We named our car Ernstmeier, Ernie for short. Ernie’s done really well on the trip thus far, especially when we entered Guadalajara armed without a map or directions. We drove until we found the town center and weaved up and down the surrounding streets until we found a parking spot on a side road. The only hotel we’d spotted was nearby and I figured we’d be more effective on foot rather than driving. We were walking side by side until we came upon the hotel sign, looked down the alley, saw a row of scantily clad women, and turned to each other and said in unison, “It’s a hooker hotel.” We walked up to the main road around the corner and came to the front of the hotel, Hotel Vigo, when I decided we should at least inquire about the cost. For 250 pesos (about $16) we’d have a private bathroom and a/c. Sounded like an excellent deal to me (and we later found out it was, comparable rooms in the city were more than double the cost).
They put us on the highest floor of the building in the farthest corner at the end of a winding hallway. We hauled our belongings up the stairs and in an attempt to turn on the a/c, I turned the TV on. It was left on the Penthouse channel. We both started laughing because it couldn’t be more perfect if it were staged. On the flip side, I have to admit it’s the nicest room I’ve ever stayed in for what we paid. The water pressure was strong and very hot, a precious commodity. Unfortunately there was not a single electrical outlet in the room and we speculated it was another form of control over the prostitutes, which was very inconvenient for us. The maids worked around the clock, pushing beds back in place and throwing objects loudly into their trash bins at all hours of the night.
At the front desk, the women kept their purses under the counter. When The Guy walked by them, they’d of course look at him and smile, one even said, “Welcome to Mexico” the first day. The most beautiful ones stood alone while the others congregated as a group leaning against the building and trees lining the sidewalk. Women in a group are always catty, but I’d imagine even moreso in this profession. The women would avert their eyes when I passed, my gaze a reminder of their shame. By the end of a few days, I succeeded in getting several to smile back at me. The back of our hotel door had a sign saying that infantile prostitution was illegal and would be prosecuted. The age in Mexico to be considered underage for prostitution is 12 years old. Some of these girls looked as if they might be pushing it, not that a 13 year old prostitute was any more acceptable than a 12 year old.
Men would negotiate with a woman (or girl) in the streets. They would then walk to the counter while he paid and she stood back against the wall. Sometimes they would head up to a room together, but more often than not she would leave first while he went up afterward. They mostly used a separate stairwell than the one we were expected to use. Once, I saw one of the girls hand a pair of shoes wrapped in a plastic bag over the front desk counter along with a worn backpack. Was it the end of her work day and was she returning borrowed shoes? It was very plausible, since many of them had families that didn’t know the true nature of their jobs.
The area around our hotel was seedy, as you can imagine. There were at least 15 tech stores that bought and fixed broken technology (TV’s, cellphones, tablets, computers etc.) on the neighboring road. The nearby street vendors sold pornography DVDs and condoms in addition to the miscellaneous items that may or may not have been acquired under honest circumstances. One vendor laid out a used cream colored Abercrombie & Fitch sweater, a juicer, mismatched used chargers, used tennis shoes. Either he stole the suitcase of some tourist or ransacked his home of miscellaneous items. Both stories are plausible, so you may decide which to believe. Street vendors in other parts of the city had legitimate tables and specialized products they’d intentionally ordered beforehand, including USB cables, children’s toys and clothing, perfumes, headphones, shoes, knock-off purses, artisanal products, etc. Essentially, anything you might need in life is sold on the streets of Guadalajara and you’d never have to step foot into a store to find it. Don’t forget to haggle over the price as well.
The wealth of the city is also apparent demonstrated by the types of shopping stores available. They had an entire multi-story shopping mall dedicated just to jewelry, nothing else. Quinceñera (the coming-of-age celebration for girls entering womanhood) stores stocked with beautiful floor length gowns and accompanying tuxedos were abundant. There was even a store specializing in artisenal French fabrics. One shoe store had a live shoe model standing atop a tall table and reminded me of the live models on display at the Macy’s in Times Square, New York. It was the only other time I’ve seen live modeling for a store. In addition, the progressive vibe of Guadalajara transported us 40 years into the future from San Blas and could be felt immediately. Gay flags waved proudly from their establishments, bikes could be rented daily or weekly and returned to locations all over the city (called “MiBici”), and the street vendors were even selling body jewelry, something I’d never seen anywhere before. The stray dogs that commonly plague the streets of Mexico were nowhere to be seen in Guadalajara.
We came upon plaza after plaza. Every one of them had beautiful large colonial buildings, statues, and fountains.
Small markets popped up between the plazas but one gigantic 4-story market took the prize. It consisted of 4 floors, spanned several square miles in total, and had hundreds upon hundreds of individual stores. The first two floors were a mix of everything including candied gift baskets, luggage, cookware, souvenirs, vegetables, and traditional hats and clothing. The third floor consisted of butcher’s markets and restaurants. Each restaurant had terra cotta cooking pots filled with stews, salsas, and soups. They also offered tacos, sopes, and a variety of other foods. The top floor sold higher end shoes, clothing, purses, and tech products. Each time we walked by a new stall (store or restaurant), the vendor would tell us to enter/come in, ask what we were searching for, or list off all the items they had available. It was an eager bombardment of hopeful sales and each time someone said something to me, I’d want to walk away because I hated disappointing them when I failed to make a purchase. I absolutely love markets but feel a bit overwhelmed and drained by them.
Most of these meats hung without a method of keeping them cool. All the food born illness courses I’ve taken made me shudder, but at the same time, this type of meat is exactly what I’ve been consuming. In fact, Guadalajara was the first place we saw tacos de pastor, my favorite when I studied in Mexico 8 years prior.
When we reached what we thought was the other end of the market, it was just a square that led to the other half of it. I was absolutely astonished at the size of it. We walked the perimeter of the entire thing and the wall of electric meters was impressive, like nothing I’d ever seen before.
We didn’t wind up eating in that cafeteria during our stay but still tried many local foods. In addition to the tacos, other popular street foods included hot dogs smothered in onions, cheese, and jalapeños, hand made candies, a variety of nuts and candies sold by the gram, soft serve ice cream in dipped cones, fresh crema de coco or fresa (coconut or strawberry) drinks, bags of Tostitos chips cut open on the side and covered with cucumber, hot sauce, hot dogs, nacho cheese, and jalapeños, Squirt mixed with tequila poured over fresh cut fruit and covered in chili powder. If you’re adventurous, it’s a party for your taste buds.
When you opt for a sit-down restaurant, inevitably your meal will be interrupted by street vendors, beggers, and musicians. It doesn’t matter if you are indoors or outdoors, by the street or in the middle of a room, they will stop by each and every table. Several times we’d be interrupted mid-bite with a mouthful of food and say no thank you before they’d move on. One man was begging on behalf of Christ and told The Guy to stand up out of respect to which he did not stand, and the man wouldn’t leave until our waiter finally told him to move along. We gave money to the musicians we enjoyed and to the especially sad beggars. One man was pushing a newborn around begging for the baby’s milk money. While we were enjoying live mariachi, a child came up to us and stuck a dirtied sticker on our shirts and held his hand out in exchange for money. We gave his stickers back.
The International Mariachi Festival occurred the first weekend we were in Guadalajara and it attracted thousands of people. The very best mariachi performers appeared for this event, dressed in their matching uniforms and were seen all over the city. They performed standing up and had impeccable posture. I suspect I would’ve enjoyed it even more if I knew the songs, as evidenced by the crowd’s excitement when certain songs played.
All in all, our timing couldn’t have been better. Guadalajara has been my favorite city so far, although our guidebooks and internet research yielded negative feedback. I’m really glad The Guy and I are both the types of people who insist on experiencing something before making judgments, otherwise we would’ve really missed out. Guadalajara Part 2 coming soon!
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