A Guadalajara Botana

Mexico, I am quickly discovering, is a land of shifting norms, colorful traditional and eternal paradoxes. The caballero, whistling his sad song, sandswept and rugged, is as real as the polished, modern, sartorially-savvy investment banker downtown. Guadalajara, the city of the tapatíos, is at once the seat of Catholicism in the state of Jalisco and ‘the San Francisco’ of Mexico. On one side of the city, rush-hour traffic is dotted with Mercedes, Volkswagens, Renaults and an array of new, roomy SUVs. On the other side, horses can be seen tied to a tree stump on the shoulder of the road and the kamikaze-inclined city buses, at $.50 USD a ride, are the most popular mode of transportation. Figuartively and sometimes literally, old and new collide at every intersection.

Days in Mexico operate roughly on a 12pm-4am schedule. Most people don't eat breakfast until 11:00am, comida (lunch), which is enormous, at 3:00pm, then dinner at 9:30 or 10pm. A night out doesn't even begin until 12:30pm or so, and usually finishes as the sun prepares to do its thing in the morning . . . and this applies to ANY day of the week. However, the Mexican sense of humor really got creative when they decided that CEPE (the University of Guadalajara school of Spanish-for-foreigners) classes would start at 8:00am. The heaven-sent afternoon siesta is the only apparent answer to a three-hour night’s sleep.

Women are celebrated, yet contained. As explained to me by a Mexican friend, girls take the approach of “I love you, but I’ll never tell you” to their relationships and patience is surely the greatest of virtues. On the way to school in the morning, it's quite normal to be whistled at and called to and whispered-to-in-passing comments just this side of risqué. And perhaps this is something only experienced by gringas, but wearing skirts or any type of clothing that shows a hint of leg above the calf is suicide, unless you are lucky enough to be in the company of a guy. Which every girl here seems to be . . . a guy, or an hijo (kid). In my first week here, I contemplated kidnapping one just to fit in—a kid, not a guy. But even with a guy, you have to be careful that he always walks on the side closest to the street. Endearing chivalry? I fear not. Times are a-changing, but in some places still, if he fails to take such action, ladies, you just might be being pimped out.

Public display of affection is a national pastime in Mexico. Back on the conservative side of things, there isn’t much opportunity for young people to be alone together here, which forces them to take their love to the streets. In time, I think that I won’t even lift an eyebrow when I see a guy athletically making out with a girl whilst going down an escalator backwards.

The cities and towns of Mexico house a thriving entrepreneur around every corner. When the honey goes off to work in the morning and pulls the car out of the driveway, the space suddenly morphs into a tiendita: a bakery, a restaurant, a salon, or an arms dealer. Considering that cops whistle as much, if not more than the average Josés, and that there are bigger criminal fish to fry, it is refreshing to see that one doesn’t seem to need a permit to make a life here. Speaking of bigger criminal fish to fry, not long after I arrived, there was a report on the noticias about the chief of police making a big drug bust downtown, then being found several hours later chopped up in pieces in the trunk of his car. Before congratulating myself on what a grand choice of destinations I made, I was given reason to take heart. As long as you don't do drugs, kids, and avoid hanging out with the people that sell them, you are fine. Major drug cartels actually take out ads in the newspapers saying, "if you aren't involved in any funny business with drugs/police, you are completely safe from us." Now that is reassuring, isn't it?

Thus far, I see la vida de Guadalajara as being edgy, uncomplicated, abounding with possibilities and adventure. The people are vibrant and friendly and there is a strong sense of pride and solidarity. It is by no means an easy adjustment and there are days when all that is familiar and understood feels impossibly distant. Yet many Americans say that they feel more alive here than anywhere else. I am beginning to see why.