Chapter 5: A Tale of Two Guanajuatos

 

The following post details the Global Goulets’ journey from April 13 – 14:

Day 13 – In beautiful Guanajuato, we woke up early in the day to head back into el centro, where Alex had planned to film the roasting process of coffee beans at a local cafe. All went according to plan, and when it was over we spent the day aimlessly wandering around Guanajuato’s classic colonial cobblestone streets. Along the way, we picked up a new Mexicano skeleton keychain for our car keys for 5 pesos (shoutout to our friend Saul for winning our first Name that Keychain Competition! He is now “Don Carlos Ghouley”); later, we noticed Guanajuato had caught the love bug, as ‘lovers’ (remember from Dispatch 2, the word ‘lovers’ must always be said using a Jack Black in Nacho Libre voice) filled the benches of the enchanting jardín; before heading back to our side of town, we stumbled into the Mercado Hidalgo, where we ran into our very favorite man in all of Mexico, a burly and possibly quite lonely butcher, who enjoyed casually handling meat, especially when no customers were around. We filmed him from a distance. At last, dusk settled in and we began our retreat to the other side of the tunnel.

 

 

 

We were hungry and we’d determined earlier in the day the only place suitable enough to quell our grumbling goulet appetite was the ultra tasty (and ultra affordable) culinary concoctions of la abuela, from the day before. When we arrived, she warmly welcomed us back to her humble little domain. Sadly, there were no albondigas in stock, although she offered us an excellent alternative in los pollos milanesas (chicken cutlets) and enchiladas. Best of all, she barely flinched when Eric got deep into the kitchen to capture the whole cooking process on camera. On our way out, we made a deal with our new Goulet Grandma to come back one more time, the next day, to finally catch a taste of those ever-elusive albondigas.

 

 

Day 14 – Our next day in Guanajuato was filled with local experiences one just can’t find in the tourist-riddled centro. For there exists a certain hidden charm on this side of el Túnel Santa Fe, in the neighborhood in which we parked our car and set up our tent each night. You see, if not for operating within a tight budget, we’d probably seek out the most hip and well-reputed hostel we could find, like any generically-informed traveler. However, our shoestring operation forced us to discover an even cheaper option; it was a small little parking lot on a hill outside of town, operated by a man named Antonio, where we could make base camp for a modest fee. We couldn’t predict just how priceless it all would be.

 

 

Each day we’d trek back and forth under the tunnel to the land of the gringos, but on this day we needed to find a mechanic who might diagnose the source of Santa Maria’s stomachache, so we stayed put. Luckily, the night before a man at  el restaurante de nuestra abuela gave us a number of a local mechanic se llama Charlie. In the morning, we called Charlie, but the language barrier proved especially difficult over the airways. Instead, we asked Antonio if he knew Charlie. “Ahhh, Charlie, si! El mechanico!” We loved how everyone in town seemed to know everybody else. Antonio walked us to Charlie’s shop around the corner up the mountain and together we all returned to our sickly Santa Maria. Charlie, a rotund, jolly man, took a peak below the underbelly of el carro. Immediately he told us the problem – our muffler was caput. “Is it essential to replace?” we wondered. Charlie’s answer was no, the car would work fine without it, but we’d just have to live with an incessant barking noise for the remainder of our trip. In fact, we considered, it seems like most of the cars around Mexico didn’t have working mufflers either. “And will the car make it to Argentina?” we asked. This time Charlie lit up a boisterous bellow. “Argentina?! Que increíble!” We spent the next 15 minutes chatting up Charlie and Antonio, our Spanish improving with each sentence stuttered. When it was all said and done, Charlie insisted we return Saturday night for a car show the locals like to put on. “And is it safe to film?” we posited, immediately hyped by the potential of some sweet footage. “Si, porque no!” Charlie chatted back. That was it – barring any other unforeseen opportunity, we’d committed to returning to Guanajuato for this car show, operating solely on blind faith that it’d be worth it. Really, is there really any other way to operate? Not by our book!

 

 

 

We were stoked, but also starving. We walked back down the hillside with a raging appetite for albondigas. Yet not even this craving could stop our even more powerful hunger for filming. On the calle (street), on the way to our abuela, Alex poked his head inside a tortillería, or tortilla shop. There, we met yet another warmly welcoming local pair. They allowed us to crowd inside their mini-factory, where we captured some fascinating shots of this brother-sister duo cranking out piles and piles of tortillas. From there, they’d sell them fresh and on the spot directly to local consumers. They even gave us some free samples! We waved goodbye, thanked them immensely and walked down the block to the day’s main event.

 

 

This upcoming meal had been preceded by no shortage of build up. For days we were salivating over these very albondigas and finally our time had come. Like any classic home-cooked meal straight from grandma’s kitchen, she complemented the dish’s central component with steamed vegetables and spaghetti. Simple as it all sounds, even Alex, who is no stranger to home cooked Italian concoctions, couldn’t hide his affinity for the tastes that proliferated his pallet.

 

 

Heads up high, we returned to Antonio’s lot to preemptively set up our tent at the behest of our future selves, who might be a bit too buzzed after a night out in the town. It was a rare moment of foresight for the Goulets. Before taking off, we met a lovely German couple RVing across North America, who we ticketed as the initial subjects of our upcoming project, Travelers of the World (stay tuned!). Right before entering the dark tunnel to explore Guanajuato’s nightlife, an intoxicating aroma arrested our attention. An hombre manning a modest street stand was sizzling up tacos like no one else you’ve seen in your life. We ordered one to split. Holy lord. Immediately we ordered 3 more. At about 60 cents a taco, we just couldn’t order too many. So how about 2 more after that? Yeah, let’s do it. The explosive tastes we were experiencing were enough to make us believe in a God. When we told him they were the best tacos in all of Mexico, he seemed unsurprised. “Claro,” he proudly acknowledged. What we were really learning was practically all food in Mexico, especially straight from the streets, was unfairly delicious; so good, in fact, that you’ll never feel the same about your favorite Mexican restaurant in New York. From there, we ducked into the tunnel and enjoyed a night out with other out-of-towners in pleasant Guanajuato.