During the last few months in Europe we had seen more than our share of churches and monasteries, but as we drove through the valley north of Kalambáka we saw the first of the amazing monasteries of Metéora, balanced on what seemed to be totally impossible rocky pinnacles and cones, surrounded by sheer cliffs. The mind first asks “how”, followed by “why”. We parked and stood looking up at one of the greatest sights of mainland Greece. Metéora literally means “middle of the sky”, “suspended in the air” or “in the heavens above”.

Caves in the vicinity of Metéora were inhabited continuously between 65,000 and 5,000 years ago. The oldest known example of a man-made structure, a stone wall that blocked two-thirds of the entrance to the Theopetra Cave, was constructed 23,000 years ago, probably as a barrier against cold winds – the Earth was experiencing an ice age at the time. Many Paleolithic and Neolithic artifacts have been found in some of the caves.

In the 9th century AD, an ascetic group of hermit monks moved up to the ancient pinnacles. They were the first people to inhabit Metéora since the Neolithic Era. They lived in hollows and fissures in the rock towers, some as high as 1800 feet, (550m), above the plain. This great height, combined with the sheerness of the cliff walls, kept away all but the most determined visitors.

The only means of reaching some of them was by climbing a series of long ladders lashed together or large nets used to haul up both goods and people. “The net in which intrepid pilgrims were hoisted up vertically alongside the 1,224 ft, (373-meter), cliff required quite a leap of faith. The ropes were replaced, so the story goes, only “when the Lord let them break”.

Seeking a retreat from the expanding Turkish occupation, the monks found the inaccessible rock pillars of Metéora to be an ideal refuge. More than 20 monasteries were built, beginning in the 14th century. Six remain today.

In 1517, the monastery of Varlaám was built. It was reported to house the finger of St John and the shoulder blade of St Andrew. Today Varlaám dominates the valley and symbolizes the fragility of a traditional way of life that is threatened with extinction.

Of the six monasteries that remain today four are inhabited by men, and two by women. Each monastery has fewer than 10 inhabitants. The monasteries are now tourist attractions which may taint their historic presence but fund the preservation of this unique way of life and religion.

An interesting plaque inside the Holy Monastery of Great Metéoron offered some answer to the “why”.

The monastic vocation is a lifetime’s unswerving dedication to Christ the Groom. The only purpose, the only passion of the monk is to follow Christ with one’s eyes turned to the heavens. The monk walks the hard, narrow path of penitence. He exchanges his own will for absolute obedience; he gives up wealth to poverty, comfort for denial, fame and glory for humiliation. The main task of the monk is to pray. His ardent heart, transmuted by prayer, opens up to and embraces the whole of creation, the whole of mankind, all the suffering souls, all the souls in temptation, whom he never ceases to love, to comfort and to succor.

Back on the mainland of Greece now, our first stop was the beautiful city of Athens; a place with so much history it literally drips out of every stone. We could give you a history lesson on Athens, but if you have never been there, or even if you have, the photos here may inspire you to go, or bring back fond memories. Athens is one of those cities in the world on a short list of “must visit”.

As we head north around the top of Greece and into Turkey, the real adventure for us is about to begin. Soon everything will change; food, visas, border crossings, red tape, languages, bathrooms, drivers, and most interesting of all, the people of the next 11 countries we will visit during the coming “blog year”, which is shorter than a “calendar year”. As we catch up on our blogs, it will be sort of like following on fast forward. Hope you enjoy the Silk Road and The Trans-Eurasian Odyssey with us.

Tearing ourselves from an idyllic camp near Elafonissis on the far southwestern tip of the island, we headed through the mountains on a tortuous highway that looked like a snake going crazy. Are there any straight roads on Crete? Our next stop was Chania (Xania).

After days of wild camping on remote beaches, the old Venetian harbor and port of Chania with its narrow streets and waterfront restaurants was a delight. The atmosphere had a touch of Florence and Venice combined with the culture and character of Cretan people and traditions. Parking near the harbor, we were walking distance to the fishing pier and the little hole-in-the-wall taverns. We watched an old fisherman mercilessly beating an octopus on the pier to tenderize it. Later we stumbled onto a little restaurant called Hela and were treated to some wonderful Greek music while we dined on fresh barbecued octopus and other specialties. It was still not the height of tourist season so there was no wild dancing or breaking of plates on the ground. Perhaps we didn’t stay long enough.

Further along the north coast we took the short loop back into the mountains to visit the Holy Monastery of Arkadi which dates back to the 16th-century. Built like a fortress, the monastery played an active role in the Cretan resistance of Ottoman rule during the Cretan revolt in 1866. A sad piece of history: 943 Greeks, mostly women and children, sought refuge in the monastery’s old wine cellar. During the revolt against the Turks it had been used as a storeroom for ammunition. After three days of battle and under orders from the abbot of the monastery, the Cretans blew up barrels of gunpowder, choosing to sacrifice themselves rather than surrender. Powder burn marks can still be seen on the walls of the cellar.

Back on the coast we skirted Crete’s capital, Heraklion, to visit the nearby ruins of Knossos, the ancient ceremonial and political center of the Minoan culture, an Aegean Bronze Age civilization that rose on the island of Crete and other Aegean islands, flourishing from approximately 2600 to 1400 BC. It had been referenced in Homer’s Odyssey.

During the Palace’s first period around 2000 BC (that’s 4,000 years ago!) the urban area reached a size of up to 18,000 people. In its peak the Palace and the surrounding city boasted a population of 100,000 people shortly after 1700 BC. Walking along its deserted staircases and over its ceremonial courtyards was an amazing experience. The site was discovered in 1878 by Minos Kalokairinos. The excavations in Knossos began in 1900 by the English archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans and his team, and they continued for 35 years. Some of the original artwork has been restored.

While sitting in the Knossos Museum parking lot eating lunch, a young Cretan couple, Esmeralda Foutaki and Manolis Makrakis, had many questions about our journey and The Turtle V. Later, they spontaneously invited us for a day of sightseeing near Archanes and a delicious home cooked meal in their tidy apartment.

Climbing further into the mountains we came to the village of Myrtia, the birthplace of the famous Greek poet, novelist, essayist, philosopher, playwright, travel writer and philosopher, Nikos Kazantzakis, celebrated for his novel Zorba the Greek. Of the hundreds of his works, his Report to Greco had, without doubt, more influence on my life that any other book I have ever read.

Seeing the beautiful museum of his life in the center of Myrtia and walking around town—driving around the very narrow streets was an exciting adventure—I could feel his spirit, –his soul–, in the air. We camped just out of town. An old couple saw our truck and invited us for sip of their homemade wine. We spoke no Greek and they spoke no English or any of Monika’s other four languages, but we were able to communicate surprisingly well. The woman picked a sweet smelling carnation of her favorite variety from her garden for our mascot turtle, already halfway on its second trip around the world. A local butcher—she—was a charming lady. Agapi Spanaki saved her last side of fresh lamb chops for us the next day. The little car wash at the entrance to town was the perfect place to give The Turtle V a rinse while the owner of the café across the street invited us for coffee and his wife presented us with a bottle of homemade wine. We left feeling we had seen a special side of Crete.

Our final stop was the port of Heraklion from where we would take the ferry back to the mainland of Greece. We had just enough time to visit the fabulous archaeological and historical museum where many of the treasures discovered during the excavations of Knossos and other Minoan sites have been preserved, clearly demonstrating the amazingly advanced culture centuries before the Ancient Greek Civilization was born.

As a final goodbye to Crete and Nikos Kazantzakis, we visited his gravesite. The Nikos Kazantzakis International Airport in Heraklion is named after the famous author.

Below the photo gallery are a few of my (Gary’s) favorite quotes from Report to Greco. May they inspire you as they did me.

“The truth is that we all are one, that all of us together create god, that god is not man’s ancestor, but his descendant.” – Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

“All my life one of my greatest desires has been to travel – to see and touch unknown countries, to swim in unknown seas, to circle the globe, observing new lands, seas, people, and ideas with insatiable appetite, to see everything for the first time and for the last time, casting a slow, prolonged glance, then to close my eyes and feel the riches deposit themselves inside me calmly or stormily according to their pleasure, until time passes them at last through its fine sieve, straining the quintessence out of all the joys and sorrows.” – Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

“Reach what you cannot”- Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

“Man is able, and has the duty, to reach the furthest point on the road he has chosen. Only by means of hope can we attain what is beyond hope.”- Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

“Once more I realized to what an extent earthly happiness is made to the measure of man. It is not a rare bird which we must pursue at one moment in heaven, at the next in our minds. Happiness is a domestic bird found in our own courtyards.”- Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco

OK, my long Mexican 70^th birthday adventure is over except for my memories. Now, as I promised, we are picking up with our Trans-Eurasian Odyssey, which will eventually take us through 26 countries and over 40,000 miles, across impassible deserts and over 15,000-foot mountain passes, through the Stans, China, Mongolia and Siberia. Hold on for the ride.

We are back in Greece now, and specifically on the island of Crete. If you missed Delphi, Kalavrita, Dimitsana, Mystras, or Olympia and others on the Peloponnese, they can all be found in the list of past blogs on our web site. Just click on the country you want to visit. Meanwhile, join us as we board the ferry from Pireus to Iraklion on Crete, an island we have wanted to visit for many years. By some accounts, Crete was the heart of what we call western civilization today.

Having been on the road for almost a year and with Spring in the air, we first looked for a place to rest, catch up on travel maintenance and make a plan. It was early February and many campgrounds were still closed for the season. Camp Sisi was too, but as we drove up the driveway, the owner Kostas Tzikas waved to us and opened the gate. We could not have found a better place. Sisi had hot showers, a laundromat, Internet and room to spread out. The nearby town of Sissi with its picturesque harbor was within walking distance. Kostas and his wife both spoke English and were gracious hosts.

Packed for the road again, we headed first into the mountains to pay homage to the birthplace of Zeus, once considered the father of all gods and humans. He was King of the Olympian Gods and the Supreme Deity in Greek religion for hundreds of years. He controlled the weather, offered signs and omens and generally dispensed justice, guaranteeing order amongst both the Gods and Humanity from his seat high on Mt. Olympus. Even today, given the financial woes of Greece, it would not hurt to sacrifice a few oxen in his name. We certainly wanted to be in his favor as we headed east into Asia.

With Zeus at our side, we were ready for some beach time the island is famous for. Though still a bit chilly for swimming, we found some spectacular camping around the Eastern Peninsula at Váï Beach and Myrtos. Interior hills were often covered with enormous olive groves and the valleys were a sea of plastic covered agriculture. Even bananas were grown in hothouses, but that didn’t keep us from enjoying the open markets.

While the lack of crowds of tourists was a relief for us, we vowed to return again in summer with warm weather to experience a different flavor of Crete. Leaving another perfect camp, we headed west to explore more of this historic island.

It’s been a long 70th birthday celebration, but I hope you have enjoyed the mini tour of some of our favorite places in Mexico. There was one more area we had to visit on our way home, so bear with us.

Our first stop was Pátzcuaro in the State of Michoacán on the lake of the same name. The town was founded sometime in the 1320s and has retained its colonial and indigenous character since then. It has been named both a “Pueblo Mágico” (Magic Town), and one of the 100 Historic World Treasure Cities by United Nations. The Pátzcuaro region is well known as a site for the Day of the Dead celebrations. It’s also famous for the Tarascan Indians or Purépecha (as they call themselves) who still use a butterfly-net to fish, at least for the tourist cameras.

Pátzcuaro has many memories for me. It was in the summer of 1975 that my then girlfriend Joy Gerlach, (who dreamed up The Turtle Expedition, Unltd. with me), and I decided to rent a small house and spend a few months off the road on our way to South America. It was there that I wrote the first Turtle Expedition article for Off-Road Magazine, CHOOSING AND PREPARING THE ULTIMATE MACHINE, our 1967 Land Rover aka The Turtle I. The lead photo was published in January’s Off-Road Magazine in 1976. The arched walls of the Templo Sagrario in Pátzcuaro made a perfect backdrop. The Editor wrote back asking, “When’s the next story coming? In the years to come, Monika and I spent several months exploring the area and visiting the surrounding Tarascan villages.

Being a Historic World Treasure City, little has changed since my first visit. The open market and food stands are still amazing and it’s not unusual to see men on horseback or with burros carrying a load of firewood.

Pátzcuaro is a center for handcrafts and art. Just off the big plaza, Once Patios, (Eleven Patios), has displays and workshops of some of the artists. The beautiful hand woven fabrics that are seen throughout Michoacán and Jalisco are made here. We have used them for years at home and in our trucks. A visit to the factory was enlightening. Some of the old machines belong in a museum. The owner lamented that because of the bad press Mexico has received, the number of tourists has declined drastically and he has had to lay off many craftsmen who have no skill other than the one they have been plying for their whole lives.

A short drive into the nearby hills brought us to the town of Santa Clara del Cobre where coppersmiths hammer out masterpieces from blocks of copper with amazing skill. We visited our old “Green Grocer” friend Rigo Cruz (from back home) and his family there, and knowing we were coming, Lorena prepared a huge pot of fresh tamales. What a treat!

Another nearby town we had to stop by was Tzintzuntzan, the pre-Hispanic capital of the Tarascans. The name Tzintzuntzan comes from the Purépecha language, meaning “place of the hummingbirds. Designated a Magic Town in 2012, it has two sixteenth century churches, and an amazing grove of 500-year-old olive trees in front of the Franciscan convent. The craft market specializes in straw goods and ornaments, elaborately carved wooden beams, and examples of the many different local pottery styles.

Time to go home, but you can easily see why it took Monika and me over nine years to finally escape the friendly country of Mexico and make it to South America, and even today, the country south of the border still tugs at our heart strings.

Stay tuned for our return to the long road of the Trans-Eurasian Odyssey. I’ll explain more in the next blog.

Tearing ourselves away from our beautiful guest stay in Ajijic, we headed southwest into the “dangerous” state of Michoacán, once famous for its “Sinsemilla” marijuana. Today, it is known for Lake Pátzcuaro, the Tarascan Indians, and the stopover for as many as 60 million, (even a billion) monarch butterflies who make a journey from eastern Canada to central Mexico where they spend their winter hibernation, clustered in small areas of Oyamel Fir forests at an elevation of 2,400 to 3,600 meters (7,800 to 11,800 ft.). The mountain hillsides of Oyamel forest provide an ideal microclimate for the butterflies. The Reserva de la Biosfera Mariposa Monarca (Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve), a national protected area and nature preserve which covers more than 200-square-miles.

Oscar Reyes, our English speaking guide to the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary, shared his extensive knowledge of the area.

Arriving in the mountain town of Anguangueo, we settled into the cute Plaza Don Gabino hotel and made a plan. Oscar Reyes (email: rrosco@live.com, phone: 715-127-2308), an official English speaking guide, approached us politely and asked if we needed his help in viewing the butterflies. That turned out to be a very good idea.

The next morning as we climbed into the mountains the smell of pitch dripping from pine trees into containers filled the air. Pine resins have been used for thousands of years for waterproofing, varnishes, adhesives, art, incense, medicines, turpentine, rosin for bowed string instruments, gymnasts, baseball pitchers, oil-paint thinner, furniture wax, lamp oil, soap and tar. Many trees were decorated with delicate bromeliads.

Arriving at the Reserva de la Biosfera Mariposa Monarca and maybe feeling lazy or blaming the altitude, we took the opportunity to ride horses up to the reserve. It was a dusty trail and well worth the small charge.

The annual migration of North America’s monarch butterfly is a unique and amazing phenomenon, one of the most spectacular natural events in the world. What makes it even more incredible is that no individual butterfly completes the entire round trip. Female monarchs lay eggs for the next generation during their migration and at least five generations may be involved in the annual cycle.

The monarch is the only butterfly known to make a two-way migration as birds do. Unlike other butterflies that can overwinter as larvae, pupae, or even as adults in some species, monarchs cannot survive the cold winters of northern climates. Sensing environmental cues, the monarchs know when it is time to travel south for the winter. Using a combination of air currents and thermals to travel long distances, some fly as far as 3,000 miles to reach their winter home! We realized, the butterfly that landed on my hat was perhaps the great-great-great-grandchild of a monarch that wintered here the previous year. Clearly one of nature’s unexplainable miracles.

Staying on secondary roads gave us a chance to see a slice of rural Mexico. Still no sign of bandits or drug cartel gangs. It was noon when we came to the small town of Charo, founded in 1455. With its beautiful church and plaza, it was too inviting to pass up. While the local butcher chopped up some warm carnitas, the girl next door made fresh corn tortillas and we found some ripe tomatoes and avocados in the open market. Lunch was ready.

On the return trip to Guadalajara we had a couple more favorite spots to visit. Hey, it was still my birthday and I was going to stretch it out as long as possible. Winding our way northeast again we headed for the colonial town of Pátzcuaro and nearby of Santa Clara del Cobre, home of Mexico’s famous coppersmiths.

Alfonso Anaya and Gary (left) shared the love of horses and the image of Charros, the real Mexican Cowboy. Queenie (Gary’s dog) came along for the ride.

Chapala. In its heyday Chapala was a place where the rich and famous came to vacation. The waterfront is lined with mansions. The lake is certainly not the most beautiful in Mexico but Chapala has the charms of a small Mexican town, and for me, it holds some of the most memorable times of my life. I was about 10 when my mother and stepfather moved there to retire along with other expatriates. They rented a huge home a few blocks from the main plaza; four bedrooms, two verandas, maids’ quarters, stable, fruit trees; all for $48 a month. The maid came every morning, swept and watered down the cobblestone street in front, did the wash by hand, ran errands for my mother and was paid $5 a week.

For my part it was the life much as I imagine that of Tom Sawyer. The old town and surrounding countryside was my backyard. I had a dog, a horse and a burro. I learned Spanish with the other kids on the street. We made our own slingshots, played marbles and tops and other games that have been replaced today with video games.

Gary and his friend Steven were preparing for an over-nighter in the hills outside of Chapala, their backyard. Gary’s burro, Poncho, carried the load.

A movie was a nickel ($) and you could eat dinner at any of the taco stands in town for a quarter. The Nido Hotel across from the church had a great swimming pool, and conveniently, it was a place where most of the American and Canadian locals hung out in the patio or the bar where mariachis were entertaining.

After 2 1/2 years of this idyllic life my mother decided to move with my sister and me back to California to continue our education. She later returned to Chapala to retire and write. She helped start the Little Theater and the American Library. When she died in 1969, at her request, she was buried in the Chapala American Cemetery near the lake and the people she loved.

Gary says: Queenie, my Border Collie with more intelligence than most people I know and my best friend for 16 years, shared my idyllic life 24 hours a day in the quaint fishing village of Chapala.

Following a quick visit with my childhood memories, birthday celebrations conti-nued uninterrupted. In the small town of Ajijic a few miles down the lakeshore, (I used to ride my burro there.), an old acquaintance of ours invited us to enjoy his beautiful home. Unfortunately he and his wife were away, but his gardener and maid welcomed us. We spent a delightful four days in the luxury of this little paradise, taking advantage of the gourmet kitchen, doing some tourist shopping in the town center and taking a deep breath before heading off on the next stage of this birthday adventure, searching for the winter home of a few million Monarch butterflies.

We could have stayed in Guadalajara for a week, but other adventures called. Tequila!!! It had been years since Monika and I had been to the town of Tequila, a short drive northwest of Guadalajara.

Tequila is a regional specific name for a distilled beverage made from the blue agave plant, primarily in the area near the city of Tequila. The fields of Agave that surround the town form part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site, Agave Landsape and Ancient Industrial Facilities of Tequila. The red volcanic soil in the region is particularly well suited to the growing of the Blue Agave, and more than 300 million of the plants are harvested there each year.

Although tequila is a kind of mezcal, the standard for good tequila uses only blue agave plants. Mexican laws state that tequila can only be produced in the state of Jalisco and limited municipalities in the states of Guanajuato, Michoacán, Nayarit, and Tamaulipas.

Agave plants, like grapes or olives, grow differently depending on the region. Blue Agaves grown in the highlands of the Los Altos region are larger in size and sweeter in aroma and taste. Agaves harvested in the lowlands, on the other hand, have a more herbaceous fragrance and flavor.

What this means is that if you buy a bottle of Tequila, it could come from anywhere, BUT, if it does not state on the bottle “100% Blue Agave”, you don’t know what you’re drinking. Tequila is most often made at a 38%–40% alcohol content (76–80 U.S. proof), but can be produced between 31% and 55% alcohol content (62 and 110 U.S. proof). A couple of well-blended Margaritas can spin your head. For comparison, most wine ranges from 12% to 15% and beer is around 5%.

The first time I drove into Tequila in our 1967 Land Rover, back in 1974, the streets were still all cobblestone and kids ran behind us, hanging onto the rear tire mount and trying to get us to take a free tour at either the Sauza or Cuervo Tequila distilleries. There were only two in town, and we were the only tourists around. Today there are a dozen or more that charge for a tour and with the explosion of Tequila’s popularity, including “yuppie blends” like Patron for $30-$50 a bottle, the little town has prospered under the daily influx of tourists from any of the more than 40 countries where the liquor is recognized as a Mexican designation of origin product.

Happy to say, the town has cleaned up a bit, but it still has the flavor of Mexico, with the church and the plaza being the center of activity. We found a nice hotel on the plaza and did the tourist route, a tour, always interesting, educational—and fun. Back in our room after patronizing a couple of the street taco stands, we mixed our own Margaritas—better than most bars and restaurants. The simple recipe if you’re taking notes: 1 part freshly squeezed lime juice, 1 part Triple Sec or Cointreau, and 2 parts Tequila. Mix or shake with ice. Do not blend into a snow cone. Serve in a glass or cup with a lightly salted rim. Don’t drive afterwards.

Making a U-turn back through Guadalajara, we headed for Lake Chapala and the town of Chapala where I had lived for two years as a kid.

Now we’re getting to Gary’s real birthday celebration and some of you may be thinking, “You must be crazy going to Mexico, yes?” Despite all the horrible warnings from the State Department about where not to travel in Mexico, if you had to go, the worst places were probably the states of Jalisco and Michoacán. I am happy to say that despite all the yellow press and warnings about the dangers in Mexico, it still remains one of the safest places in the world of travel. To date we have not been robbed, kidnapped, threatened or ripped off.

When I was asked what I wanted to do for my 70th birthday, aside from hiking to the Everest Base Camp or hot air ballooning over the Serengeti, I said I wanted sit in the Mariachi Plaza and listen to the Mariachis play songs that I can remember when I lived in Mexico as a child. That’s what started this whole chain of adventures.

While almost everything in the world seems to change, often for the worst, and Mariachi Plaza next to Guadalajara’s Mercado Libertad remains much as it was 60 years ago years ago. I remember it well, living in Chapala just 35 miles south of Guadalajara. It was a place we always took visitors.

After a traditional shot of tequila, (maybe two), we walked a few blocks from our hotel to the Plaza. Mariachi music is something that is part of the heart and soul of Mexico and specifically in the States of Jalisco and Michoacán. It is as much a part of Mexico as tacos. While you can find Mariachis almost anywhere there are festivities going on, the Plaza is a place where several of the different groups congregate. They can vary in size from 3 or 4 musicians to 10 or 12. As they wander through the tables where locals are celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, baptisms or just a fun evening out on the town, they are roving troubadours, charging by the song.

After a quick walk around the Plaza, Monika discovered a group that was one of the best; 3 guitars, 2 bases, 2 violins, a little Requinto and 2 trumpets. All the guys wore the classic Mariachi outfits, which told us that they were a unified group and practiced together. When they found out that it was my birthday they immediately broke into Las Mañanitas, the beautiful Mexican birthday song. I had a few requests of favorites and they knew all but one. After a second cold Corona I could even remember the words to a couple of them.

It was definitely exactly what I had wished for. (How often does that happen?) As they moved on to play for another party we headed for one of my favorite places in the world to eat. Yep, you guessed it. One of the safest places in Mexico to eat is the street taco stand. It was a birthday I will not soon forget.

Some of you may recall our motto: “Don’t take the trip. Let the trip take you!” With that in mind, we headed northwest to the town of Tequila and the land of the blue agave.

So now you’re looking at news with a slight time delay. Following our visit in San Diego and with our truck and car safely stored at our friends’ home, the next day we found ourselves sitting in the waiting room at the Los Angeles airport. What a zoo, except no monkeys and elephants. We ended up in a section that was being rebuilt. It looked like something in a third-world country. By the time we got through security we had also missed all the overpriced fast food shops so the only thing edible was in coin-operated vending machines. I think a ham sandwich, a salad and a glass of bad red wine cost about $50 bucks for two! We did score one of the three tables. It gets better.

After a comfortable flight on Aero Mexico we waded through the process of renting a car and headed for the cute hotel we had stayed at years before. The San Francisco Plaza Hotel was a perfect location, walking distance to downtown Guadalajara with all its gardens, museums and government buildings, and just a few blocks from the main giant open market and perhaps most importantly, the Mariachi Plaza.

Cousin Carol and her husband Doug arrived on a later flight so we had our welcome ceremony in our room with a glass of box San Ramon wine and chips & salsa. A Walmart (yes!) was just a few blocks away. Carol & Doug appreciated that we are experienced budget travelers.

In the morning after coffee in the beautiful garden patio beneath the rooms, we donned our walking shoes and headed for town. Guadalajara is one of the most beautiful cities in Mexico, famous for its plazas, cathedrals and old colonial buildings. By chance as we entered the Teatro Degollado, the concert pianist for the evening, Jorge Federico Osorio, was warming up with a little Brahms. It was like a private performance just for us.

After a couple of visits to other government buildings to gasp at the incredible murals, it was siesta time and we knew where lunch was waiting. The giant three-level Mercado de San Juan de Dios (also called Mercado Libertad) has an array of tempting little food stalls to die for. After wandering through the isles of vegetables and butcher stalls, we found the perfect place to introduce Doug to his first Pozole, a very typical spicy hominy and pork soup.

Before heading back to our rooms for a short nap we picked up some fresh fruit for breakfast the next day. As expected, the selection of papayas, mangos, guayabas (guavas) and other tropical fruit was amazing. The question of “What do you eat in Mexico?” was easy to answer. Everything!!