Copal smoke rises into the evening air on the plaza of San Sebastián de Analco, atop the remains of an Indigenous settlement that predates modern Guadalajara.

A circle of white-clad danzantes comes to a pause within a ring of white flowers. The rattle of the ayoyotes around their ankles fall silent as the ceremonial leader begins to speak.

Jack Tumidajski came to Guadalajara in 1972. He spoke no Spanish and knew almost nothing about the area. He just knew Mexico represented independence, freedom and a great chance to meet some dark-eyed “señoritas.” Do you think you’ve heard this story before? Not from this perspective. In his book, “Quadalajara: the utopia that once was,” Tumidajski lovingly relates the story of one of the city’s earliest gringo communities: wheelchair-bound quadruplegic and paraplegic war veterans, accident victims and degenerative disease patients.

The huipil, a loose-fitting tunic derived from the Nahuatl word huipilli (“decorated dress or blouse”), is one of the most emblematic garments of traditional clothing in Mexico. Its history stretches back more than a thousand years to the pre-Columbian era, where it was worn by indigenous women across Mesoamerica, from the Teotihuacana and Mexica to the Maya cultures.

The story of the Avendaño family has many elements of a good fairy tale: difficult journeys, arduous work, beauty, creatures that produce a substance more valuable than gold, threatening villains and rescuers.

More than a century apart, two posters tell the story of the United States’ most wanted men in Mexico.

The friendly vibes were flowing Tuesday night as trivia teams huddled around tables at Rosarito bar on Avenida Chapultepec in Guadalajara. The impromptu and very international teams of mostly youngish people seemed happy to engage in something strictly for fun, as organizer Nate Perlow worked to entertain and challenge them with questions about that night’s topics.