 |
| Welcome to Mexico City |
It doesn't help that we came into Mexico City so late, but there's a definite feeling of anxiety buzzing between us as we get off the plane and into an airport where all the signs, all the people, all the language is Espanol. At a few points we trip in our confusion, unable to understand what's required of us from the staff upon entering their country. About one in two airport staff speak broken English, and I begin to make use of the Duck's little phrasebook.
Hola! Por favor! Bano?
Security checks are a lot less full-on than in Australia or America, although I do pass through a full body scanner at one point. The security guy tells me to raise my arms in the air but I can only manage one due to my broken collarbone. Duck begins to panic, worried that they'll roughly force my arms up if they don't understand me as I valiantly try to explain through hand gestures that my shoulder is unable to move in the way that they want it to...
The guy just kind of shrugs and waves me through after asking me to raise my bung arm up as high as I can (which aint very high at all).
We float around the airport for a bit before finding our hotel, the Courtyard Marriott. It turns out to be quite a swanky affair - far classier than the Duck and I. As has become the norm for this trip, our room gets upgraded when we mention that we're on our honeymoon, and the steward also gives us two vouchers for alcoholic drinks so we can celebrate tomorrow. The room turns out to be amazing, the best we've stayed in yet; nonetheless we both feel a little apprehensive still. We're yet to step into the real Mexico. This hotel is clearly a heavily Westernised welcoming bridge for rich white folk. And yet, here we are, a thousand or more kilometres south of America in an entirely different country where they don't speak the same language as everyone else.
At breakfast, the hotel staff present us with a slice of cake to help our 'celebration'. It's very unexpected and quite touching, however their enthusiasm dims somewhat when Duck and myself decide to cash in our drink vouchers at the ripe time of 11 AM. Have we committed a faux pas? Is alcohol just not consumed before midday on a Wednesday? If it's any consolation, the Duck regrets her margarita almost immediately. I try some, it's a very strong and salty way to start the day, and I don't begrudge the fact that we leave it unfinished.
 |
| Mexican candy |
I'd done a lot of research about safety in Mexico prior (and during) this trip and the consensus seems to be that it isn't advisable to just hail a taxi off the street. The hotel seems reputable, so we let them take us to a trusted taxi with a driver who speaks English. His name is Alejandro and he's quite chatty, offering to chauffeur us around all day for US $20 an hour. It's cheaper than it was to hire a car for day in America, so we decide to take him up on this just to avoid the stress of trying to figure out transport. He lets us take our bags into our hotel room without us paying him a cent yet, so I feel that he's fairly trustworthy. Plus he has a great set of pearly false teeth that he grins at us with constantly, which only endears him to us further.
Much like America, everyone we talk to is incredibly polite and friendly. They're just regular people... 33 million regular people in one city. It seems silly to assume that they're all criminals now that we're here among them, and I feel a little ashamed that I let certain fears gnaw at me after hearing various Americans tell us not to risk a trip to Mexico. I guess this is the nature of our fear of the unknown.
As we drive around the city the sheer size of it begins to dawn on me, the abstract transferring into a reality of noise, smells, traffic, smells, people, smells, and highly engaging architecture.
And smells.
The buildings range from the derelict and shambolic to the modern and sleek, but the ones that really put America and Australia to shame are the older ones - Spanish buildings between 300 and 500 years old, painted a light blue or pale orange, or a crinkled rainbow of grey shades clinging to intricate archways and buttresses. A huge flag of Mexico, the biggest flag I've ever seen, flaps in the low breeze at the end of one street.
 |
| One of the more middle class areas of the city |
Alejandro, no doubt eager to secure our patronage for the day and any days after, reveals a vast store of historical and local knowledge as he drives us around. For instance, he talks to us about Mexico City, the fact that it was built here to subsume the previous Aztec city (Tenochtitlan) in a bid to help convert the natives to Christianity. Also, there are very few skyscrapers due to the fact that the city sits on a former lake and the spongy ground therefore cannot support heavy foundations.
 |
| Mexico City skyline |
And even though I could open the taxi door myself (and often did just that), Alejandro insisted on getting out and trying to open it for me first. That's service.
The Duck laughs ruefully after a few minutes of riding in the taxi as a passenger, "I'm glad we never considered driving around Mexico ourselves..." There are a few key differences with driving in Mexico. There are no lanes, no indicators, and no rules. Everyone just drives where they like, only it's much slower than our traffic so if anyone hits anyone else it'll just be a gentle bump (no doubt accompanied by some yelling and shaking of fists). At some intersections there are police officers with whistles directing traffic. The traffic lights still work in these areas, the cops are just there to 'help' drivers obey them.
Here are the things we saw on our journey around the city:
 |
| Mexico City :) |
The Frida Kahlo Museum
This was one of our main reasons for coming to Mexico City. The Duck is a huge Frida fan, and we got discounted entry because I'm a teacher - which was a little bit marvellous because it shows the integrity of the museum towards artists and educators. To call it a 'museum' is a bit of misnomer though, I'd say it's more a shrine. Even for a weekday it's very busy, with intellectuals and hipsters and elderly art fans all jostling to get close to Kahlo's bed, art materials, etc. As we walk through her house we get a pretty good sense of who she was, and the suffering and triumphs of her life.
 |
| Frida Kahlo Museum |
 |
| Artwork #1 |
 |
| Artwork #2 |
 |
| Artwork #3 |
 |
| Artwork #4 + a Duck |
 |
| Kahlo's leg brace |
The Leon Trotsky Museum
This is just around the corner from Frida Kahlo's house. The two were actually friends in Mexico City's bohemian distract, Coyoacan, and Trotsky's house has been remarkably preserved since his assassination back in 1940. It's much quieter than Kahlo's place, and we walk through the famous revolutionary's gardens, study, bedroom... his wire chicken coop still stands too. I take photos of every room.
 |
| Trotsky's courtyard |
 |
| Trotsky's house |
 |
| Trotsky's dining room |
 |
| Just in case we didn't realise who's garden we were in |
 |
| Trotsky's personal library |
 |
| Trotsky's backyard |
The Temple of San Juan Bautiste
I'm not even sure if this is the right name for it but Alejandro takes us to a park in Coyoacan that leads to a plaza outside a huge Catholic Church. Duck spots squirrels in the park, and this takes up a good 15 minutes of our attention. The church is a huge, intimidating structure of advanced age, incredibly ornate and well looked-after. The insides are gold and stained glass and a hundred serious looking saints that stare accusatorily down from an impossibly high ceiling. Alejandro tells us it's okay to take photos but I feel very cautious about offending someone in this huge, silent place of prayer... so I only manage three pictures.
 |
| Oh, hello there! |
 |
| Inside the church |
Markets
Alejandro takes us to what he calls a 'middle class' part of the city where there are some artsy markets. It turns out, however, that these markets are closed so he tells us to go off and have a look around anyway. We see another park and decide to walk through it in the hope of finding some street food on the other side but the park seems scary - scores of people sit around quietly in large groups, just staring at us while they do nothing in particular. We soldier on, neither of us admitting our nervousness until a good half an hour later! We eventually find some markets but these are very much like flea markets, with fruit and dodgy knock-off shirts lining the street.
 |
| Market shot |
Everywhere you look in Mexico City there are lots of people trying to make a buck. Little food stalls spring up out of every corner, entire streets are devoted to selling just one kind of thing (such as bicycles) out of what could be best described as nondescript 'shop holes', and guys walk between seemingly aimless lines of traffic with toys strapped to their chest.
 |
| There were endless streets with wares on them like this |
The Duck and I find a place advertising antojitos (street snacks - literally translating to 'little cravings') and we manage to order some quesadillas through the use of very basic Spanish. I can say about ten things, but it doesn't get me very far. Mostly I just point at things or gesticulate with an almost futile enthusiasm. Not knowing the language has given me a whole new perspective on non-English speaking visitors to Australia. Only now do I
fully understand the gormless smile and glazed eyes, because that's how I react when Mexicans speak to me in Espanol. And all I'll add to that is: Mexicans are much more patient with me than most Australians (sadly) would be with them.
 |
| Antijotos in production |
The Zocalo
Alejandro convinces us that we would be crazy to not at least
look at the Zocalo, Mexico City's spiritual centre and town square. Nearly all major Mexican cities or towns have a zocalo of their own. In this case, the traffic in this area is absolutely chocked, but it's worth the time and money. The central square is boxed by a huge cathedral some 450 years old, the largest in all of Mexico and perhaps the entire Americas, and on another side is the palace in which the Mexican President resides. These are truly fearsome buildings, and the streets behind them hold lesser known but no less impressive aged feats of Old World architecture in to the New World. In the centre of the Zocalo is an outside ice rink, set up by the government for 'the kids', and there's also the biggest Christmas tree I've ever seen - bright and towering; a yuletide titan.
 |
| The Presidential Palace |
 |
| The Zocalo |
Alejandro drops us at an upmarket Mexican restaurant called El Cardenal - where the true value of the Australian dollar turns us into royalty. For the equivalent of $50 Australian, the two of us drink and eat a bountiful and beautiful dinner. The Duck has mole beef wrapped in cactus leaves, and I have a huge green chili stuffed with pork and a whole lot of exotic Latin American ingredients - also smothered in the burnt chili-chocolate goodness of mole sauce.
 |
| Chili stuffed with pork, covered in mole, with frijoles (bean paste - found on nearly every Mexican plate) |
By this point we're well and truly stuffed and decide to call it a day. Alejandro seems disappointed that we don't want to explore well into the night but is happy to take us back to our hotel all the same. On our way we see fourteen-odd police cars with their lights all flashing, lined up near the Zocalo. A bus full of police in riot gear pulls up, ready to quell a protest.
 |
| Nice eats |
"What are they protesting?" the Duck asks, noticing the many people holding signs along the kerbside.
"Everything," says Alejandro cynically, "Rain, no rain..." He laughs, but it's hard not to look past his casual disregard. Throughout today we've seen police on every corner, and near every church and museum. Stern sentinels ensuring the protection of Mexico City's increasingly improved reputation.
No one seems to pay any heed to the protestors. Indeed, everyone around this sudden concentration of police cars and riot squad soldiers is determined to be very blase and barely aware of what's happening - implying that this is business as usual in Mexico City, and perhaps you're best off just pretending it isn't happening.
It highlights a disturbing contrast between the culture we've experienced as tourists and the reality for those who live here; something that can't be understood in just one day.
 |
| Goodnight, Mexico City! |
No comments:
Post a Comment