I had not spent 4 days in San Miguel when it was time to be on the move again. Kelsey received a phone call from her mothers friend Maria, who lives in Guadalajara, asking if we would want to spend the weekend (she was flying back to South Carolina next Thursday.) ¿Did she have to ask? We copped bus tickets the next day.
I rose before the sun on Saturday to catch the 7:15 bus. The journey lasted 5.5 hours, with stops in Leon and Guanajuato. My emergency supply of almonds quickly dissipated, and I soon grew hungry. Apparently, the bus company provides snacks, but you can only obtain them at your boarding point. Who knew? As we rode on, a strange mix of bus advertisements, music videos and movies flickered on the bus screen. If you ever want to add spice to Nicholas Cage, watch Ghost Rider in Spanish.
Kelsey and I arrived in the early afternoon, and took a cab to Marias house. Even before we walked in, the bright blue exterior of the house cheerfully greeted us. Maria grew up there with her 10 brothers and sisters - she was born in the living room! Even as she came out to greet us, she waved to someone across the street. Apparently, the entire block belonged to her cousines, aunts, and acquaintances. We were with family.
Kelsey and I barely had time to drop our bags, and she carried us off to the Mercado San Juan de Dios for shopping. Imagine Canal Street in Spanish. Now imagine someone packing Spanish Canal Street into a 4 story building that takes up an avenue. This was no Bloomingdales, honey. We passed an entire floor of tourist knicknacks, then jeans and sneakers, then fruit stands bordering fried chicken counters. I nearly had to hold hands just to keep up, but Maria was home: her mother used to be a vendor at the Mercado.
Natalie, Marias daughter, was flying back to South Carolina on Sunday, so we drove over to her uncles house in the evening, for a fiesta. The table creaked under vats of pico de gallo, tortillas, beans, nopales, peppers and salsa. I think the family was pleasantly surprised that the white girls nurtured a deep appreciation for spicy food. They also offered us grilled pork, and laughed at our vegetarian-ness. The hours of eating were followed by hours of dancing for the adults, and conversation about school and shopping for the young people. We were invited back to try the meat.
An odd mix of sadness and scurrying penetrated the house the next day, as Natalie prepared for her departure. More family came over, and we were treated to the smoothest tequila I have ever tasted, brought by another uncle. The conversation rollercoasted between Mexican politics, US-Russia relations, New York after 9/11, and Cancun. Apparently, someones acquaintance also had a Russian wife, so my presence in the circle was not completely alien.
Afterwards, Kelsey and I met up with SiSuk Carlos Morena, a kung fu brother of my SiFu. We went for dinner to a beautiful Mexican restaurant. More amazing food. (I will really have to find a gym when I get back, or none of my clothes will fit anymore). Then, SiSuk drove us to the Ving Tsun school, where I touched hands with some of his students. SiSuk spoke very highly of SiFu, and also showed us rather old photographs of kung fu family. Alex-in-green old. He treated us very well. I am grateful for the visit, especially since I feel like I just got my red shirt in the Spanish language.
In the evening, we visited Zapopan, walking under a beautiful arch and down a wide, cobble-stone paved avenue. Vendors and artists displayed their offerings, everything from pretty knick-knacks to original paintings to succulent elote. We walked over to the basilica, where mass was starting. In the courtyard below, dancers in red, green, blue, gold and black costumes, with bracelets clanging around their ankles and elaborate feather masks on their heads, performed an indigeneous dance. Among them danced a skeleton in black, a typical image of death popular here. The event embodied the cultural heritage of Mexico, demonstrating the blend of Catholicism and Native American traditions.
We rose early the next morning, and took a bus tour of Guadalajara. (I promise not to think poorly of all those tourists on NYC open-roof buses anymore.) Over 4 million people inhibit Guadalajara, and, unlike NY, its very horizontal. We drove past the cathedral, the university, the US consulate, numerous historical buildings and former convents. My favorite place that we passed, though, is the Shalom Nail Salon.
After the tour ended, we entered (this time with more confidence) San Juan de Dios, to buy souveniers and fresh fruit refreshments, and took the bus back to Marias house. The experienced differed greatly from the tour ride: the most prominent sights on the routes of Guadalajara public transportation are Subway and KFC. Before we knew it, though, it was 2 pm - and the last bus to San Miguel de Allende left at 3:15. Like madwomen, we dashed upstairs for our stuff, bid hasty goodbyes to our hosts, and hailed a cab to the bus station, back to San Miguel.
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