Guadalajara with Benoit - Mexico Stories

Guadalajara with Benoit

While we were walking to the bus station, Benoit (pronounced ben-wah) and I decided to get something to make the trip go smoother. After all, Guadalajra was about a night's ride from Sinaloa and nothing was a bigger drag then arriving in your destination all tired after a long night wide awake on a bus.

We went into a Farmacia nearby and asked for something to help us sleep, something "fuerte" and so Benoit could buy Trojuns. Both Benoit and I had leanred by this time not to trust the Latin American variety. We got that, a couple of Manzana Lifts, some Pinguinos, and we ready for the big trip to Gaudalajara. We bought two tickets on the Executivo which is to buses what the Condord is to airlines. Non-stop service, movies, air conditioning, and seats with leg room that recline all the way back.

I insisted on the Executivo despite Benoit's protests (he's the cheapest guy on earth) as I once took the cheap bus and it stopped every 15 minutes and the lights went on and people were getting on and off bumping into you so you couldn't sleep, no air conditioning, the guy next to me smelled like he had just gotten done examining the family hog, there was a full 10 inches of legroom (I'm 6 feet tall so this was hell) and the lady in front of me, I kid you not, had a live chicken on her lap that keep poking its head into the space between the seat and the window trying to tell me somthing. (At that time my Spanish wasn't too good so I wasn't sure what the chicken was trying to say.)

Gaudalajara is a huge city and soon there we were downtown with no plans and no idea about what to do. We resloved to "check out the city" which generally means wondering around aimlesly, after we found a hotel room. Being dropped off in Gaudalajara is like being dropped off in the middle of New York. In fact, I think we both felt like a couple of heyseeds on their first trip to the big city. Neither of us spoke much Spanish (though Benoit acted as if he were beeter than the King of Spain's and always liked to let me know about how much more he knew about Spanish than me despite the fact he only knew one way to start a sentence: "Es possible..." Eveything Benoit said in spanish began with "es possible..." (pronouced es pough-see-blay) which means "is it possible..." All day, is this pough-see-blay, is that pough-see-blay. Still worse, in English he couldn't seem to have a conversation without mentioning that his family owned a castle in France or that women found him irresistable. It was a long hot day in Guadaljara with Benoit.

That evening we decided to go out so Benoit could demostrate how irresistable he was to the female population of Gaudelajara. Our first stop was what looked like a cool dance club with a couple Tapatio doormen (Tapatio is what people from Gaudalajara are called) standing out front wearing suits with their hair slicked back into ponytails guarding the doorway. Doormen at clubs are notoroius assholes anywhere in the world, but combine that with the natural flair for arrogance of the Tapatios and you've really got a recipe for a first-rate jackass on your hands and these two were exceptional specimens. I have to say Gaudelajara is by far the snobbiest city in Mexico as many residents seem to think that all that is good and useful in life originated in Gaudalajara.

Needess to say, they refused to let the two gringos in jeans and tennis shoes in because our attire was inappropriate and life as they knew it may have come to an end if we were allowed inside. If I could have found the Spanish words to let them know that their ponytails were inapporriate becuase ponytails went out style 5 years ago and their suits looked like hand-me-downs from Bobby Brown, I would have. As I turned, there was Benoit continuing the coversation not realizing the snub. I heard him start in with, "es pough-see-blay..." He didn' t get it that we were just basically called dirtbags by a couple of Mexican guidos and must have thought that I didn't want to enter so he thoughfully took it upon himself to get their recommendation for another club. I didn't want any part of this.

I was halfway down the street by the time Benoit caught up to me to show me the recommendation which was written on a slip of paper. We unfolded it and looked at it. The paper said only "Mariposas". For those of you who don't know, mariposa is the Spanish word for "butterfly" which in Mexico is a way of saying "faggot" - the doorman had just recommended we go to "Faggot's." Mr. Spanish then turns to me and asks, "I wonder how we get to Mariposas?" Yes, after a long, hot day the night was getting off to a spectaular beginning.

We wandered around for a long while before stumbling upon a seedy looking club called Tropicosa which was located on the top floor of an abandonded building. No, we agreed, no dress code here.

When we entered there were dozens of tables around a dimmly lit dance floor with a lot of shabby older women lazily sitting around sipping drinks. Benoit grabs a table in the middle of the room and orders a drink before I could get a chance to stop him. Once in place at our table, Benoit with a self-congratulatory look leans over to me and says, "See, all the women are looking this way." "Yes," I said, "they're all prostitues are we're next to the only guys in here."

That seemed to do the trick and we were asking for the check as the beers were arriving. It was Benoit's turn to pay (not to mention his reponsibility for ordering drinks here in the first place) and he handed the waiter a 500 peso note. The manager returned a few minutes later with the note and let us know that it was conterfit by brining a real 500 and showing us the difference in the light. He shrugged it off and gave the 500 back to Benoit who looked at me and said, "That's all I've got." I dug out a 200 and we paid and left as a few ladies whose stomachs were even bigger than thier asses looked sorry to see us leaving so soon.

It was obvious by now we were either in or very near Gaudalara's version of skid row. After abandoning Tropicosas and making our way down to the street a few blocks, a little vagabond in a dirty tweed blazer who liked to speak in flowery Spanish and courtsy a lot attatched himself to us as we walked. Benoit and I were pretty big, Benoit being two inches taller than me and the vagabond was about 5'4" so no cause for alarm. Hell, maybe he could recommend us a club beside Mariposas while we looked for a taxi.

We hadn't made it half a block before we were accosted by two mustaches with police attatched to them. They too I suspose were walking around aimlessly when we crossed paths. I couldn't make it out but it seemed the police had taken Benoit aside to warn him about the little vagaboind while the vagabond had taken me aside to warn me about the police. The police shooed the little vagabons away who fell back and watched the scene with concern from a distance as the police, after being so helpful, decided to search us for drugs.

Now Benoit and I and even the little vagabond were all getting a little nervous. We had out hands on the wall and they begin searching the contnets of my pockets first since I must have looked like the ringleader. They found a little money, my Texas drivers license, a leaky pen, and some keys.. all good. They then began searching Benoit.

First they came up with the remainder sleeping pills. After a brief moment of excitment the police decided these weren't illegal drugs and moved on. They then pulled out the slip of paper with "Mariposas" written on it that Benoit had apperantly decided to keep, even after I explained the sitution to him. They took a long look at it and I could see on their faces that they couldn't fathom why this big gringo would be carrying around a slip of paper with the word mariposas written on it but decided they really didn't want to know. They sort of shook their heads in puzzlement and continued the search. They then pulled out the counterfit 500 peso bill... and another two 200 peso bills. They didn't seem to notice that the 500 note was a counterfit, but beleive me I noticed that the other two 200 notes were not, that cheap bastard.

Out of Benoit's back pocket then came out about a dozen condoms. Why Benoit thought he needed so many condoms is beyond me. I'd count myself lucky to need one. After all, we were going out partying in Gaudalajara, not Gamorrah.

The police seemed most interested in the condoms. I was begining to worry that they were going to start in with that routine you see in the movies where some sadistic Tijuana sherrif asks "So you come down to Mexico to take advantage of our sisters?' but after a few seconds they laughed and said "Condones! Si, correcto!" meaning condoms, yes, good idea. It was about this time we entered the twilght zone.

After returning our things to us (and without taking any of the money) they motioned for us to come with them. "What was this?" I thought. Benoit and I were now looking at each other wondering what was going on as the little vagabond followed a couple blocks back looking worried for us. After a few blocks, Benoit and I started to hear Mariachis playing and a few more blocks and we were in a lively section of the city with lots of tables on the street and music and drinking and people communicating and having a lovely time.

The cops motioned to us to sit down at one of the tables which we did, then, oh I kid you not my dear readers, they began bringing girls over for us. After a half doezen introductions and haf a dozen times of listening to Benoit tell about the castle in France, the cops sat down with us and we ordered some cervezas.

They said they had to get back on duty and could only have one but that these girls were easy so we should have no problems. During the course of our drink, Benoit took out the counterfit bill and showed it to the police. They inspected it and agreed it was conterfit explaining how it was thinker, felt different, and glowed under a black light. When they were ready to leave they motioned to Benoit to give them the counterfit bill. They called the waiter over to asked how much we owed and handed him the 500. When the waiter brought Benoit the change, they laughed and said that it was now someone elses problem.

I wonder what happened to the little vagabond in the tweed blazer with his flowery Spanish? I wonder if Benoit ever got to use all those condoms before they expired? I wonder who ended up getting stuck with the conterfit 500 peso bill?