Leaving Guadalajara

I left Guadalajara today- it was heartbreaking. I've met so many fantastic people here, had so many crazy experiences. The only way I can deal with leaving is by telling myself that I'll come here again one day.

The last few days have been pretty hectic. As I write this, I'm sitting in Toluca airport waiting for my connection to Cancun after 2 hours sleep- since I had to be up before dawn anyway, I decided that I was going to stay up all night in order to make the most of Guadalajara. Of course my brain had other plans and I had a little nap before getting up at 6, which was probably for the best...

On Friday we went to see the ruins in Teotihuacan. We all had it in our heads that this place was about an hour away, but 2 and a half hours later, we were still sitting on a crammed packed bus, passing through every obscure little hamlet in the area. Teotihuacan itself was a strange little place- pretty, very Mexican, but completely devoid of people. A ghost town.

The ruins themselves were up a pretty steep hill, but overlooked the town, lake, mountains and Tequila volcano. The air felt really fresh after Guadalajara, and after exploring the ancient circular pyramid and surrounding ruins, we sat on a bench to enjoy the view.

Out of nowhere, a man appeared- dressed in double-denim and with a satisfying mustache. "Do you feel the presence here?" he asked us in Spanish. Beth asked him what he meant, and while her Spanish is the best out of all of us, she still didn't completely understand him when he started talking about a man on the hill- we all thought he was trying to tell us that a man was watching us and we were in danger (?!) After some miming of hanging and death, we realised that double-denim man was talking about a cowboy who had hung himself from the tree we were sat in front of, and that his ghost was here. He said a lot of other stuff about the mountain and ghostly presences, which sufficiently freaked us out and we decided to head back before it got dark. I didn't fancy missing the last bus and spending the night around an ancient burial ground. I have enjoyed whispering Fi's ear "do you feel the presence here?" and remain convinced that double-denim man was actually the dead cowboy ghost himself.

That night, we met up with a local friend and were taken to a cantina- the most Mexican of all Mexican cantinas, with a long room packed full of locals drinking cheap corona and singing songs. A mariarchy band circulated the room, which made me far too happy because it confirmed that mariarchy bands are actually enjoyed by real Mexican people and not just tourists on beaches. I was a little overwhelmed to be surrounded by so many loud, crazy (and drunk) people, and didn't feel nearly as caught up on beer as the rest of my table.

Suddenly, a man in a musician's blouse (that's the only way I can describe it) tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. He said he had never seen a blonde girl in there before and that it was a great honour to meet a "blue eyed mystery". He introduced me to his friend, who looked very embarrassed, and apparently a fantastic opera singer. "What would you like him to sing to you?" the man asked. "Opera?" I said, and before I knew what was happening, the quiet friend had burst into song. He had an incredible voice! He took both my hands so that I couldn't run away, and sang right into my face, substituting odd words with "Rachael". The room went quiet and I felt as if hundreds of eyes were on me and realised I was crying- with laughter, slight hysteria and shock I think. I think at that moment I could have happily married that man and been his abiding, taco-serving wife, but luckily I was pulled back to the table- and reality- and the opera man was gone.

The night became blurrier after that moment. We found ourselves at a club, which I didn't have ID for, but got into anyway for free, largely because I was female and foreign and one of the guys knew people in there. We drank, we danced, we puzzled over how camply Mexican men dance, and as the night ended, we were invited onto a house-party.

Surrounded by drunk drivers and groups of ten people packed into 5 seater cars, our group split into taxis. Somehwhat ironically, the taxi which Beth and Molly took was crashed into by another car. They were absolutely fine, but a little shaken up, and we decided that it was time for bed. As I got into bed (and tipsily skype- called a friend at home [sorry!]), Rosie was already getting up to go to work.

Saturday was a day of feeling tired , burning my parting and eating cake with Fi. In the evening we strolled along Chapultapec markets and went for pizza.

When Sunday arrived and I realised it was my last day in GDL, I went into a daze and found myself walking around staring up at everything like some kind of simpleton, trying to absorb everything at once. I had lunch at the cafe in the square for the last time, and sat in the house, watching Rosie's sons drag everything out of the house- 50 year-old oven, washing machine and all. Actually, the washing machine was lowered down from the roof with a dodgy piece of rope, which was an exciting moment.

Did I mention that the couple I lived with moved out yesterday? Well, they moved out yesterday. We said our goodbyes, took some photos and ate cake. The house felt so empty, and it made it a lot easier to pack up my own stuff ready to leave.

Since writing this, beer has happened and it will have to be continued at a later date!