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Published: March 1st 2007
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I had a week off from work so I decided to escape the wind and fog of San Francisco and get some sun. My lack of planning led me to Mexico City. It's warm, it's cheap, I know a bit of Spanish - what more do I need?
I had an amazing time in Mexico City! I met so many fascinating people - let's see if I can remember them all. There was Ivan, who lives in Mexico City. We met up one night for beers and swapping stories. Ivan brought along his German friend (whose name escapes me). This German dude has been bicycling through Central America for 2 years! Cycling - with a bicycle! He's on his way to Vegas where he's meeting up with some friends in March. Unbelievable! He had such incredible tales to tell. Then there was Jonathan, who left his comforts in France to traipse around Central America for a year. Then there were Jonathan's friends Francois, Damian, and Lauraine (and the sweetest taxi driver who helped me to find their apartment). The four of us talked into the wee hours of the night about American politics, living and studying in Mexico City, and
how easy it is to get cocaine in Mexico. (Don't worry Mom, I wasn't doing cocaine :D) Oh and I almost forgot, my bunk mates at the hostel: Manny, the Jewish pre-med student from New York, and the brother and sister team from Michigan.
Here's a little tidbit I put together late one night as I was soakin' up the vibes.
~~~~~~~
The bartender obnoxiously repeats “What the fuck! What the fuck!” with increasing intensity. Does he know what the words mean or does he like the way the rhythm falls upon his tongue? He knows what the words mean. This is a modern city filled with black-market dvds and ipods in every hand. Teenage girls walk by in tight jeans and slinky tops despite the freezing temperature. What is it about big cities that convince the women to wear as little clothing as possible?
The music dies and the bartender begins to curse again, this time in Spanish. The mix of students, travelers, and nomads look up from their conversations as if to say “Chill, amigo. Don’t take things so seriously.”
Without the echoes of Madonna and Boy George pumping through the speakers, bits of conversation
can be heard in French, German, Spanish, and English. People have congregated from all parts of the globe: Poland, Switzerland, Argentina, Australia, Germany, the United States, and Canada. This handsome mix of men and women has found themselves in a hostel in the heart of Mexico City.
The bartender is unusually quiet - seemingly working on some inventory list. No doubt the bar is low on tequila after last night’s party. College students lined up at the bar while the bartender stood on top of the bar pouring tequila into their mouths straight from the bottle. After which, they all piled into a van and drove off to see Luche Libre, a local wrestling performance put on for the tourists. My bunk mate tells me the next day that it was like a combination of WWF and that TV show Jackass.
Conversations range from the mundane questions of "Where are you from" to the more intense debates of politics and humanitarian issues. No matter where these fine people have studied or lived or traveled, one common bond stretches between them - a love for their fellow traveler and for a cold cerveza.
I hear heartwarming stories of
the locals and see the genuine smiles on their faces as they greet each other. It’s difficult to imagine that just a few streets away is the city’s “cocaine and rifle market” where even police are afraid to go. I’ve heard that in this market, you can give someone a picture of an enemy and for 500 pesos this person will be “taken care of, whacked, killed.” 500 pesos - that's $50 US dollars. The price of one life, the value of one son, one husband, one sister, one human. 500 pesos. Who knows if this is true or just folklore. I’d rather believe in the smiles I see on the faces of the children playing in the street then in this brutal way of thinking. Like El Chupacabra, the mythical creature parents tell their children stories about to keep them in line, I choose to believe that the cocaine and rifle market is made up to scare people into doing what has to be done. Be a good person and El Chupacabra won’t come after you. (Insert scary music here.)
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Cheska
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Mexico
Wow J Looks good!