Jalisco, Mexico: The various moods of travelling

It’s been too long since I last wrote, partly out of laziness, and partly out of not really knowing what to write. Many of the experiences I’ve had in  the state of Jalisco, Mexico have not been stupendously adventurous activities, but rather low-energy activities involving a lot of rest, meeting people and recovering from various ailments from sunburn to hangover to flu. I didn’t feel like I had the right stories to share to make an interesting blog. I was not behaving like a typical adventurous backpacker.

My last article dealt with feelings of loneliness when travelling. I had walked the streets of Guadalajara and had gotten sick of the attention I had received. It strikes me as interesting how I had looked forward to that attention before my trip, and how quickly our moods can change when we travel.

Guadalajara was a great experience – I met good people at my hostel and within my first evening, I was playing King’s Cup (a drinking card game also known as Ring of Fire) and drunkenly bonding with a group of travellers in the way I’d wanted to for months. Those of us in that group will never forget about the little man we had to remove from the top of our drink before every sip and put him back again, screaming at each other to drink more if someone forgot one of the thirteen rules represented by each card. The game ends when the last king is drawn, when the unlucky hard holder must drink everything in a common cup in the centre of the table. The final two cards were BOTH kings, the game had gone until its absolute last moment, and everyone was wasted. I took the opportunity to drink tequila from the shot glass that my best friend had bought me in Mexico. Up until that night I had lugged it around with me in my backpack across Spain and Mexico, and finally the moment had arrived when I could drink Tequila in Jalisco, the birthplace of Tequila, and remember the wonderful friendship with this girl who lit my flame of passion for the Mexican culture.

After a day of rest, I overheard two of my hostel buddies talking about escaping to the closest beach to Guadalajara, Puerto Vallarta, a former fishing village that has since exploded with American tourism. Considering that perhaps I needed some beach to calm me and reset my attitude, I jumped onto their trip and the next afternoon, we were all drinking coronas on the shore of West Mexico, watching the sunset. It was so nice to travel with companions after a while of being alone, but it was short-lived.

We ventured further north to a smaller, beautiful beach town called Sayulita, which upon arriving I discovered was full of American tourists and therefore more expensive. After only a few hours, it occurred to me that I preferred being alone than following others, so I broke off from my group, stayed in another room and spent the evening smoking a pipe with a Mexican from California who had come to surf. Disappointed in the lack of diving schools in the area, the reason for which I had come to Sayulita, I arose early and without a word, headed back to Puerto Vallarta, this time to a hostel in the heart of the party district. I went diving to discover the cold, coffee coloured ocean of the Western Pacific coast of Mexico and returned so sunburnt on my back that I spent the rest of my days hiding from the sun in the hammocks of the hostel or chatting on the sofa.

The hostel boasted a beautiful rooftop terrace, where the guests all gathered to watch the sunset and the pirate ship fireworks show at 9,30 every night. I met two American friends taking a weekend mini break and after a few drinks, we were best buds for the next couple of days. We ate ceviche freshly caught by them on a fishing boat, I finished a bottle of rum with a hostel volunteer from Bulgaria and I listened to Phillip Glass with Fernando from Mexico city. Although this town was blazing hot during the day, I took to the beach esplanade (Malecon) as the sun went down and discovered another way of responding to the locals that called out to me on the street:

“Hey, you want a taxi?”
“No thanks, my place is just a block away, but how are you doing? How is you day going?”

The responses I got were always met with respect that I spoke in Spanish, surprise that I spoke to them like a human being and a complete opening of their soul. I chatted with restaurant hosts, taxi drivers and street artists.

I discovered that some days, I’m energetic and impatient to know more of the world, and others, I barely want to do more than laze in a hammock. Some days I want to party, meet people and learn about this melting pot of cultures that exists in our world, other days Netflix is my only companion. Sometimes I have days when I feel serious, contemplative and old, and then the next day I am shotting tequila with strangers I met on the street and stumbling into an Oxxo at 2am looking for more beer. Some days I want to spend extra money on a nice dinner, see the tourist sites or air-conditioned bus and others I prefer to eat tacos on the side of the road, shop at the local market and find locals to chat with. There is no one way of travel, or of being a backpacker. Realise it now, and don’t let any image you saw on Instagram or a blog of a typical backpacker stop you from achieving your dream.

Alicia in Mexican wonderland