The Goats

Back home, minus eleven as I write, but sunny and blue sky just like Mexico. The book-end to my vacation was a trip inland, una vuelta, to Guadalajara. Up with the roosters to catch an early intercity bus. My alarm, which sounds like a rooster, goes off as programmed but need not have. For four straight hours a delinquent had been revving his engine outside the hotel (in Mexico mufflers seem optional) from three am onwards. He must have played tag with the late night revelers who came in at three, giggling and admonishing each other to keep quiet, in so doing making lots of noise. But I had slept until three so all was not lost. Fortunately on the bus the passenger in front didn’t pull the curtains and so I got to see the scenery. Mexicans are bored with it. Meanwhile we scaled two mountain ranges on the way to the high plain which accommodates Guadalajara, Mexico’s second largest city. It was late afternoon when I reached my hotel, to be allotted a bright, high room with a balcony, a contrast to Melaque. To boot it overlooked the uptown, a silhouette of the famous plaza and cathedral. Only three blocks away was the city’s cultural centre, a rotunda not unlike the Radcliffe at Oxford U. Unbeknownst to me Yani was in concert there that night. Rats, missed it. Next day I photographed sites I had scouted out the evening of my arrival. The centre of the city is of interest but did not quite meet expectations. What was not expected was a temporary ice rink they are building as a novelty attraction (mean high 26 degrees each day, good luck with the ice). Next it was off to a barranca, canyon, which hems in the city from the north. This was reached by MacroBus, the efficient rapid transit which links south end to north end of the city. The viewing podiums which hang out over the canyon are not for the queasy. Watching the vultures profit from the air currents to ascend and descend was fun. At night I checked out the Plaza de los Mariachis before heading to the soccer game. Chivas (the goats) at home to Atlante, the colts, from Cancun. Jalisco Stadium is half full, at my guess of 35,000, a reflection of a losing streak the red and whites have been on. Dusk comes and the floodlights come on and boo, the bimbos withdraw. No kidding, before the game a bevy of attractive hostesses parade around the stadium in uniforms, their photogenic selves promoting Bimbo, a bread I think. By happenstance I am in the visitors sector, and find myself cheek by jowl with the junior visitors team and the senior teams supporters. They have flown in obviously, Cancun is the length of Britain away. While in Guadalajara I read about the drug cartel blockades which happened on the Monday night in which seven or eight roads were simultaneously blocked off at gunpoint, including that to the international airport, and wonder. But hey, I’m (book-end) back home.