Warming up in rainy Mexico City

Mexico is a trip. Mexico may possibly be the most random place I have ever encountered; and, no, I am not talking about the Cancun, all-inclusive Mexico, or palm trees and adobe huts. I am talking about a metropolis of 20 + million people from all different walks of life, where it rains cats and street dogs everyday, even hails on occasion, nothing ever seems to make sense, nobody carpools and if they do there at least 6 people in the small VW, and uncontrary to popular belief, tacos are consumed on a daily basis by most. I am talking about Mexico City.

The valley of Distrito Federal, located at a high elevation about 4 hours from the closest coastline, is an overwhelming suburban jungle and at times one massive polluted headache. However, Mexico City holds more secrets than a Catholic Priest, has an energy more exuberant than Cirque du Soleil, and has a mesmerizing culture that could be considered confusing and contradictory at best. I am in love with this place.

This beautiful and outrageously shocking city is where I will be calling home for the next year of my life, while I attempt to pass a year’s worth course load at the National Autonomous University of Mexico, in Spanish. Keyword here: attempt. UNAM has over 250 000 students in dozens of faculties: my new home is the Faculty of Political and Social Sciences, nurturer of some of the most brilliant, radical and progressive political minds to come out of Latin America, if not the world. It’s definitely not the prettiest place I’ve ever seen, nor is it really that organized, but my faculty is not known for that. Though it lacks toilet paper, has the occasion strike or protest, and sometimes teachers just don’t show up, when they do they are incredible profs teaching socially conscious students. Quite a change from good ol’ UBCO where the highest turnout of students you’ll get at any function is either for Sue Johanson’s Sex Talk, or a Pro-Life/Choice Debate. As exchange students we are also free to take classes in any UNAM faculty, of any grade level, regardless of if it’s full or not; for this reason we have a course load that is both diverse and unique. We are taught by an 85 year old Cuban Marxist who lived through the revolution of the 50’s, a Chilean/Canadian who did her masters at McGill, a young Soci. Prof who frighteningly resembles Frida Kahlo, and a Human Rights teacher who did his thesis in the Guatemalan jungle during the civil war.

Along with Lindsay and Brittny, we are calling home a three story house on a main noisy street called Patriotismo, equipped with an incredibly small, ugly looking dog named Bruno, and a crazy Honduran woman named Martha. All in all, we are in a key location; close to the metro, bus system, market, café, and of course, gelato. Although we are an hour (a walk and 3 bus rides) away from school, we are only a stone’s throw from the Zona Rosa bar district; it’s all about sacrifice isn’t it?

The last month has included many cultural activities such as: house hunting, camping out in our ancient toothless Abuela's house, bus riding - mainly just getting on or waiting for the wrong ones, getting profoundly lost blocks from our house, the occasional museum, bar hopping, consuming far too many carbohydrates, experiencing the surprisingly lively Mexican club scene at 4 in the afternoon, meeting new random schools friends everyday, becoming involved with Mexican Model UN, watching an amazing concert of a gringo band called Explosions in the Sky (wow!), singing La Bomba in the tipsy Mexican/Canadian/French choir of our kitchen, showing up at a school during a strike and realizing that not even the teachers know what is going on, waiting in 7 hour line ups at the Frida exhibit, debating with immigrations, trying shots that involve fire inside your mouth and coffee, sugar and lime, eating spicy grasshopper, and just generally being shocked and amazed at how this city can even function on a daily basis.

Until next time,
Peace, love and public transportation.

Hails

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