el crispito

Our friend Fiona warned Shawn that she's 'directionally challenged' when she gave him the instructions on reaching the party. In turn, Shawn kept reminding Tara and me of this when we were asking him over and over where we were supposed to be going. When it started to sprinkle as a huge cloud slid in to swallow up the stars above us, we knew we didn't have much time to find the place before getting very wet.

We turned around and went the opposite direction on the street, looking for our one solid clue: a sign that said "BIENVENIDOS" and had some Chinese characters on it. We ran into a snag when Tara spied a rat crawling around in some garbage on the opposite side of the street and was nearly paralized with fear. I did some scouting while she and Shawn stayed behind, but within two minutes, I'd located the sign. Tara and Shawn scurried around the far side of the corner to cross the road and meet up with me, and a few moments later we were standing under the sign at a locked iron door.

We were admitted to the party by a charming Chilango who escorted us up the dark stairwell, a run of concrete steps with nothing along the side to keep one from falling to certain injury below. That's not entirely true. At the top of the stairs there was a yellow warning sign with that poor anonymous man in silhouette that always runs into trouble, in a free fall from an unguarded platform. That wouldn't help the unfortunate schmo that never made it to the top of the stairs.

We entered the second floor area to find that there were already several people already there. We paid the entry fee and bought a couple of drinks. I had feared that they would not have any tequila, so I brought my own; alas, they had tequila so I just looked like a jerk bringing my own stuff when I could have been buying theirs. Still, I was glad to have brought Herradura, because they had José Cuervo, Satan's own tequila. I gave them my bottle and they said they'd guard it for me. To make myself feel less guilty, I paid them the price they were charging for José Cuervo for a couple of drinks, before they started to refuse my money.

We started in to chat with some of the people there, and the regular small talk ensued, leading to the inevitable question of how we like Guadalajara. I replied with my standard praise about the people being friendly, the weather being beautiful and the food being delicious, then followed with my constant complaint about the fact that, apart from loud dance clubs and Sanborns Café, there's nothing to do after midnight in this town. At first, the people we were talking to responded that we just didn't know they places they knew of to go for such things, but then when I asked them to tell me of such alternative places, every suggestion was trumped by someone else saying that it was a loud dance club and reminding the other that such a place was exactly what I said I didn't want. I gave my email address to one woman so that she could email me when she thought of some of the places that fit my demands. Four days later, I'm still waiting for that email.

Shortly thereafter, the people we knew arrived and scolded us for not attending the Guadalajara pride parade. We were watching Mexico being knocked out of the World Cup by Argentina and didn't know that anything of the kind was going on. Apparently, a great time was had by all, but you'll have to read another blog for coverage of that event. Soon we were joined by other people that Shawn either works with currently or met through his course at ITTO, and while Shawn caught up with them, Tara danced and I talked a bit with a young Mexican guy about the fact that one might earn more in the United States than Mexico, but it comes at a cost - a lot more stress and a lot less time to relax.

There was a lot of music, drinking, dancing, smoking and talking. One of the funniest moments at the party was Shawn's realization after talking to someone in Spanish for several minutes that the person didn't speak any Spanish. It turns out he is from Switzerland and speaks German and English.

Before we knew it, the people in our group were the last ones there, and although we'd been told there would be some live guitar from the Chilango after 4 am, when that hour rolled around, he was nowhere to be found, having made a quiet exit alongside the señorita with whom he'd been dancing earlier in a manner most intimate. The hosts reassured us that we didn't have to leave, and in fact, we could crash there for a while if we wanted. We figured it was best to get a cab and head home before the sun came up. It's just depressing to wake up at the pary place hours after everything has come to an end.

Somehow we all made it safely down the perilous staircase. Maybe the warning sign was helpful after all. We jumped in a cab and were completely quiet the whole way home. We were worn out. Shawn commented later that the ride home seemed to take forever.

Two days later, when Tara and I were going out to do some shopping, we were crossing the street when we heard someone honking at us. We went over to the car and saw that it was one of the women we'd met early on at the party. It turns out that she lives a block away from our apartment. Later that day, while shopping in La Gran Plaza, we ran into two more people that had been at the party - the Swiss guy and the guy he came with.

It's a small world.