My visit to Guadalajara was ​mostly business​—teaching founders and knowledge workers how to use AI to get customers—but I took a Saturday off to tour a distillery.

This tour was almost a bipolar experience. The morning involved sipping handcrafted tequila with a detail-oriented third-generation master to being swept up in a Mexican fiesta that left my head spinning. Here’s the story…

Part 1: Touring Don Abraham Distillery

The day kicked off with scenic calm. We drove about an hour to just outside Tequila, Mexico, where we arrived at the Don Abraham distillery, an organic, artisanal operation nestled among orderly agave arranged in rows that looked like 8-bit crops.

Emil Montes Morfin greeted us—imagine Matthew McConaughey as a Mexican cowboy (“Mateo McConagüey”). Emil, with charisma to spare, walked us through the property, explaining how tequila is made from the heart of the agave plant, called the “piña” (pineapple).

He shared stories about his grandfather, who trained mules to carry the hefty piñas to the distillery. “He’d spend days getting them familiar with the route,” Emil shared. I’d never heard of using mules to automate business processes before.

Inside, Emil walked us through the meticulous process, emphasizing the importance of cleanliness and precision. The place was spotless. Years ago, they lost a major client over sanitation concerns during a site visit. “Since then, cleanliness is our highest priority,” he said. The irony wasn’t lost on me: obsessive attention to detail and hygiene to produce a spirit that often fuels life’s most disorderly moments.

We tasted various tequilas—blanco, reposado, añejo, and extra añejo. I’m not a big tequila guy, so it wasn’t hard for this to become the best tequila I’d ever tasted. Emil explained that extra añejo is the most expensive, aged around six years, absorbing the rich flavors of the oak barrels. He shared a childhood story about pouring extra añejo—the only bottle around—into a punch bowl for a party. “My father slapped me upside the head,” he chuckled. “He told me I’d mixed a decade of his life’s work with Coke…a disgrace!”

He pointed out the NOM (Norma Oficial Mexicana) number on the bottles, explaining how it legally allows them to call their product tequila—much like how only sparkling wine from Champagne protects what can bear its name. He spoke about this designation with as much excitement as the tequila itself.

Part 2: Diving into the Chaos at Cantaritos El Güero

Then came the evening.

We headed to Cantaritos El Güero. Imagine a football field-sized open-air venue packed with thousands of people, overlapping mariachi bands playing corridos (narrative ballads that are a staple in Mexican culture), and enough tequila to float a battleship.

Groups commandeered tables, turning them into personal party zones. The star of the show was the “cantarito,” a massive clay pot filled with tequila, fresh citrus juices, chili salt, and a splash of Squirt soda. The drink was refreshing, not too sweet, and well-balanced—a nice antidote to the heat.

Thanks to our tour guide’s connections, we had a reserved table, and our drinks were fast-tracked. But the chaos was overwhelming. At one point, someone in our group decided to hire a band and passed around a hat for contributions. Not wanting to dampen the group’s enthusiasm, I contributed, knowing that this band was going to make my ears bleed. When the band arrived, it was a cacophony of blaring horns and accordions right in our faces.

A young Irish guy in our group and I exchanged looks that said, “We’re both experiencing cultural overload.” We retreated to the far end of the venue to escape the noise. It was the closest thing to quiet I experienced all evening.

When we finally decided to head back, we discovered our group had left without us. We’d missed the bus. Classic. That meant figuring out our own way home, which added another two hours to the night. My business partner/host Rodrigo had hung back when the bus left and to make sure I made it home. Eventually, we managed to secure a ride back.

Reflecting on the Contrast

I loved learning the ins and outs of tequila from a master. I hated sitting in the middle of a football field’s worth of drunken revelry with trumpets blasting my ears. But despite the sensory overload and logistical hiccups, I’d do it all again.

Most Americans’ experience of Mexico is within the hermetically sealed, whitewashed walls of a Cancun resort. In one day, I got to experience the orderly and chaotic parts of Mexico, which allowed me to understand the country in an entirely new light.

What an amazing country. I can’t wait to go back and re-experience both the order and the chaos.

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Thanks to early readers: Andy F., Emily Ann Hill