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Published: June 23rd 2005
The price of "civilization"
Detail on a Diego Rivera mural (Palacio Nacional)It turns out that Mexico City pulled through in the last innings with so many redeeming qualities that my final impressions in the last country on this four month journey brought tears of joy, not frustration.
Not that the men were any less aggressive here (actually, I apparently just missed a free Santana concert in the main square the prior night, where a guy from my hostel was shoved away from the two Aussie girls he was accompanying while the men circled around the girls and started trying to take their clothes off them), it was just generally easier to dodge them being in a busy city. I was actually a little nervous about the city upon first arrival, after having heard from so many Mexicans about how dangerous, crime-ridden, violent, etcetera the city could be, and the fact that my subway stop was closed off due to a festival in the zocalo didn't do much to calm me as I had to find my way from a different subway stop through the throngs of people.
But all was well; I made it to Hostel Moneda just in time for the free dinner to start and to use the
free internet access before enjoying an evening of beers and hilarity provided by my newest chums, Charlie and Alex. After hearing the above story about the state of machismo in Mexico City, I was perfectly content to forego a night of sizzling salsa in the capital for the ab workout I got laughing over travel tales on a terrace overlooking the giant cathedral.
I decided to opt out of the free tour offered through the hostel (you know you're in Mexico when....in the same sentence you are offered a one hour visit of "the most important religious capital" followed by a stop at a market "where you will get a shot of tequila and pulque") for some museum discovery on my own. The Bosque de Chapultepec being temporarily closed, I arrived at the Museo de Caracol through a navigational mishap. The museum is technically supposed to be free on Sundays, but this apparently does not apply to foreigners who are not residents of Mexico. The lady took one look at me and explained as much to me while waiting for my payment. The thing is, she never asked a single other Latin-looking person coming up to the window for
proof that they were from Mexico, so my Hispanic friends that are citizens in the US could have easily gotten in without paying. This is something that annoys me slightly; perhaps because there is no way something like that would fly in the States where discrimination charges abound, but perhaps more so because it reinforces my suspicions that the majority of outsiders still have this vision that if you are from the US, then you must be white and of Western European descent....when, in fact, 70 percent of my friends at home, in IOWA of all low diversity places, would not fit that description.
Anyhow, I was quite thrilled to discover that my Spanish has progressed to the level that I could navigate my way around the twelve rooms of all-Spanish descriptions of the history of the Mexican revolution(s) and actually get something out of it. Of course, it took me about three times longer than it would take the average museum guest, as I seemed to be the only non-Spanish speaking person there. So afterwards I was ready for something I didn't need to concentrate so heavily upon....the national museum of modern art was my selection. And well
Casa Azulejos
and the distinctive lime green VW Beetle taxis of Mexico City worth it, I might add...I discovered the wonderful textures and perspectives of Siqueiros and an extraordinary artist named Remedios Varo; why I had never seen any of their work before, I don't know, but I have since turned into their biggest fan.
Twenty minutes outside of the museum sanctuary, I was ready to duck out of the onslaught of whistling and hissing again and took refuge in a wonderful cafe called El Moro where they specialize in hot chocolates and churros before facing the streets again. The best surprise of my whole stay in Mexico was awaiting me on my walk home. As I reached the zocalo, my curiosity was aroused by the thousands of people gathered listening to someone speaking on stage. Was it a political protest? A famous Mexican TV personality? I stopped to try to hear what they were saying up there, but I couldn't hear much over the cheering from the front of the crowd. But suddenly...did he just say something about a band from Cuba?....I witnessed the main square transform itself into a giant dance floor, as live salsa bands from Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Colombia took the stage. I was thrilled to watch
people of every age in every corner of the square take to their feet and start dancing. A friendly group of young thirty-somethings with kids rescued me from the old drunk man hovering over my shoulder, and all of a sudden, there I was too, dancing under the clouds, singing along to these songs that I KNEW and was hearing live, in the main plaza in the biggest city in the world....simply incredible. When the show finally ended a couple hours later, I returned to my hostel with aching feet and the biggest smile on my face and in my heart.
At that moment I rekindled my initial flame for this country and spent the rest of my week in Mexico City soaking up as much culture as possible. The architecture, plazas, and beautiful parks were enchanting, but it was the art and the nightlife that took the cake. At the fine arts museuem, I lay down on one of the benches and stared in amazement for over an hour at one Diego Rivera mural. How he seamlessly weaves in so many different characters and action scenes and history and his own political sentiments is truly extraordinary; but his
masterpiece of the Sunday afternoon dream in the Alameda Central left me speechless. He has no less than 60 distinct people of historical, political, personal, and cultural significance all interacting in one painting, and he uses different painting styles to subtly distinguish between the "bad guys" and the "good guys" while clearly making statements about the corrupting influence of corporations in the Mexican government, the atrocities commited by the Spanish conquerors, and the carryover of racism towards the indigenous peoples into the twentieth century. Just to imagine this whole scene in one's head would take the highest caliber of creativity; the fact that he actually made it a reality and so skillfully put it down in paint proved his artistic genius to me. I was so in awe that I dare say Van Gogh may have just been bumped from his position as 'Jen's Favorite Artist.'
On a more personal level as well, Mexico City offered some of its kinder residents as peace offerings to my formerly hostile attitude. In a city whose population is 4 million stronger than the entire country of Australia I suppose you are bound to run into at least a few amicable people. In
resting on her laurels
bountiful refreshment seller on the xochimolco canals addition to inviting me to their home for coffee and an open invitation to stay with them should I ever return to Mexico City, the Garcia family showed me an “eveninglife” I won’t forget. I was picked up at 6:00 to supposedly go salsa dancing, but, of course, I am thinking, ‘Who on earth is going to be out dancing at 6:00 on a Wednesday?’ and started wondering if my Spanish comprehension wasn’t considerably worse than I had reckoned it to be. A short walk and a few metro stops away, however, we entered into a Salon de Baile with two live bands playing and both floors of the dance hall packed with locals dressed to the nines. So, who goes out dancing in Mexico City this early in the evening? To give you a clue, the average age of the dancing population that night was probably 49, and I’m sure there were no less than 5 couples there in their seventies. But you just try to out-dance these grandmas and grandpas and you will be put to shame with their fancy moves and undeniable rhythm! And despite the fact that a twenty-something gringa had never before infiltrated this neighborhood
locale, I was met with the warmest welcome that these friendly folks had to offer.
As the sands of the hourglass of this Central American journey came ever closer to running out, I turned to face the inevitable question, “What are you going to do now?” My older, wiser, and funnier Aussie dorm-mates shared more than just a quiet and relaxing ride on the canals of Xochimolco with me; some late night conversation in my final hours in Mexico also gave me food for thought on following my dreams. So while I regretfully bid this leg of my trip adieu, my lifelong journey continues as I wait to see which of my three equally viable plans come to fruition in the weeks ahead. Hasta luego amigos!
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anonymous
non-member comment
wow
WOW thats cool - elaney