Mainland Lessons

So, it's been some 12 days or so on the mainland at this point, and things are changing, to be sure. Some radically new experiences this past little while, and not un-educational, I can tell you. I'll try to start from the start.

Shortly before our miraculous, ecstatic arrival into Puerto Vallarta, (or more precisely, into La Cruz de Juanacaxtle, a little fishing village 25km north of Puerto Vallarta proper), my fellow ship-mate Eden and I had made plans to stick together for a spell, until we both felt ready to take on the mainland solo. Sharing Boomer's close-quarters, and weathering the various stresses of sea-life together had helped us both to realize that we had more than enough in common to make two-by-two travel a viable option. And so, after having thanked our fearless Captain and said our goodbyes, we two made for Purto Vallarta, to see what we could see.

We wound up in a part of town known as Old Vallarta, renowned for its lively gay community. It was a touch touristy to be sure, but our hostel made for a suitable place to recuperate for a few days, and explore some of the quieter parts of town. Beautiful buildings clung to the lush slopes, which, slowly descending into the bustling cobblestone streets, flowed eventually into the lovely beaches of the Pacific. The latter were almost always busy, but we were fortunate enough to have met with a local man (Gabriel his name, and a charming fellow; a friend of a friend of Eden's) who was happy to show us to a quieter stretch of sand, where we enjoyed a beautiful sunset dip.


Vallarta would serve as a good place for me to acclimate a little to Mexico (both figuratively, and literally: the humidity of the mainland was a big change from the arid desert heat of the Baja). True, I had been travelling in the country for some time at this point, but I had spent far more time among foreigners than Mexicans, as my almost total lack of Spanish exhibited. These first few days, I was able to familiarize myself with the business of living in Mexico; asking direstions, taking buses, ordering food, making chit-chat, and getting various things done about town, with the helpful example and generous guidance of Eden, whose Spanish is excellent. Lesson one: Speak the language.

After about five days though, we were both ready to skip the big city, and move on to something a little smaller. On Wednesday morning, the 13th, we made our way to the tiny village of San Sebastian del Oeste, a few hours travel inland from Vallarta. Because of its small size, however, buses would only take us so far, and so at one point, we were forced to try our thumbs at a little hitching. Happily, within minutes we had hailed two very small cars, both full of jubilant young Mexican men, Coronitas in hand, who seemed very happy to take us along. With a little squeezing, we managed to fit both our luggage and selves aboard, and set off puttering up the winding mountain roads. It didn't take us long to realize that this may not have been the most keenly selected of rides, but we hung in - and hung on - despite a few nearly too-steep hills, several hair-raising corners, and the not infrequent spilling of beer. These chaps were friendly all right, a little too friendly, we both decided, and we were pleased, if eager, to part ways with them once we arrived. Lesson two: Choose your rides wisely.

Having recovered from our somewhat harrowing journey, we were able to settle into the small-town charm of San Sebastian, with its winding cobblestone streets, and frequent tolling of churchbells. We were pleased to find the place nearly empty of tourists, and took advantage of our few days there by strolling about in the lush hills surrounding town, and enjoying the smell of the beautiful pine forests, an unexpected but welcome pleasure for me. Another such unexpected pleasure was our discovery of Raicilla, a distant relative of Tequila and Mezcal, also made from the agave plant, and a specialty of San Sebastian and the surrounding area. We availed ourselves of a bottle, the fiery contents of which helped put me to bed more than once. Lesson three: Ask about local specialties.

The thing about small towns is, there's often not a whole lot to see, and so Friday morning, we packed up and made for a city by the name of San Miguel de Allende, another smallish place about which we had heard much. Rising early, we decided to walk out of town this time, rather than trying to hitch right away. We enjoyed an hour or so of morning mist, but were soon interrupted by a light rain. Thankfully, almost immediately after we had donned our rain gear, an old worn out pick-up with a sturdy tarp canopy stopped and offered us a ride. As it turned out, this was a local door-to-door grocery truck, and the gentleman driving it took us through all kinds of tiny rural neighborhoods, selling his goods along the way.

When he had taken us as far as he could, we made our way to the nearest suitable stretch of road, and again managed to swing a ride within minutes from two kindly middle-aged Mexican men. The driver of the vehicle was on his way into Guadalajara, but the other fellow was being dropped along the way, in the city of Mascota, which, we were told, was where we'd have to catch a bus in order to get to San Miguel. The gentleman stopping there said he'd be more than happy to show us to the station. Once there, we asked about bus times to San Miguel de Allende, and found, to our surprise, that no one had heard of it.

Confused, we purchased a map of Mexico, and after scouring it for a time, and chatting up various locals, realized that San Miguel de Allende, while indeed very beautiful, and a lovely place to visit, was in fact some thousand miles or so away in the neighboring state of Guanajuato, obviously quite unreachable within the remaining travel time of the day. Lesson four: If you're going sans-guidebook, at least pack a map.

Our destination having disappeared from reach, we resolved to keep heading East anyway, at least to the nearest town or city. But in the confusion of sorting out our error, we had missed our bus, and so we decided to make for the edge of town and keep hitching. Not far out of downtown, however, the rain returned, this time in earnest, and we were forced to take shelter beneath a large tree across from an automobile repair shop.

There we stood, thumbs out, for a few minutes, contemplating returning to town to catch a later bus, until fortuitously, a car emerged from the repair shop, and a sprightly moustachioed Mexican man poked out his head and offered us a ride. Loading our soaking packs into the rear of his brand new Nissan, we exchanged introductions and were pleased to find that our ride spoke both Spanish and French, as well as a touch of English. Suffice it to say that our third ride of the day turned out to be one of the best either of us have ever had. For starters, before leaving town, our ride had to make a quick stop at the local booze shop to buy up a bunch of Rompope, a delicious egg-nog-like liquor, flavored with coffee and hazelnut. We three shared a toast of the stuff, and Eden and I were given the bottle as a gift from our new friend.

To make a long story short, over the next six hours or so we spent together, this gentleman really sorted us out. Offering detailed answers to all of our questions, and volunteering all kinds of useful and interesting information, he spoke of everything from Mexican history, politics, and religion, to the various details of his job as a land-surveyor and claims officer of sorts, eventually talking us out of our plan of stopping at Ameca - a dirty little industrial town about which we knew nothing whatsoever - and drove us all the way into his home town of Guadalajara. We arrived quite late, and were taken to his home, where we gulped down hot coffee and managed to find ourselves a hostel online, at the doorstep of which our generous friend dropped us, a little damp but incredibly thankful. Lesson five: Learn to ask for help. There are loads of good people out there who will offer you the shirt off their back given half a chance.

Guadalajara is a gigantic and beautiful city, and it was a pleasure to wander the criss-cross of its numerous streets for a few days. Highlights included the insanity of the Saturday morning market, where seemingly anything and everything can be found at discount prices, from parakeets and pig-face tacos, to cellphones, starfruit, and sequin-studded Chuck-Taylors. A dizzying assortment of all manner of wearable, edible, portable, and otherwise material goods beyond imagination. Another pleasure was the chance to enjoy one of Guadalajara's weekly car-free Sundays, an impressive custom given the fact that the city is home to some 4 million people (making it the second most populous city in the country, after Mexico City). Every sunday morning, a number of major streets are closed to automotive users until mid-afternoon, allowing a veritable flood of bicycle, tricycle, skateboard, roller-blade, and pedestrian traffic to take over. Bikeless, we nevertheless took to the streets, and walked for hours, soaking up the sights.

Returning again to the choas and creativity of the big city was surprisingly nice, and seemed an appropriate place for Eden and I to end our journey together. She had been in email contact with a photo-journalist with whom she planned to meet in a few days, and I was thinking more and more about travel to Paracho, a smallish city in the state of Michoacan, famous throughout Mexico as ''The Guitar Capital of The World.'' And so, on Monday morning, the 18th, I left Guadalajara by bus, on my own once more. Traveling as a pair was a real pleasure for me, and I am very grateful to have met Eden and shared a few weeks with her. Lesson six: You can make friends anywhere!

That said, I am also happy to be flying solo again, and looking forward to the next adventure! The past two days here in Paracho have seen me touching, smelling and playing all manner of beautiful guitars, big, small, cheap, costly, and fretting about whether or not I can afford the burden/luxury of traveling with one. Presently, I am planning to leave town tomorrow, and as the sun sets on today, I have still yet to make my decision. Neither do I have the foggiest idea where I will be celebrating my birthday a few days from now. Such is life on the road, I suppose.

Hasta luego, and best wishes from sunny Paracho!

PS - Those of you interested in following Eden's past and future exploits can find her at: edenicmigration.wordpress.com