I'm starting this post from Chio's living room in Mexico City.
I've seldom found myself in a more unique space. It's a space that manages to make me miss my university theatre kids apartments (some of them, anyway).
Chio's apartment has all the quirkiness of my university apartments (some of them, anyway). Plus class.
Jonas sprawls out on a cot to my right. Well, sprawls might be a rather strong word for my German friend. His knees are still drifting towards his chest in order to keep his feet away from the wall. Sprawling must be a very unfamiliar sensation of Jonas. Like it was for me when Giuseppe's Italian mother asked if I could reach the coffee jar on the second shelf.
I never thought I'd be so grateful to be an average sized human being. I may never be able to operate in Dutch kitchens without aid of a stool, but I can sleep on all the comfortable couches merely because I have the enviable asset of short legs. And can thus sandwich myself perfectly between armrests.
Between Jonas and the wall is a gutted antique television. The insides have been torn out to make room for the apartment's well-chosen (if I do say so myself) DVD collection.
On top are books ended by tequila. And more books.
I'm saddened that the only book in English is a book I've already read.
Well... you'll know Spanish soon enough. Got that, girl? You really are going to learn Spanish. You will have TWO whole languages at your disposal within the next two years. It's happening. Wrap your American brain around THAT.
The door in front of me (and slightly to the right) boasts a drawing of a skeleton in a sombrero with the words "Siempre mexicano muere."
And flowers. 'Cos dead people always get flowers in Mexico.
According to Chio (dear autocorrect, please stop changing "Chio" to "Ohio". Soonish), the housemates had been watching a film together one evening and a building exploded (in the film. Not the vicinity). Everyone survived except for three Mexicans.
"The Mexicans always die!" complained/observed one of the housemates.
Miguel promptly drew this picture on his bedroom door:
 |
Across the room and slightly to my left is a collection of photos by Miguel and Chio.
And a picture Miguel took of my eye with the Eiffel Tower inside over two and a half years ago.
This feels nearly as bizarre as seeing a jar of red onion marmalade I'd made during my first trip to Ireland in a different county during my second trip.
Miguel... I'm having a perfect time. Your old apartment is one I could slide into indefinitely (so be careful about inviting me to stay with you in the future) and your roommates made me laugh all evening. I even taught them how to fold burritos. American style. But I wish you were here. Seeing your photograph on the wall and hearing stories about the house projector you whisked away to Spain (there's still some bitterness about that, FYI)... being here without you feels peculiar. Like you might feel if you went to visit Colorado and ended up staying in my family's home. You'd see pieces of me everywhere -- on the walls, in the kitchen, in the copious amount of horse and theatre books in the garage. You'd see my fingerprints, but you wouldn't see me.
So. I'm seeing your fingerprints here. They're pretty imaginative. Spontaneous. A wee bit on the crazy side.
But I sort of wish the rest of you was here as well.
Jonas and I left his Puebla apartment at 7:30 yesterday morning. We always pass by a yellow beetle on the first corner outside his apartment, and I always punch Jonas in the shoulder and yell, "BOCHO AMARILLO!"
And then feel very pleased indeed that I know how to play Mexico's version of punch buggy.
It's funny, though... Bacio means "kiss" in Italian... and bocho and bacio sound exactly the same. So every time I punch Jonas and exclaim, "BOCHO AMARILLO!", I'm thinking, "YELLOW KISS!"
We stopped for a sugary cappuccino at one of Mexico's innumerable OXXOs and then boarded a bumpy bus for Puebla's CAPU station (I used google translate to tell me what "CAPU" means, but it informed me that "CAPU" means "nasturtium". In Romanian. Which could very well be the meaning... but I have my doubts).
I found myself exceedingly grateful that I hadn't greedily filled the paper cup to the brim with OXXO cappuccino. Mexican buses and full cups of hot beverage were never meant to be friends.
I changed money at the CAPU station and bought my ticket for Puerto Escondido along with my ticket to Mexico City.
To Mexico City = two and a half hours
To Puerto Escondido = SIXTEEN hours
That's a new record.
Mexico's long-distance buses are just as nice as any of the nice buses I've ridden in Europe. Which gives me hope for the aforementioned sixteen hour bus ride to Puerto Escondido...
Mexico City is enormous. When one includes the surrounding populace (as I'm doing here), one discovers that Mexico City boasts a whopping twenty-two million people.
That's a lot of people. And I'm quite certain that they all prefer to use the metro at the same time. Which is one of the reasons that during rush hours, the first few cars of any given metro are dedicated to women and children. Some Mexican men have less than classy metro etiquette, and have the tendency to press enlarged man parts against minding-their-own-business women in jam-packed cars.
Mexico City was originally founded by the Aztecs in 1325 on an island in the seven thousand foot high Valley of Mexico. Right along the Mexican Volcanic Belt (those Aztecs liked to keep things exciting).
Its first name was "Tenochtitlan". It changed to "Mexico" when the Spaniards arrived because they didn't want to trouble themselves with learning how to pronounce "Tenochtitlan".
According to Aztec legend, the god Huitzilopochtli (this is why the Judaic god didn't want to be named. He was afraid he'd get one like that) gave the Aztecs a sign. Wheresoever they might chance upon an eagle perched high atop a nopal cactus with a snake snapped in its beak -- there they must build their mighty city.
This happened in the Valley of Mexico. Apparently. Good thing eagles like to eat snakes. It would have been a tremendously inconvenient sign had the Aztecs been told to look for a giraffe eating a water buffalo. But they were not told to be on the look out for a giraffe eating a water buffalo, so Mexico City began its life as the oldest capital city in the americas.
Then Cortes showed up in 1519 and wreaked havoc (as was his MO). He was driven out by indignant natives in 1520 (they preferred their king to not be under house arrest), collected his thoughts (and his army) in Tlaxcala and laid siege to the city of the unlucky Mexicans in 1521. He then razed the beautiful city to the ground and decided to rebuild with Catholic churches on the foundations of the old Aztec temples. And moved himself into whatever was left of the imperial palaces.
Mexico declared its independence from Spain in 1810, achieved said independence in 1821 and Mexico City promptly became a federal district (based on the constitution of this one place up north). Porfirio Diaz took over in 1876 and did a bit of housekeeping in the form of modernization (based on this one place across the ocean with the Eiffel tower and quite a bit of good bread). Which is why Mexican-French fusion architecture isn't called Mexicench or Frexican (even though both those names are awesome), but Porfirian architecture. This French admirer had planned on upgrading the entire city to Porfirian, but locals weren't keen on the idea of becoming another Paris...so they had themselves a wee revolution, leaving many of the buildings half finished. Including one that they turned into the Monument of the Revolution as a sign of their victory over their thirty-five year "president".
Then the 20th century rolled on in. Mexico City created stadiums, metros, SO MANY BABIES (population grew from five hundred thousand to nine million in eighty years... although a lot of this was due to immigrants looking for work), pollution, shantytowns and skyscrapers. In 1991, the air was declared a public health risk for 355 days of the year. That's what happens when millions of people move into a valley, build skyscrapers and drive cars everywhere. However, Mexico City has started improving the air quality by encouraging the use of the metro (5 million people ride it every day. That is as many people as the population of my entire state) and mandating emission controls for cars and the use of diesel for trucks.
Mexico City is also known for its art. Its museums. Its cuisine. Its festivals.
All of which I get to experience this week.
Jonas and I met Chio at a taco stand outside of her apartment. Then we met with an Italian couchsurfer from Milan who had crazy curly hair that reminded me of Miguel.
First stop was the Soumaya Museum, a private, free museum with an impressive collection of Dali and Rodin.
We parted ways with the Italian and went in search of a gummy beer. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Beer with gummy bears. Spicy gummy bears. Jonas had heard tell of this beverage in Puebla and was interested in trying it in Mexico.
Dinner was at Chio's that evening. She made some manner of taco stuffed with beans, pulled pork and onions marinating in lime and habanero.
TRAINING! I sweated as I generously spread the onions atop the pork. I will NOT be the pansy from the US who can't handle spicy food.
I taught Chio how to fold a burrito. Folding burritos is a thing we do in the US that no one does in Mexico. Not even in Chihuahua -- which is the land of burritos.
It felt nearly as funny as when I told a bewildered French couple that what they call "chips", we call "French fries".
Other tidbits of evening conversation included Chio saying, "If I have more than one beer, I pass away."
"Umm... Chio? Do you know the difference between "pass away" and "pass out"? 'Cos passing away is a nice way of saying that someone just died."
No comments:
Post a Comment