Guadalajara: 0 km

Three months in Guadalajara. It feels almost impossible to capture this city, and my experience in it, in this one single story. I’m overwhelmed by how much I like this place. When I book my ticket to Madird (yes, Madrid, everything changed again), I’m already missing it here. I hope my writing will convey my love for everything Guadalajara, even if it’s just a tiny bit.

I arrive in the early morning. A busload of sweatpants, sleeping masks and earplugs unloads on an empty terminal on the outskirts of the city. Broken from the overnighter we reluctantly collect our bags, me my bike, from the luggage department. It’s like a play where nobody knows each other, but everybody knows their roles. I ride into Guadalajara in the dark, it’s a perfect full moon. I still feel somewhat decapitated without Marijn. Starbucks is the only open place at this time of day. I sit on their terrace, drinking coffee and watching how both the sunshine and the traffic intensifies. Soon enough, it’s time to pick up the keys of my apartment. I’ve splurged a little, I wanted something completely to myself, no roommates, and something somewhat nice. I know I pay too much rent, it’s through Aribnb, but I don’t care. It’s a small but complete studio with a big patio. And it has drawers! And an actual kitchen! It feels great hanging my clothes on hangers, getting my stuff out of the bags and into the closets. It has been a while since I had those.

Two days later work starts. The café is called Comala, a specialty coffee bar with seriously good food. We serve Mexican grown coffee, a variety of homemade sodas and classical Mexican food with a modern twist. My years of experience as a barista are paying off. Yet I found out that Mexicans have a bit more of sweet tooth compared to home. Moreover, in this weather, cold coffees are more popular, and the variety is greater, I have to wrap my head around some new recipes. We have about 10 tables. I work with three girls in service, it takes them about a week or two to open up to me. But once they realise I’m pretty good at my job, and a fairly decent person too, they warm up. The kitchen likes me instantly, I think because I drown them in coffee every day. Compared to Europe, I work for next to nothing, six days a week, free on Tuesdays. But I don’t mind it too much, I’m here more for the experience. I understand that’s a very privileged thing to say, but that’s how it is. And the experience I do love. Like in Athens, there’s something simply magical about starting to know a new place. Mundane things, like having a mercado that’s yours, an abarrotes (convenience store) where the owner knows you, a bakery that keeps your order in the back, and a fruit and vegetable guy that knows what you like, is just perfect. I pretend I’m a local, although I will always be a güerro (blondie) here, if not a gringo. Nonetheless, I develop a routine. Wake up at 6:30, visit the bakery, arrive to work, turn on the machines, have breakfast, work, cycle home around 14h, take a nap, evening programme. I don’t go on rides. And to be honest, it feels good for a little while. I take Spanish classes too. Some weeks I feel like I’m really getting a grasp, as I proudly have a conversation with a market salesman or a guest at Comala, other weeks I feel like I’m out of my depth. At least I know all different types of milk in Spanish now!

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Comala is located in The Colonia Americana. It’s the-place-to-be-neighbourhood. Recently crowned by TimeOut as ‘the coolest neighbourhood’ in the whole wide world. And it shows. Everybody is an artist, everybody is beautiful, everybody is gay, everybody is fashionable. The hospitality is incredible. The coolest bars, the best coffee, the most divine restaurants. All is stylish in The Americana. Of course, stylish as I am, I spend most of my time here. But I live in Santa Tere. Just a 15 minute walk north from The Americana. It’s much more local, maybe a bit more authentic. Instead of fancy bars, it has plastic furnitured cantina’s, instead of chic restaurants, it has taco stands, instead of boutique stores, it has tailors, welders and lavanderia’s. Most importantly, it has an awesome mercado, where it’s always busy, the food is cheap, fresh and varied. The whole neighbourhood seems to have lunch here. And dinner at the taco stands.

Let me explain my love for taco stands. First of all, their variety: some are small carts, the grill bigger than the space for the person, some are elaborate stalls that offer seating, tables and a portable sink, others are in-between. Whilst they all offer pretty much the same food, they have their specialities. For the best asada go here, for the best chorizo go there, and if you want one with a layer of crispy cheese, this one is the place to go. Their generator powered lights bungle off the corners of the carts, steam evaporates from the grill, it gets warmer and brighter when you approach. The huge knives hack into the grilled meat, the chopping boards underneath them old enough to have a significant dent where about a million tacos have been created. But what I love most about them, is that they are a communal place, a place of the people. Everybody goes here, rich and poor, old and young, on any given day of the week. Everybody greets one another, and the line wishes you a good a meal when you walk back from picking up your plate of taco’s, meat, vegetables and limes. It feels like living room. Needless to say, I gain some substantial weight in Guadalajara.

As my time in Guadalajara progresses, my social circle grows. I see the faces I know from Comala also in parties and events. Some Dutchies from my hometown move here. I meet friends of friends, people from other café’s, some neighbours too. It feels good to not have to move for a while. To recognise people on the street, to have a favourite bar, and have a little community that’s always up to do something. And the Taller People of course, the ones who started it all.

Now that I’m stationary for a while, I excitedly go on a few dates. It’s hard dating on the bike. Karla sticks around. Her face is beautifully nostalgic, sad almost. But when she looks up at me, her lips first form a smirk, then a smile so bright it’s blinding. I like her instantly, she needs a few dates, but then turns like a leaf. She’s funny, smart, and full of temperament. Fireworks going off always. We go out for dinners, drinks, we stay at my place, we stay at hers. We spend Christmas together. We get Corona together. I’m tired for a full week. Seriously tired. Karla is fine. We spend half of that week in a cabin in the woods. I cook over open flames, she eats. Which is the perfect way of spending time to me. Is this the one that makes me stay? Apparently not. Her ‘fuego’ is a little too much for me after a while.

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Not too long after, I meet Andrea. I would have loved to meet her earlier. Her sweetness is astounding and disarming, her twinkling eyes only barely hiding her constant enthusiasm. She’s funny and warm, honest and open. By this point we both know I’ll be leaving soon, which makes us being together more of an understanding than a serious try to be together. But we both understand that, and enjoy each other while we can. She takes me to local cantina’s, we eat tacos on our way home. She loves my dog, almost as much as Maya loves her. We visit a friend’s place in the mountains. Yes, I wish we’d ha more time.

Guadalajara has taken me by storm. A couple of months ago I didn’t even know it existed. Now, on par with Istanbul, it’s my favourite city ever. It feels so creative. People seem to always be doing stuff, creating things. The streets smell of food, always. The lines at the taco stands at eleven at night. The fact that it’s always spring here, and everything grows. The streets are aligned with trees that create arches over the traffic below. It’s a substantial city, but it often has the vibe of a village. And the fact that Mexicans are improvisers. There’s no month ahead scheduling to see your friends here. And it’s all framed by yellow, orange, green and blue one-story homes, laid out in a rigid grid that only makes way for the grand squares lined with neo gothic churches. For a couple of weeks I play with the idea of putting my foot down and going all in on Guadalajara. Looking for a serious job, a reasonably priced apartment, staying as long as my visa allows, make a run for the border and come back for another six months. I can’t pinpoint to when this idea started to fade. The pull of Europe might be still too strong, the pull of my plans for returning home.

Not only Guadalajara, but Mexico as a whole has baffled me. Not sure why, but it has never been high on my list of countries to visit. Now I love this place. I’ve found Mexico to be a wonderfully complex country with beautiful people. I’ve been treated to the greatest hospitality, the best food and the warmest welcomes. It’s a place that buzzes with life and energy, and it all accumulates into food, music and art. Every state lays claim on a specific type of each. Keep your agenda open while you’re here, because a plan will always present itself. By its sheer size (north to south larger than The States), it’s a country of incredible variety. From the tranquil mountain villages, to coastal party towns, from deserted beaches, to chaotic metropoles, from deserts to the rain forests, Mexico has it all. It’s also a place with challenges; the immense divide between rich and poor, the organized crime, the corruption. They seem institutionalized, and everybody wants to change it, but nobody knows how. It’s a country that struggles with persevering its history from the Mayans and Aztecs to its independence from the Spanish, whilst wanting to move forward at the same time. It’s caught between the times, and between the north and the south.

My departure is bittersweet. I’m excited for Europe, I’m looking forward to making my way home. I can already smell the fresh spring grass over the flat Dutch polders in a few months. At the same time I want to stay here, in the colours and chaos of Mexican life. During these decisions, I also feel caught between space and time. I want to stay but I want to go. I want to be everywhere. Who knows, someday I might come back and put that foot down. For now, Europe.