Features

Mexico - A more Mexican City

by Anna Levy

Like many British I tend to have a soft spot for the underdog and have often found myself drawn to ‘second cities’. Capital cities always seem too brash, too sure of themselves, too loose and easy with their admittedly ample assets. Give me a Barcelona over a Madrid or a Melbourne over a Sydney any day.

Compared to macho Mexico City, the notorious B.I.G. of cities, Guadalajara would seem the ultimate underdog. And yet there is a sense of relaxed pride and understated sophistication here amongst the local Tapatia people which reveals no sense of playing second fiddle to the Chilangos (literally ‘chilli monkeys’) as they derisively call those from the capital.

Guadalajara has a lot to be proud of. It has given birth to some of the most quintessentially Mexican exports including Mariachi and tequila, and was home to one of the country’s most celebrated artists – the great muralist Orozco. I would challenge anyone not to draw breath at his staggering mural of the priest Hidalgo, a national hero in the fight for independence, who towers triumphantly over the main staircase of the Palacio de Gobierno.

Those on a musical pilgrimage to the home of Mariachi however might be disappointed. By day, aging troupes in faded brocaded suits sit around the Plaza de los Mariachis on plastic chairs waiting for a commission; while at night, the area takes on a distinctly seedier tone, with musicians waiting around on street corners to be picked up by drunken revellers for a song or two on their way home from the bars. I’ve been told many of them are even picked up in cars and taken back to parties; and that some offer more than their trumpet to the festivities...

Anyone with a taste for the strong stuff can’t miss a trip to the nearby town of Tequila. A rowdy tourist train called the Tequila Express will take you on a daytrip to visit the distilleries accompanied by jolly Mariachi players and plenty of liquid refreshment. It’s a beguiling ride through the blue fields of agave, the cactus used to produce tequila, which coat the hills of the Sierra Madre like neat rows of tentacled sea creatures. The town itself is a pretty old-fashioned Mexican pueblo whose quaint streets belie the lethal liquor produced here. Sampling the vintage, full-bodied anejo variety is a big surprise to those of us whose experience of the stuff is limited to drunken tequila slammers in London bars.

Despite having such strong links to its national heritage, Guadalajara doesn’t make a big song and dance about it. Tourism posters for the city are much more likely to focus on the beauty of the local women, famed for their big Tapatia eyes, than on the city’s cultural attributes. Guadalajarans say that their good looks come from the French, who occupied the city in the 19th Century. Perhaps this also explains their passion for food and the distinct air of nonchalance amongst these people, quietly proud of their first rate second city.