A circus...

---

When you drive through the crazy streets and avenidas and motoways of Mexico City, through the heavy smog and pollution, through the ant-piles of vehicles and people, you see mostly a city on the brink of moving to the next level; new metrobus lines, the latest-release cars amongst their older siblings, construction towers and development placards, malls full of imported clothing and an array of fine cuisine and worldclass hospitality. Families at the markets on the weekends buying colourful sweets for their already-sugar-overdosed children. The City and its inhabitants seem comfortable in their boots, at least that's how it feels when you are looking out of the hirecar window on one of the streets on the paths into town.

Then, in the middle of the City's city, at 9.30 in the morning, before I have even had my first coffee, we pull up at a set of new traffic lights. There, right under my nose - the very nose which had partially forgotten that Mexico still has poor, still has filth, still has a hard life under its streets of new concrete - I am confronted with an old man slumped on a stool. He sits right at the lights were we have pulled up and I cannot run or hide.

On his old, ageing face are painted bright yet faded colours and patterns. I cannot figure it out at first. What is he doing? Why is he painted in that way? Then, he raises his arms and it is only at that moment that I register the hoops he carries around his wrists. They, like his face, are colourful, especially when he begins to twirl them around.

I finally figure it out: he is a clown. He is a poor man trying to make a few pesos to buy himself some food and drink. It hits me like a ton of bricks for I realise that all this morning I have been concerned with finding more bargains at the mall and getting to the cathedral on time to hear the bells chant on the hour and to drink my first coffee.

Everything fades into oblivion... I'm not sure whether its me or Mexico, but my travels for the past 10 days have been different to most others. Again, I'm lost for words - this country seems to have that effect on me. Most of all, I'm left with a crazy urge to cry rivers of joy and hope and confusion all at once. Even now, I sit here with tears in my eyes, yet I don't know quite why, I can't quite pin-point it.

We drive through a city that is modernising, renewing, improving its situation for its inhabitants. Yet somewhere along the line, I forgot about that old clown and where he may sleep this night when I am snug in a warm bed.

Before I know it, the lights are green and we are adding more fumes to the skies.

X

---

Comments

[the Boy who lived]

hey maria......havent written to you in a long time but just want you to know that I have been following your beautiful blogs....please keep going on as I am eager to hear more about your experiences with the people.......i LOVED your cuba blogs. i am enjoying travelling to these places thru you....cheers.