Friday Nite in Guadalajara

Last Friday nite, I went out on the town in Guadalajara, with some friends.  In short, it was a fantastic nite.  In long, here's what we did... or what I'm pretty sure we did.

First stop was a hole in the wall Cantina called "La Fuenta".  The crowd was mostly middle-aged, happy, and drunk.  An electric piano player reminiscent of an elder Antonio Banderas sounded out some Mexican classics under his fingers, while a trumpeter blew out traditional melodies as he walked around the bar.  Large groups gathered around small circular tables placed end to end rocked and swayed as the sang the words along to the tunes they knew so well.  An elderly flamboyantly mustached man in a light purple tuxedo and snow white fedora with a long grey ponytail was shaking hands with acquaintances as he made his exit from the bar.  Our Finnish friend Nestori bought us a round of beers and we observed the lunacy around us with contented smiles etched on our faces.  

Nestori

The next stop was a Salsa club with a live band blaring out continuous latin rhythms, the whole dance floor moving and shaking with bodies that looked like they would shatter if they stood still.  There was an incredible energy flowing thru the room.  It made me wish I had that salsa fire in my heart and in my feet from a young age.

As I was staring at all the blurry bodies before my eyes, my friend Minerva came up behind me and asked me in her best broken English if I would dance with her.

Hell yea!

Not that I knew how to do anything much salsa-like.  I was glad I had taken at least 1 salsa class a few weeks earlier... it made me look not quite as much of a total gringo with two left feet and an inner ear problem.  I held my own alright, and Minerva (who was a fantastic dancer) and I laughed the whole time because I truly had no idea what was happening at any point during the two songs we danced to.

Jaime, Jesse and Minerva

We left the salsa club around 1 am, and Nestori suggested we check out a jazz club he knew called Primer Piso (1er Piso, as the sign said).  Also known as the "First Floor" for those gringos who don't habla the espanol.  Like me.  Unsurprisingly, the lounge was not on the first floor, but the second floor of a small building.  The pale, unearthly-looking, overly made-up female bouncer at the door told us there were too many people inside, and we would have to wait until at least 5 people came out before we went inside.  About 8 seconds later, 2 people came out the door and she shrugged and let us all inside.  

Dim light from small table candles illuminated maroon velvet cushions that hung on the wall and ceilings, couches and comfy armchairs littered the majority of the seating space, and the outer walls were made up entirely of windows.  

I think.  I can't quite remember all the details, but it sure was nice and comfy in there.  

Me friend Jesse and I shared a round of Don Juan Blanco tequila, chased by Pacifico beer.  The combination was delicious, and quite potent after an already eventful nite.   After hanging out for a short amount of time with my friends, I noticed a small jazz band getting ready to start playing on the "stage".  I put that word in quotes because the "stage" was more like a dark corner of the room that was raised up 3 inches on a wide platform.  

Being a music lover, and a big fan of live jazz, I walked right up to the front of the stage and watched as the band started playing.  I started feeling a groove in my chest and made that funny scrunched up face I do when I'm really diggin' music that's going on around me.  I opened my eyes and as I looked up from my internal groove, I stopped short.  I saw, emerging from the shadows of the stage, a girl in a blue and black dress step up to the microphone and confidently bless my ears with her voice.  

Even as the room was swaying slightly, I found myself anchored to my spot, watching the room spin around this sultry, dark haired beauty, whose shy smile could melt even a wooly mammoth's 10,000 year old icy heart.

That shy smile...

I took out my pocket digital camera, and took a few pictures of the band.  Every now and then I would turn the camera around to show the band the pictures I was taking.  

Though they liked the pictures, my pocket camera didn't satisfy me.  I turned to Nestori, who thankfully had brought along his Canon 5D mark II camera, and he bestowed upon me the use of his image-maker for the rest of the nite.  

We had been told all week by our photo instructors, "If you're picture isn't good enough, you're not close enough."  Taking this advice to heart, I think I may have crossed some personal barriers as I got up practically right on top of the players, and snapped away.  I took close to 300 pictures of the band, and admittedly, mostly of the dark haired beauty in front of me.

I knew of nothing else going on - I was in my own head space, taking pictures of the music happening less than 2 feet in front of me.  

Her voice was simple and special, and anyone with half a brain could tell that she loved to sing.  Who could blame her?  She also loved the music playing around her.  When she wasn't singing, she was watching with admiring eyes, her bandmates jam out beside her.  She danced with her sax player during two songs, and continuing the trend I'd seen at the salsa club, they both knew how to dance... very well.  I was more than a bit jealous of the sax guy.  He was damn good.  And he was dancing with her.  

Before I knew it, an hour had passed and the set was over.  I reached into my pocket and took out one of my business cards to give to the beautiful singer from 2 feet away.  She smiled as she kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug (a standard Mexican greeting I'm told - people are extraordinarily friendly there, and I love it) and I tried to explain in my 5 words of Spanish that I knew, that she should contact me and I would send her the photos.  I thanked her with a big smile for the music, and rejoined my friends.

Due to the liquid courage flowing thru my veins, I decided a few minutes later that it was a good idea for me to reapproach this girl who had captured my eyes and ears so forcefully, and at least ask her for her name and what email address I could send the photos to.  

Her name was Paloma, and as I struggled to communicate to her in Spanish, she asked me with a smile in perfect English "Do you speak English?"  To which I externally responded "I do", and internally responded "Woo Hoo!  She speaks English!".  Not only was she the most beautiful girl I'd seen since coming to Guadalajara (and believe me, there's no shortage of beautiful women in the city), but she was incredibly sweet as well.  We talked for a little while and she departed shortly afterwards.  

Jaime drove us back to the hotel around 3:30 am (he's the absolute man) and I fell fastly asleep, content as could be with one of the most emotionally fulfilling nites I had had in a very long time.

Not to mention some great photos to take home.  Coming next post.  :-)

-JoeySee