The night before the day of my return flight to Canada for Christmas, I took a bus from Zamora to Guadalajara (because airport) and spent the night with my friend, Sam, in his room at the Vilasanta (pictured above), the hostel in Guadalajara in which we’d met, and that I had stayed in and come to know so well the month previous. This was the first time I’d been back to the city in just over 4 weeks.

For the trip by bus, I had trekked with me, my ginormopack filled with Mexican Christmas gifts, my sports duffle bag I use as a carry-on, and a small plastic bag with two containers of fresh Papas Zamoranas —*mouth waters*— that I brought as a dinner for him and I to share.

As we sat on the rooftop patio eating our 9:00pm dinner of papas, peach juice, and tostadas with refried beans, I told him about how it was strange for me to be back in this place— this hostel. How it felt like returning to the set of a movie after the movie was over (and with that, I’m 3 for 3 on my blog post to movie metaphor ratio).

*—*

I had had a beautiful 6 weeks in Guadalajara. Met beautiful people. Had beautiful conversations. Saw beautiful places… And it all started when I agreed to get my make-up done by a group of girls on the street, ending up lost, alone, and tired, three and a half hours later, looking like a drag queen.

DAY 1

To be fair, Ana Paola wasn’t trying to make me look like a drag queen, and there’s nothing bad about being a drag queen. I think it just has something to do with my body type and facial features that can easily be manipulated (sometimes accidently) to become sexually ambiguous. Fun fact about me.

But let’s start from the beginning beginning how bouts it.

I arrived at the Vilasanta around 6:30am, after a night without sleep. After being told specifically by ITTO (the school I was to attend for the next month that also had set up my taxi ride and housing) not to pay the taxi driver anything (as it had been payed for), I payed my taxi driver something— Tomás… and double what he asked, because I didn’t know how to explain in Spanish that I knew it was already paid for, or how to ask for change… it wasn’t my greatest moment. Fuck you Tomás for taking advantage of my foreignness. Fuck you and fuck my Canadian-ness for being okay with it… Actually, it’s okay, I don’t mind, don’t fuck yourself. Hope you had a nice Christmas.

Upon arrival at the Vilasanta, I met Nano, an 18 year old chap like myself (except a chap), who’s family had run this hostel for many a year. It was Nano that informed me that the private room I had reserved wasn’t available until 4 or 5 days later, and so I would have to sneak, in the early morning, into the fourth and last free bed of a dorm room while three other people I didn’t know were sleeping. So I did. And passed out pretty hard for about 4 hours.

When I woke up it was around noon, and it was one of those wake-ups when you forget where you are exactly and get confused, but then all your memories of the previous day come back to you at once and you’re like “well shit, I’m not at home in my comfortable, warm bed with a fridge full of food and nothing to do today“, except this time I wasn’t out in the middle of the woods, hungover and covered in forest shit, in the back of my parents frosty-ass car with 4 other people, one of whom (male) wearing only a tube top and a mini-skirt is hence shaking like a wet chihuahua and stealing all my blankets… Shout-out to high school bush parties in rural BC.

Aaanywaay,

Waking up, I realized I was alone, and in more than just the dorm room, but in life… Yeah.

I’m not gonna say that culture shock was really hard on me, but I’m also not gonna say that the first two days I spent in Mexico were easy for me. I’ve talked about it before, but I had never before been on my own like this, or in a non-English speaking, not modernised country (as well I was there without much of a long-term plan). What I will say about the first two days is that there was a hard, steep, humbling, and fast learning curve that I overcame in my way of thinking. A general overview of it would be:

“Fake it til you make it.”

And we’ll maybe get more into that another time… Continuing,

After a few moments of silent contemplation and slow, heavy breathing with my faced pressed against the back of the door to my room as I hovered my fingers over the handle, I gathered the courage to open it and step out. This is when I met Daphne, an inside-and-out beautiful woman who works the front counter during the week, and also speaks English. Daphne gave me the low-down on how the hostel worked, and where I could find the nearest markets, so I could start being able to cook my own food; it was on this journey(to find food)— my first journey into the city — that I found myself in the beautifully awkward aforementioned circumstance… I wish I’d taken a picture.

Long story short, I was lost to start with, trying to find the Soriana. Three girls attending a local beauty college were looking out on the street for a volunteer to model for them for 3 hours that afternoon, and approached me. This marked the first time I agreed to something in Spanish that I didn’t necessarily mean to agree to; I was tired af, hungry, in dire need of a bathe, and I was agreeing to follow three strangers to an unknown place— who knows how far away?—, in a city that I’m virtually completely unfamiliar with, and then sit unmoving, in a chair, awake, for the rest of the afternoon. God. To add to that, if you can remember, I didn’t have enough Spanish to make it through a 20 minute taxi ride. This was 3.5 hours…

…so 3.5 hours of almost falling asleep in the makeup chair, misunderstood small talk and awkward silences, various coloured lipliners, extensive eyebrow glueing, heavy concealer/bronzer application, sky-high black eyeshadow, and a multitude of face glitters and eyelash extensions later, it was over… and LOL it was just not me. I’m not sure what or who it was, but it was not me. I wasn’t ready for Guadalajara to see me like I was; I was ready for Vegas. And I wasn’t ready to be ready for Vegas. I was ready to emotional-eat some guacamole toast and call it a day.

Maybe you’re thinking I was being too judgemental of the makeup job, and unfortunately, since I don’t have a picture, I can’t show you. But I can tell you that I was not the only one at the beauty school who noticed that it was just not working on my face. Half-hearted smiles were a major thing when Ana Paola presented the finished product… So after I thoroughly crushed Ana Paola’s spirit by attempting, in broken Spanish, to ask if there was a bathroom so I could take off the drag makeup (I felt like an asshole jsyk), I wandered out on to the street and proceeded to realize that I had no idea where I was. I wandered aimlessly for a couple minutes, trying to look like I knew where I was going, until I finally caught a distant glimpse of my guardian angel, this place—

Templo Expiatorio.

Possessing a heaven-scraping right tower, adorned on its peak with a blue neon cross that can be seen from blocks away day and night, this magnificent church-thedral became my home base on many occasions (also for the fact that it is located very close to my hostel).

Inside vertical panorama, and the view from outside.

I’m not sure I ever made it to the supermarket that first day. After I returned to my hostel, I met my room-mates; two girls who were just finishing their TEFL certification here at ITTO, and a cool dood named Thomas who I would get to know the month following, in our TEFL course together. I then proceeded to shower, siesta, and head back out to find some food. Daphne had given me directions to one other place, very near to the hostel:

A cute af mercadito that I found came with a cute af market boy. This was my place to go for good avocados, cute market boy convos, and Canada Dry ginger ale when I was needing a little canuck in my life…

So yeah, that was the day.

*—*

I learned a lot in my first few days in Guad. I learned that, in Mexico, you should pretty much address everyone informally (tu) unless they’re really, really old or you’re in some formal business situation (usted). I learned to pay attention to where I was going when walking in an unfamiliar city. And I learned that it’s important to generally be a “yes” person— or perhaps a “sí” person, as it were— even when you don’t really feel like it (a “yes” person, being a person who says “yes” to new experiences)…

It’s easy for me, or someone like myself— with a history of being anxiety-prone— to be a “no thanks” person. The problem with being a “no thanks” person is that you really aren’t living real life. If you live like a “no thanks”er, you’re living in a little personal bubble, avoiding change, and that ain’t what life is, bruh.

“No thanks” people say “no thanks” because they fear something about life, and they prefer the familiarity they feel in their habitual pattern over that which they feel when taking risks or trying new things that have unknown consequences. The thing is, I think, that the moment you stop taking risks in life, leaving your comfort zone every once in a while, or trying new things, is the moment you truly start dying. I don’t think the point of living is to just get by on a minimum amount of effort, ruled by fear of the unknown, and never strive for self-improvement. Taking risks is always rewarding in one way or another. Though the situation I found myself on the first day for being a “si” person was more or less difficult and I didn’t entirely enjoy it, I don’t regret saying yes to it in any way. Because it was funny, and I learned from it… I became self-aware of my guttural reaction to please people, and of my sexually ambiguous capabilities.

So if you are also someone who can have trouble with being a “no thanks”er, just remember that realistically, you probably aren’t going to die from taking risks in life, and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (and/or sometimes makes for a decent story). Also don’t forget that there are so many beautiful things in life that you can only discover if you actively try… and you only got one life… #YOGOL.

*—*

Hope you enjoyed. I found it a little hard to write like this, in the way of actually documenting events of a day (like a travel blog usually is). I don’t know. I’m still tryin to find my style here. We’ll see how/where it goes.

I’ll leave you with a little taste of the 90’s in Mexico:

Cafe Tacvba – Esa Noche 

Live compassionately, love generously, be a “yes” person, #yogol… Hasta next time,

Anika