So We Pulled Over

Barra de Navidad, Jalisco

Texture

March 25, 2026 · Words and photographs by Michael Berglund

Barradise, in all its weathered, vivid texture.
Barradise, in all its weathered, vivid texture.

We will be on the road again in a couple of days. Heading North-ish, but slowly. We have no particular place to be, but it is time. Things are slowing down as the winter residents are fleeing back to mostly Canada.

We will instantly miss the textures of this place. By that I mean everything is tactile and real and imperfect and glorious and strange and present. The verdance of the greenery, the weathered character of the concrete buildings, the blink-and-you’ll-trip-on-it sidewalks and streets. The thickness of the air, the smell of the burning something that always seems to come from somewhere, the moist comfort of the evening and cool grey light of pre-dawn.

This all comes at you so quickly that your senses never really alight, instead flitting from sight to sight, touch to touch, smell to smell, sound to sound, taste to taste. It’s a constant stream of stimulation that is somehow a broth of both exhilaration and comfort. The stuff of life.

Texture in everything. The sort that grabs you and envelops you and gets in your bones. And your heart.
The streets are alive day and night.
The streets are alive day and night.
Food. Music. Life. Texture.
Food. Music. Life. Texture.
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The music. There is so much talent here. A genuine love of communication through music, between artist and audience. We have been going out almost every night (!!) to follow our favorites and discover new sounds. We have never been in a place with as much live music as they have here and it is intoxicating (and I don’t mean the tequila. Well, maybe a little.) We have had the good fortune to meet and get to know many kind and generous folks in the musical community and that has enhanced our whole stay immeasurably. Even the parties with Mexican music that literally go all night until sunrise! Music . . . Texture.

The food. No, we are not tired of Mexican food. The fresh, handmade, unassuming food. Local haunts full of families and friends and neighborhood dogs. Flaming sidewalk grills and tubs of tamales. So. Many. Sauces. The grocery stores dimly lit and packed with fresh flavorful produce and meats. That place that sells whole bbq chickens off the spit. Oh, and yes . . . A few places with pizza and chicken wings for a gringo fix when you need it. Food . . . Texture.

The life. The happiness of the people who have come here for a few short months. The kindness and friendliness of those who live here. Greetings and impromptu conversations abound, day and night. The streets are alive day and night. And the cacophony of it all, folks on noisy motorbikes, trucks, the somehow-always-distorted speakers blaring Norteño in homes and stores, the propane truck that plays a cavalry call on repeat to let you know they are in the neighborhood. GAAAAAASSSS!! Ta-de-daaaa! GAAAASSSSS! Gonna miss that truck. Life . . . Texture.

Texture in everything. The sort that grabs you and envelops you and gets in your bones. And your heart. This place is a gem.

Barra de Navidad. Barradise, they call it. Yup.

Adiós, hasta la próxima!

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Now: the Southlands
Morning—and southward
Next stop: Twain country
South along the river
One more night in town
And then the plan went sideways
Now turn up the music
Keep driving south

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