Tequila Town y Volcano Capers

Guadalajara

Our next stop was the sprawling city of Guadalajara (second largest after Mexico City).

After a brief scout of its many plazas, restaurants and bars, we headed back to the hostel to book a tequila tour. The next day saw us up bright and early on a tour bus to the town of  Tequila. After a 1-hour drive, anticipating tequila-fuelled mariachi bands in the streets, we were a little deflated by the rather bedraggled dust bowl that is Tequila. However, once we arrived at the Tres Mujeres (Three Ladies) distillery things began to look up.

Erik chopping a Blue Agave cactus. Step 1 of 3 in the fine (and very simple) art of making tequila.

 Our guide took us through the surprisingly simple process of making tequila, which was both very educational and interesting. Then the drinking began.

Shot 1 of 4.

We watched with growing concern as our guide poured four tequila shots for each of us. Namely Blanco (what´s known as Silver back in SA), Reposado (Gold), Anejo (aged in French-Oak barrels) and Extra Anejo (the really good stuff). It was not yet 11 o´ clock and already the party had started.

After the distillery, we were given an hour to totter around town on our own. We put this time to good use by visiting the Jose Cuervo distillery and having a few margaritas for the road. Then on to lunch, some tequila liqueur tasting and eventually home.

Woo!

Erik faces his greatest fear in the plaza inside the Cuervo distillery.

Now it was time for round two. The same evening we headed out for our first Lucha Libre (Free Fighting) wrestling match. The stadium was packed with locals wearing colourful masks, drinking 1-litre beers and getting ready to rumble. Inside the arena, we took our seats near the ring, while most of the rowdy crowd stood packed behind a wire fence. As the wrestlers bounded onto stage in their flamboyant lycra outfits, the crowd began to jeer and boo at their least favourite wrestlers, rattling the wire cages and shouting ´Puta tu madre! Puta tu madre!´ Using our amazing translation skills, Erik and I worked out that they were calling the wrestler´s mom a whore. Charming.

We weren´t allowed cameras into the venue, but this gives you the general idea.

It was all in good spirits though, and as the evening went on, we joined in cheering (without the swearing of course). All in all it was a kick-ass evening we´ll never forget.

Uruapan

We then headed for the much smaller town of Uruapan, famed for the still-steaming Volcan Paricutin, which erupted just seven decades ago, decimating the small town nearby and everything within a 9km radius. Of course, we had to climb it. For a Google Earth view of the volcano and others in the area, see here.

Catching a bus to the town of Angahuan, we met some guides who offered us horses for the trek to the base of the volcano. So we saddled up and headed out. It was then that I met my steed. Her name was Caballito (which means Little Horse in Spanish). But what she lacked in size, she made up for in speed. Her complete disregard for her own (or my) safety extended to zooting down steep slopes and wandering perilously close to sheer ledges. In short, Little Horse had a death wish.

Me and my not-so-trusty steed.

Despite this, we managed to get to the base of the volcano in one piece. It was here that we said goodbye to our trusty steeds and hoofed it on foot.The way up was daunting, to say the least. A steep, steep slope of slippery shale and soft volcanic sand sucked at our feet with every step. For every three steps forward, you would slide two steps back. By the time I reached the top, I was wheezing, dusty and on the brink of homicide.

Ugh.

Then I saw the view.

Beautiful!

We stood on the edge of a steaming volcano, looking into the wide caldera while the sprawling lava field showed us the scorched earth left in the lava´s molten wake. It was spectacular. But now we had to get back down.

It was a long slide down the opposite side of the volcano, where you had to surf/slide down on your feet. Needless to say, I fell. After tumbling head over heels and smashing my knee against a rock, I finally came to a stop. Once Erik was assured that I´d suffered nothing worse than a bleeding knee and wounded pride, he began to laugh and lament the fact that he hadn´t got it on camera.

The aftermath of my epic tumble. Please note the sand dune in my shoe.

A church within the lava flow that didn´t make it through the eruption.

Once safely at the bottom, we started the long trip home. It was a long, challenging, saddle-sore day. But it was worth it.