A Swing and a Mist

They say travel is all about the journey, not the destination, but I’d argue it’s really about the raincoats. Specifically, the last-minute, unflattering ones you buy at a Walmart two blocks from a baseball stadium, just before the game you came five hours to see gets canceled.

I’ll rewind, shall I?

We’re Charros de Jalisco baseball team fans. Not the casual, check-the-score kind. Nope, we’re the “plot-an-overnight-trip-from-Puerto-Vallarta” kind. So, when the calendar gifted us a little window of time and our favorite baseball team had a home game in Guadalajara, we made our move. A quick road trip. Just one night of baseball under the lights. Easy. Or so we thought.

The drive from Puerto Vallarta to Guadalajara is part road trip, part slow-motion screensaver. Jungle-covered hills, sun-warmed asphalt, roadside shops, it’s essentially a daydream in motion. We cruised in, windows down, music up, already talking about what snacks we’d grab in the stadium.

And because we’re no amateurs, we booked our go-to hotel, La Mansión del Sol. It’s the kind of place where everything feels easy. Courtyard fountains, old-school charm, and enough breakfast chilaquiles to make you weep. We checked in, changed into our Charros gear, and called an Uber to take us to the stadium.

That’s when the sky cracked open.

I’m not talking a light drizzle. I mean torrential, stadium-clearing, Uber-canceling rain. The kind that makes streets look more like creeks. We watched from the covered entranceway as the world turned gray and the driver we’d summoned wisely noped out of the entire situation.

“No worries,” we said. “This’ll pass,” we said.

We fired up the Charros’ social media, refreshing every few minutes as updates trickled in. “Just a delay,” they said. “All is well,” they promised. The optimism was contagious, so we waited. And then we waited some more.

Finally, a break! Not dry, exactly, but manageable. The Charros said they were still planning to play, and the window seemed real enough. Uber be damned, we grabbed the car keys. If they were going to play ball, we were going to be there.

About two blocks from the stadium, we made a pit stop. We had baseball hearts but weather-aware heads. Enter the emergency raincoat mission. Inside a Walmart that smelled like stale gum and adrenaline, we grabbed raincoats reminiscent of some 80s movie. You know the ones, puffy and a bit ill-fitting. We didn’t care, so triumphantly, we headed back to the car.

And that’s when our phones lit up. “Juego Cancelado!!!” 

We stood in the car park, ponchos in hand, hair frizzing in six directions, and laughed. What else could we do? We were so close. Literally within foul-ball-catching distance. But it was not to be. The baseball gods had clearly called a rain delay on our entire night.

But here’s the thing about being stranded in a beautiful city with good shoes and better company…you improvise.

We headed toward the historic center of Zapopan, hoping to salvage the night with tacos and something interesting. What we got was way better.

First was a live band playing cover songs in a pub with just enough space for a small crowd. Burn was the band’s name, and they were excellent!  They rolled through Billy Idol, Metallica, and Tool like they were born to do it. If you ever get the chance to see them, I say “don’t give it a second thought, and go!” Locals danced. Strangers sang along. We joined in.

Somewhere between “Toxicity” and “Beds are Burning,” we realized that we weren’t just salvaging the night. We were kind of crushing it.

We wandered through the glistening cobblestone streets, past the gorgeous Basílica de Zapopan, bathed in moody light. The FIFA World Cup countdown clock loomed dramatically nearby, surrounded by sculptures and murals we hadn’t even planned to see. Everything was glowing and golden, like a dream sequence that didn’t know it was supposed to be Plan B.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast (and several cups of strong coffee), we decided to go underground. Literally.

The Puente de las Damas is one of Guadalajara’s best-kept semi-secrets. It’s an 18th-century water and communication tunnel system buried for centuries under layers of urban expansion and real estate ambition. It was only rediscovered about ten years ago, and now you can take a tour.

Stepping into the tunnels is like opening a history book with a flashlight. Cool, echoing chambers. Stone arches blackened with time. And the most fascinating thing of all is that it still works. That’s right. This centuries-old network is still channeling water through the city. We stood ankle-deep in history, marveling at the fact that we were technically below a modern street, walking through something both ancient and alive.

We emerged into daylight squinting like characters who’ve just solved a mystery. And what better way to follow it up than with a bit of modern contrast?

We’ve been to MUSA, the Museo de las Artes, in Guadalajara many times, but we don’t know that Zapopan boasts MAZ, the Museo de Arte de Zapopan. It awaited us with that perfect museum air. It was quiet, cool, and just a little bit cryptic. The current exhibits were a mix of contemporary installations and interactive experiences that made us think, laugh, and (briefly) debate whether a stack of plates and cups counted as “art.” We soon agreed it did, and that it was brilliant.

The museum itself is a beautiful space, with clean lines and clever use of light. After a morning underground, it felt like stepping into the future. We wandered through exhibits, picked our favorites, and exited feeling surprisingly cultured for people who still had terrible raincoats in their backpacks.

We drove back to Puerto Vallarta with soggy shoes, full hearts, and the kind of stories you just can’t plan. The Charros didn’t play, but in a way, the trip was a home run.

Oh, and the game? Well, our tickets got moved to the final one of the spring season. That’s just a few weeks away, so yes, we’ll be doing it all again. Hopefully minus the storm clouds, but with the same sense of adventure as we await seeing that first pitch.

We’ll be back at La Mansión del Sol. We’ll walk those cobblestone streets again. Maybe we’ll even bring the raincoats. You know, just in case fate wants a sequel.

Because if there’s one thing we’ve learned on our many whirlwind detours, it’s that the best memories don’t always happen at the main event. Sometimes, they sneak in during the rain delays, hide in the tunnels, or sing along to cover bands you didn’t know you needed.