Guadalajara, Day One

Just a bit of background for my faithful readers.  After my first year of theology study in preparation for priestly ordination, spent in Columbus, Ohio, I, along with two of my confrere, were sent to the Instituto Teologico Salesiano in Tlaquepaque, Mexico to study.  I spent three years in Mexico, between ’98 and ’01, and at our height we had eight American students in the community, along with Fr. Eric Wyckoff who was on staff. I came back once, in October 2001, as a “baby” priest to celebrate my ordination with the folks here. Fr. Eric is back on staff, after a stop in Rome to finish is scripture studies.  Now I’m back for a visit after all this time, and sharing my experience with you all.  I hope you enjoy. I'm having trouble uploading pictures right now, and I'll get them posted as soon as I can.

TLAQUEPAQUE, JAL, MX –The first full day of my return to Old Mexico was spent hitting some of the old places I used to go back in the day.  First stop was down town Tlaquepaque, to an area we always called the Parian, even though that’s the name of what purports to be the largest bar in the world.  The Largest Rip Off the Gringo Joint in the Greater Guadalajara Area is more like it.  If you do find yourself in this quaint little corner of the world there are far better places to eat and relax, like El Rio San Pedro or El Patio, located in the few blocks around the center square; places where the food is fantastic, and you won’t be taken advantage of.

Tlaquepaque is the indigenous name for this suburb of Guadalajara, which mean “place above clay land.” San Pedro is it’s “Christian name,” and locals often refer to it by its shorter designation.  They’ll run the two together (San Pedro Tlaquepaque) if they think you might get confused with other places, like San Pedro Vaticano (OK, maybe not with that San Pedro).

So after Padre Eric and myself made the rounds of the shops, we went back to the theologate for midday prayers and comida. This is the main meal of the day, and I must say the food has improved since I was here last.  Breakfast and cena, which is the light evening meal, were always pretty good, but the main meal was often found wanting.  As is the custom for Salesians visiting other Salesian houses, this was the moment I delivered some libations to the director of the community, Fr. Jesús, who in turn poured it forth for all the brethren assembled.

After lunch it was off to the Guadalajara, and trips to the Cathedral and some Catholic book stores.  It was my first time on a Guadalajara bus since 2001, but it was like I never left.  It’s six pesos now (roughly fifty cents) compared to three back in the day.  But with the weak peso the actual increase isn’t nearly that much.

I had forgotten what it was like to be stared at by a bus load of people as if I was, like a foreigner, or something.  Now, I pass for Latino quite often, or at least as long as I keep my mouth shut.  They usually don’t think I’m Mexican, but they’ll ask if I’m from Argentina or Costa Rica or something like that.  When Eric and I are together, or the lot of us piled on the bus back in the 90’s, there is no mistaking that we were from El Norte. So it was yesterday; a lady sitting alone, a couple of little girls, a teenage boy, all gawking at us (men, for some reason, are more subtle about it).  Then we open our mouths, English fills the air and the jig is up.  Sometimes someone will come up to us and try to impress us with their broken English they learned from watching the latest Bruce Willis move (these are usually men, being less subtle).  Since we always assume the next words after “hello, how are you,” and "are you Americans" is going to be, “do you have ten pesos,” we shoot an annoyed  look back or move to another part of the bus.

There are also street musicians that come on the bus and play a few songs on the guitar and pass the hat.  They might stay on for a stop or two, and the drivers let them on for free.  One time there was a man with a beat up boom box singing along to a cassette tape of ranchero music, poorly.  I was going to give him five pesos just to stop.  Other times it’s women or little girl dressed in traditional, but threadbare clothing or men with one arm simply begging.  In Guadalajara they either hop from bus to bus or stake out a spot under the colonnades.  In Quito, Ecuador the children will follow you for blocks, sometimes just to beg, other times to shine your shoes. 

This is not to make light of the situation.  Educational and economic opportunities that we take for granted in the States simply do not exist here.  The issue of immigration policy in the US needs to be debated, and I’m not sure either side has a monopoly on truth and morality (personally I’m for tightening the boarders but against wholesale deportations, for reasons I’ll get into at a later date).  But we shouldn’t wonder why so many people want to cross rivers and deserts to get to into the United States, and nothing gets me madder than branding people criminals who simply want to feed their families. I mean, didn’t anyone out there read Les Misérables. But I digress…      

Once we hit the main places we wanted to see we made a side trip to a large church just off the beaten path, El Templo de Expiatorio.  It’s a neo-gothic structure, plain by local standards, but I think it’s even prettier than the Cathedral because of its simplicity.  To be fair, they’ve done a lot of work on the Cathedral since I was here last, as well as the parish church in San Pedro.  There is scaffolding in the sanctuary of the Cathedral that tells me the face lift isn’t over.

We returned home, washed up, went to prayers with the Salesian community and then headed out again on a mission to find tacos, but not just any tacos.  We sought El Rancho Blanco.  To my Facebook followers I promised an account of this trip, but it will need to wait a bit.  It deserves its own post, so a little patience and it will be here.