful town where a lot of wealthy Mexicans come on holidays, and it's also full of uni students – out of a total population of 70,000 there are apparently 20,000 uni students.
The upscale nature of the town was reflected in the hostel. The cheapest one we could find, it was 350 pesos for 2 beds in a dorm, although we ended up with a four bed dorm to ourselves for the whole time. The hostel was fine, if a little drab. Things generally worked, and it had a good kitchen. It also had a big common room with cable tv and an old Super
NES. This would have been cool, except for the fact that it was also the place for uni students to come and get wasted before heading out to the clubs and bars. From about 6 the common room was generally chockers with wasted Mexican hipsters staring fixedly at Mario Kart.
There was a girl there, Annika, that seemed to be an owner or manager, and she was very nice. About Klaire's age, she had moved to Mexico and now was married and had a cute little kid. Her husband was a futsal player, and he had taught their dog how to play. I kid you not, this little mongrel dog would do a nice push back with the right paw, then spin and kick with his back leg away from you. I played for a while with him, but the little bugger wouldn't tire and started to use his teeth. I got all Italian then and refused to play on, taking my ball and walking off in a huff. Full time, scores level.
The little
callejon that the hostel was on was very pretty, too. Just up from the hostel there was a bridge, now with a coffee shop
on it. Apparently the street used to be higher, a couple hundred years back, but they had dug it out for some reason or another, leaving peoples' front doors almost 3 metres in the air, necessitating a couple of bridges. So well preserved was the street, in fact, that the next day we couldn't get to the hostel for a while because the callejon was closed while a period drama was being shot, complete with kids done up Oliver Twist -like.
In the centre there was a very nicely done plaza, triangular with a classic fountain, surrounded by massive ficus hedges and restaurants. One of the restaurants had cheaper beer than the one next door, but the one next door had the Barcelona-Ruben Kazan game on. Tough decision. We chose the cheap beer, then realised the game was on there as well. Crisis averted.
Being a town with a few tourists, we then decided to have another go at sending the stuff. We found the post office and asked for a box. Again the lady claimed they didn't have one, anmd that we would need our own box. Rightio then, we would bloody well get one. We hunted
Drinks with Che, Guanajuato
and with Italian pr0n stars around, and finally located a little shop with Christmas stuff. Stuffing 2 pairs of boots and other random stuff into the lovely light blue box with a giant Santa we went back.
As we walked back into the post office a friendly looking bloke came up to serve us. Lucky.
Then the cranky woman spotted us and got to us first.
Now, a new iteration. We had to prove that we lived in Guanujuato, with a gas bill, electricity bill, or something similar.
“Esta seguro?” I asked if she was sure. For the first time I actually got cranky, managed to remember what “absurd” was in Spanish and told her that it was a joke. If I had remembered how to say WTF in Spanish I would have said that too.
How is anyone supposed to send stuff? She agreed, but, them's the rules. In Mexico you cannot send a parcel if you are not a resident of the town. Being ex-bankies we didn't kick up to much more of a fuss, and we walked out again with our Santa box of stuff.
The tourist information was no help, but back at the hostel Annika suggested DHL. We
found the office, and no problems. Unfortunately there was only one option for Australia – express.
$160 later our now-much-more-expensive boots were on their way home.
Slightly deflated, we cheered ourselves by again managing to locate a place with beer and free food. It was down a street which was too narrow to walk down side by side, just off the end of one of the plazas, and was a proper tapas place. As long as you bought beer a stream of very tasty stuff issued from the kitchen downstairs. The walls were covered with crap, but somehow it was done in a classy way, not like Hogs Breath or the old Blue Heelers in Darwin that used to have farm equipment hanging precariously over your head. One other place there deserves a mention, called Truco 7. Cheap, cosy, full of locals (which is always a good sign).
We had previously decided to skip Guanajuato, but were very glad that we didn't. It was well worth the visit. A beautiful town, very photogenic, and good to just walk around. When you get there keep a look out for one of the buskers. Most buskers so far play the
Mexican classics, which can get old. This bloke knew one song – Like a Rolling Stone – and could sing it perfectly. Definitely a highlight, even after the 5th time.
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Pete
non-member comment
Dude - you've got to get that dog on our futsal squad...