Guadalajara is a coy city, and she most certainly has a fine feminine heart. She doesn’t flaunt her charms loudly or immediately to her visitors. She reveals herself slowly, and getting to know her requires diligent curiosity and an abundance of time.
I realized recently, as I take my leave of Mexico to follow pursuits in another country after two years of residence here, that I’ve managed to walk over a thousand miles across sectors of the city, and I’ve had the chance to watch Guadalajara’s neighborhoods revolve through her seasons. I’ve poked into hidden alleyways, bodegas and garage boutiques, dined in pop-up comida stands and suddenly chic food trucks, relaxed in pocket parks and hiked the urban oases that ring the landscape. Here in this parti-colored heart of the country lies the deep Mexican identity that finds its expression in art, music, dance, food and that mad, mad mescal.
From our first weekend in the city in mid-October, where my husband and I unwittingly stumbled onto pilgrims struggling on their knees to reach Our Lady of Zapopan, to our final days of farewell gatherings erupting with mariachi bands in el Centro, we have been seduced by the city’s – and the region’s – unexpected pleasures.
We’ve rubbed elbows with the erudite at the international book festival in the fall and pretended to be hip at the international film festival in the spring. We’ve loitered through the endless parade of design and artisan festivals in virtually every city park. We’ve bought too much to carry home in Tlaquepaque and Tonala, and I have armloads of bracelets from street and seaside Huichol art vendors. We have explored knife galleries in Sayula, sat regally on equipales in Zacoalco de Torres, sweated anxiously in a Chapala temezcal, and overdosed on fashion in Zapotlanejo.
I’ve returned time after time to the jewelry mart in El Centro to fill my unabated passion for gems, wire, findings and handcrafted jewelry. I’ve walked for hours on at least half my weekends through stalls of unlimited foodstuffs in Abastos, and glutted my senses with the endless array of goods from across Mexico and the world in San Juan de Dios.
Guadalajara’s museums give us intimate views into the region’s ancient and more recent history, and a trip through the changing exhibitions in the Instituto Cultural Cabanas or private gallery spaces demonstrates the city’s fiercely loyal support of Mexican heritage artists. I’ve ruminated over the ancient ceramics in the Regional Museum and marveled at how contemporary the motifs appear. Elements of ancient arts echo throughout the city – in architecture, and art, personal adornment, and especially the food.
We’ve been delighted to enjoy Guadalajara’s emergence as a foodie town, witnessed by a dining explosion in the last few years and an exponential expansion of truly world-class cuisine.
Among my favorites – to whom I bid an almost tearful “adios” – are restaurants both chic and comforting: La Clandestina, a Vegan private dining kitchen on Pablo Neruda; the unfailingly delicious Galeria Del Taco on Ruben Dario; Boca del Cielo, the king of mariscos downtown; the ingenious vegan kitchen Lucuma; Allium, one of the city’s most inventive and welcoming new trendsetters; and I cannot forget my fallback on Sunday comida afternoons: La Antika Venezia and Mariscos Terranova. I’ll be dreaming about those meals.
Even in a city where dining is being raised to an art, some of the best food is also the simplest. We’ve packed on extra pounds proving this point at a wonderful French Crepe/Italian kitchen trattoria in Providencia or the cevicheria next to a car wash on Ruben Dario, or what a friend swears are the best tortas ahogadas in town on a street corner in Santa Teresita: a little joint with a log for a banquette and a long line of waiting customers on Saturday. My long search for the perfect fish taco joint proved to be an endless one – each one was worth several visits. Not to be omitted is the Poutine and Shwarma food truck (I kid you not). Last but not least by my measure is the world-famous Tacos Fish La Paz. I will get on a plane one day soon just to stand here in line, listening to sidewalk Mariachis, for a salsa and salad laden taco on a Saturday afternoon. Then I’ll head to Nueves Esquinas for birria or a mole.
We headed for a mid-morning pick me up of empanadas or tacos al vapor or a drop-in at the fruit stand’s pico de gallo with limon, sal and chile. We stopped into the abarrotes for vegetables, salsas, cheeses and some homemade soft tacos for dinner. The eating never ever stops.
Nor does the drinking. We befriended a Tequila store owner and fermentation expert in Tlaquepaque (check out El Buho on Avenida Juarez and ask for Senor Emilio) and our palates were changed forever. My personal favorite mixture turned out to be the “bandera” – a flight of tequila blanca, sangrita and limon.
We attempted to work off the extra Jalisco pounds on regular runs through the Bosque de Colomos, or on those unforgettably laid-back Sunday rides around the city on the Via RecreActiva, or on sweaty, breathless weekend hikes down and up the Barranca Huentitan. We even made a trek to the top of the Tequila Volcano – a memory that enhances every sip of, say, Don Julio Setente.
I’ll miss the afternoons punctuated by the whistle of the knife sharpener, the acrobatics of street jugglers at busy intersections, mariachi music spilling out of passing cars – much more often than any other music, and the virtually Pavlovian response to a “buenos dias” on the street. A simple nod elicits perhaps the most endearing Tapatio trait: an immediate smile, nod and “buen dia” – every single time. Does a more gracious society exist elsewhere.
A casual weekend or even week-long visitor to GDL can experience some or even all of the things we have but it takes time to coax an intimate relationship with Senora Guadalajara in the way she should be known – as a resident.
I have taken her into my heart and she resides within me, wherever I travel next. I hope she noticed and will remember some tiny part of my exploration into her own mysterious heart.