Somewhere
I have 350 pesos left over from my last trip to Mexico City, but all I
can find is 6 peso coins. Tomorrow, I need to get from the airport to
the Zocalo via the Metro. Tengo 6 pesos. it. just. might. work.
Flying
in, volcanic ash fills the sky for miles around. Descending now, the
sky clears and there she lies: endless structures surrounded by
mountains, in a bowl of green foliage. And we touch down in clear light
of morning.
Hotel Washington Interior
A day
that started at 3:30 am in Dallas ends 20 hours later and a thousand
miles away, and I've officially walked and backpacked myself to
exhaustion in the time between. What dreams will you show me tonight,
Mexico?
Palacio de Bellas Artes
View of the Palacio de Bellas Artes at night,
on the corner of Eje Central and Avenida Juarez. It marks the transition
from the chaos and grime of the Centro Historico into the culture and
refinement of Alameda Park. The sleaze of Plaza Garibaldi
and Langunilla market, though only a few blocks to the north, seem
worlds away. Artist types lounge and chat out front, jazz and rock bands
play for coins across the street, and lovers make out on the marble
steps.
Lagunilla Market Side Street
Side street in Lagunilla, massive and chaotic
indoor/outdoor market on the north end of the Centro Historico. Tepito,
the "thieves market" is just to the east, and Plaza Garibaldi a few
blocks south and west of there.
Little Dog, Big Bone, Centro Historico north of Zocalo
All
along the dirty streets and endless corridors of Lagunilla market, blown
by the cool breeze, on into Plaza Garibaldi,stray dogs and mariachis
wander aimlessly, in search of a song, or someone to listen.
Mariachis on Eje Central
What do mariachis do when they're not playing? They stand around looking cool, that's what they do.
Ecobici Ride
Riding
the Ecobici (public bicycle) along the bumpy stone streets of the
Centro Historico and back roads past the Palacio de Bellas Artes on to
Reforma. Vehicles are everywhere and I sometimes found myself going the
wrong way against traffic. No worries though, it just flows.
The Angel on Reforma
This
evening I rode the public bike from the Angel on Reforma in to the
Centro Historico and back. I have to admit it is a thrill to zip past
and through all the traffic stuck in gridlock, cool air rushing by, all
the while ringing the little bicycle bell.
Lago Chapultepec
Lago Chapultepec. Peaceful scene, while just off camera hundreds of vendors hawk their wares.
Avenida 5 de Mayo, Tepoztlan
Today
I travel to Tepoztlan, high in the semi-tropical mountains, about 50
kilometers south of Mexico City. It is the home of Tepoztecatl, ancient
god of pulque and creativity.
Pyramid at top of Tepozteco
Wow, I
made it to the top of Tepozteco. It was a heart pounding one hour hike
up the mountain, but worth every minute. The view from the pyramid of
the valley below, the nesting vultures calls echoing through the
canyons, and a surprise feast day parade with fireworks when I descended
back into town. Exhilirating! And now I'm beat.
Bells in Tepoztlan Church Courtyard
These are two of the bells in the courtyard of
the Templo de la Natividad in Tepoztlan The inscription on one said
1831. Workmen were high above, repairing the bell tower.
"Barra!!
Barra!! Cho-co-la-te'!! Milky Way!! Cinco, cinco, cinco pesos!!
Cho-co-la-te'!!" The CD salesmen, with the blasting boombox speaker
backpacks, haven't sold a single disc in all my Metro rides. The
chocolate seller, on the other hand, is cleaning up.
Cathedral Door
Mysterious, small leaded door, front facade of the cathedral, right at its center. Where does it lead to? What is its function? Maybe it's a janitor's closet, lol.
Cleansing
ritual from the indigenous woman at the back corner of the cathedral.
Charcoal smoke blown from a wooden censer, a whisk made of fresh herbs,
and scented oil. When she finished, she looked at the eagle tattoo on
my arm, then into my eyes, and pointed to the sky, saying "fly".
Terrazo, Mexico City
Sitting
on the enclosed terrazo, I take in the sounds drifting in from the sky
above: children singing, helicopters chopping the air, a droning church
loudspeaker voice, whistles, the man yelling "Gaaaaass!" door to door,
birds chirping, morning rituals, dogs barking, the pulse of dance music
through the walls, a whole world in sound.
Riding on a pesero, or microbus, with my friend Berta,
going to visit her gallery, in an ex-convent private university near
the Centro Historico. The microbus, which covers the back streets, costs
4 pesos, whereas the larger red buses on the main roads are 6 pesos.
I
stood on the side of the road at Hangare, the last Metro stop before the
airport, watching traffic whizz by for 3-4 minutes straight, without a
single break, before realizing this road cannot be crossed, and held up
my hand for a taxi.
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