I’ve got to be honest – today has been nothing short of depressing. The sun seems to have gone into hiding here in Mexico City and the sky has been heavy with thick grey clouds, occasionally breaking into half-hearted and petulant little bursts of rain. On top of this, most of the city’s museums and attractions are closed on Mondays, so I’ve been wandering round shivering in the cold with the one warm hooded top currently in my possession zipped up to my chin as I try to eke out things to do.
I can’t say that much of what I’ve seen today has been very inspiring (apart from a few amusing things in the market, which I'll come onto). In fact, a lot of it has been quite grim. All day I’ve been continuously struggling to avoid hassle from people on the streets (worse than the guys who come and chat you up are the ones who creepily follow you around, who you have to dart into shops and ladies toilets to shake off). I’ve also been attempting to avoid getting run over amidst the unbelievably chaotic traffic here (there seems to be no system at all in place for giving way at junctions – just a complete free for all). All the while I've been trying to block my ears to the relentless whine of the people who hop on and off public transport trying to sell variations on all the very last things on earth you would ever want to buy (from tattered second hand maths text-books, to tinny CDs of the ‘Titanic’ theme tune, to that by now old-favourite – Halloween lollipops). And that’s not to mention the highly unsavoury red-light district I suddenly and unintentionally found myself in while trying to go to the market! It seems like I have perhaps just had the wrong day in the wrong parts of the city. I guess these kinds of things are just going to happen…
Last night was actually a really good night, so I do have that to be glad of. I met up for drinks with a Couchsurfer called Carlos – a veteran traveller (he seemed to covered pretty much all of the world) who is also a veteran of the Couchsurfing scene, having both hosted and stayed with people of widely ranging nationalities. With his long dreads and a couple of tribal tattoos, Carlos was obviously an alternative, counter-culture kind of guy – good for more reflective and intelligent conversation. He works as an editor for a literary magazine here in D.F. and kindly gave me a book of short stories by Mexican authors that he had recently helped publish (I’m going to try to read one a day as an aide to my Spanish – they are very short and look quite interesting). We had a few beers together and shared a plate of nachos whilst chatting about all the places that I will visit, and that Carlos has already visited, in South and Central America. We talked about relationships between people in these countries (apparently there’s a lot of stereo-typing, rivalry and rib-poking – much the same, I guess, as say us with the French), and, above all, the invasive influence that the U.S. has on Latin-American culture (something Carlos, like many Mexicans, obviously feels quite strongly about). It was very informative and thought-provoking and I may well go out with him again later in the week when he has two Polish Couchsurfing girls staying with him.
So, yeah, this morning when I set out to explore, it was basically a case of trying to find what was actually open to the public. First of all that meant the cathedral, which is right on my doorstep in front of the hostel. It’s the biggest cathedral in Latin America, and therefore vast and cavernous but actually, to be honest, quite dull inside. One thing that did make me smile, though, was finding a ‘Santa Felicitas’ amongst the array of waxwork saints on display. It took me a while before I could get up close to her as some Mexican man was spending ages praying in front of her, crossing himself and touching the glass casket in which she lay. When he finally left and I got to have a peek, though, I was rather sorry to see how my namesake saint was portrayed. She was lying with a pained expression on her face in a big meringuey white gown, with a gruesome open wound on her left arm. My name is meant to mean happiness so I felt a bit offended! Still, as I have said, the Mexicans do seem to love their pain and suffering. Maybe Santa Felicitas converts it all into joy for them on the other side of the pearly gates…
A wander northwards took me to an interesting little square where many men (and some women) were all sat together in front of typewriters, plying their trade as letter-writers (and writers of theses and formal documents too). For anyone who has seen the lovely (and heart-wrenching) Brazilian film, ‘Central Station’ – this is what the main character in the film does, and it’s obviously a reasonably gainful occupation here in Latin America.
On this square there was also a free (and open) museum about medicine that I thought I’d pop my head round the door into, seeing as I’m the daughter of two doctors. It had a fairly interesting section on early Native American herbal medicines, and some very macabre, but nonetheless compelling, waxworks of nasty injuries and skin disorders – including some affecting the more ‘intimate’ parts of the human body (this display is apparently always a hit with visiting schoolkids!). I used to think I was squeamish, but I think my time in Mexico will soon knock that out of me!
It was after this that I decided to head on down to the market, feeling sure that it would be colourful, interesting, and representative of the city (markets are the very centre of things here in Mexico, or so it seems). It was a long trek, down and around a confusing grid of roads that were either being dug up, or blockaded by more teachers on strike, with a slightly alarming amount of heavily armed police around. It therefore felt like doing a bit of an assault course actually getting there. When I did make it (or when I thought I’d made it – nothing in this city seems to be marked out or particularly evident), I was slightly concerned to see that the first part of the market was obviously dedicated to chicas selling, er, themselves. And, I have to say, they were a pretty rough and sorry sight. All around me, shivering in the cold, were heavy-set and heavily-made up women, with teeny-tiny lycra dresses pulled down over their blockily-built bodies, their feet squeezed into tacky plastic pole-dancing shoes. This was at about midday, and they clearly weren’t waiting for nightfall to start looking for business.
It all felt a bit dicey in this particular part of town so I took refuge in the first lot of stalls I could find – naturally dedicated to plastic pumpkins and Halloween outfits (Halloween is an absolute obsession here - although a lot of Mexicans feel this is a precise example of U.S. culture invading and detracting focus from their more traditional ‘Day Of The Dead’ festival). The merchandise soon gave way to plastic flowers and party invitations, kitchenware and, eventually, more visually appealing fruits, vegetables, spices and beans (I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on my powers of description here because, on account of my surroundings, and the vibes I was getting in the area, I didn’t really want to take out my camera out today). The most interesting part of it all was a small part of the market called ‘Mercado De Sonora’, which Carlos had recommended I have a look at. This was dedicated to herbs and natural remedies – some of the stalls being quite serious, others being a bit more silly and gimmicky. Amongst the potions and poultices for genuine physical complaints were a wide range of quite explicitly packaged aphrodisiacs, and soaps and oils designed to ward off bad luck, bring love and money, and even, more specifically, to bring phone-calls from long-lost relatives (this soap box bore a crude drawing of a crying lady with a telephone receiver in her hand!)! That all kind of cheered me up a bit and made me smile as it was incredibly funny.
So I’m now back at the hostel, trying to gather myself together and muster up some energy for tonight when I have another Couchsurfing ‘date’ (I think after tonight I will give meeting up with Couchsurfers a rest for a bit – it is great in that it is so interesting and sociable, but it is beginning to wear me out now!). Tonight I’m meeting up with Ricardo, who is originally from another city, but who works and lives here in D.F. during the week. He’s suggested a bar in Polanca, which I have heard is quite a smart and upmarket part of town, so I’m going to change my shoes, smarten myself up a bit, and see what the evening brings.
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