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We eventually get ahold of Megan via payphone. She comes to meet us, and we sit and chat while Megan has some pizza from a hole in a false colonial brick wall. From there we hit Alcatraz, where the music is blasting, and conversation is roaring like a California forest fire in August. We walk to a table full of her friends, who are all sitting around a bucket full of sunshine, imbibing its rays. Her friends are ever the international crowd. Austrian, Mexican, American and Japanese. The gamut, if you will. All at least as amiable as is necessary. We only stay long enough to introduce ourselves, as we are more concerned with getting Megan some food, and us perhaps another beer before we call it a night. Travel has a way of sucking your energy, like the marrow from your bones. We head over to Bar Ocho, where things are much more calm than the island prison of moments before, though not much quieter. We all pore over the food menu for some time, but nobody orders food. Two Sol’s and an Indio, she says. Si, limon y sal por favor, she says. The girls catch up on the last 8 months, while I waste time thinking. My beer is slightly better than terrible. Mexicans have a much different idea of what makes a good IPA, than we do in Portland. After a slow beer, we pay the check and split.
We head to the hostel to pick up Jessica’s bag, where she had ditched it earlier in the evening. From there, Megan takes us up 408 poorly maintained stairs in the rain. We meet her homestay mother, who was less than pleasant, before going inside to dry off. Rather, I dry off. They take showers, I waste time thinking. While sitting on Jessica’s wicker couch wasting time, I reach in my pocket. I lost the key to the hostel. The key to my fucking room. You have GOT to be shitting me. The girls finish their showers, and I tell them the news. They are much more optimistic about the situation than I am. Its still raining. We make our way down 408 steps. We follow our previous path through town. We ask at the Pizza joint. No key. We go to the hostel, for which I still have the front door key. I try to break in to my room. No dice. My head is racing, as I am ridden with guilt. How stupid. Not only did I lose the key, but I let it bug the shit out of me. Its a key. The world will continue to turn, whether I lose it or not. Tomorrow, the sun will still rise, eventually followed by another moon.
Megan tells me its alright if I crash at her place, since by now, the hostel owners have long since left their infant clothing store in the next building over. Back up 408 stairs. In the rain. It was a lot easier the first time. Now I’m all jelly legs and iron feet. This is the first bed I have slept in since arriving in Mexico, and in 10 minutes, I’m out. Good thing too, as 7am always comes earlier than you think it will. Every god damn time. This morning was no exception.
After we’re up and ready to face the day, its down 408 stairs, with the sun at my back. Waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs is Megan’s Austrian friend Lisa. The four of us go for gorditas. These are not the gorditas you get at taco bell, but the idea isn’t too terribly far off I suppose. It starts with a small, but thick tortilla, which is split in half, like grocery store pita bread. From there you add whatever fillings you desire. Mine was potatoes, queso and salsa verde. For 6 pesos(US .55 at the time of publishing), these things sure fill you up.
We walk Megan to class, then go to the hostel, to discover that I had locked my key in my room. Disaster averted. I had planned on taking a shower, but the water was glacier cold. I got only as far as a few splashes in key areas and some clean clothes. With still a lot of hours to kill, Jessica and I explore the pedestrian friendly town. Guanajuato is an incredibly wealthy town now, and has historically always been so. The town’s initial income came from silver mining. These riches bought incredible architecture, and ornate churches. It’s beautiful. It’s also a college town, with students making up roughly 20% of the population. Those attributes combined make this town also a huge tourist attraction. I heard English spoken nearly as much as I did Spanish. There are rows upon rows of small shops peddling their ‘Guanajuato’ or ‘Mexico’ branded wares. I was beginning to feel more like I was in Disneyland, as opposed to Mexico. Everything so over the top.
After some wandering, Jessica and I settle in to an ‘Italian Coffe Shop’ and play an Isreali card game while drinking terrible espresso and eating what we thought were cinnamon rolls. After Megan got out of class, we went to get some food, and then the girls went back to the top of the hill, to nap, while I went to the hostel to do the same. The night was pretty uneventful. Jessica and I snuck into a dance club called ‘Apple’ for a few minutes before deciding it wasnt for us. We wandered around town, got some tacos, then called it a night. The next morning, it was back on the road to DF.