Travel with Manfred

Travelogues from around the world

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Copyright © 1993 by Manfred P.. All rights reserved.

September, 1993

Mexico City

A Dream of History and Culture or a Nightmare of Smog and Crime?

by

Manfred P.

Keywords: Mexico, Mexico City, tourist, travel trip report, travel log, travelogue.

I decided to keep notes and write down some of my thoughts during my first trip to Mexico City, the world's largest city. This is actually not my style. Usually I rather prefer to document my travels in a retrospective way -- looking back at a trip once it is over. This way it is easier to put experiences into relation with one another. It also avoids running the risk of going off on a tangent somewhere. But there were good reasons for this exception expressed below.

Monday, September 6th, 1993, 8pm:

Fhhh, I just fell into bed and all I can think of is rest, rest, and rest. But in reality, right now I can't think straight at all. There are zillions of undigested impressions in my mind and my head feels like the place of a gigantic July 4th firework. Some impression or thought comes into my mind like a spark but before it can develop it is suppressed and suffocated by the next fragment of another impression. Like the bullets out of a machine gun, these thought pieces hit my spinning head.

It is Monday around 8 pm and I'm trying to calm down. I decided to keep some notes and chart down some thoughts while I am here in Mexico. There is a good reason for this unusual behavior of mine. I have been here in Mexico City for less than two days and already could write a full book. Due to the multitude of impressions I would lose half of them by the time I am sitting in the plane heading back to San Francisco.

Let's go back a full week to last Monday. At that time I didn't even know that I would be here today. I just came back from my assignment with Intel in Phoenix and was adapting back to the cold Palo Alto life style. I had plans to go to Mexico City for quite a while and my vacation was overdue as well, so it was time to pick up the phone and call the airlines. Flights were not booked out so I picked the next one scheduled conveniently on Saturday. On Thursday I actually started preparations and Friday night I packed and was ready to go. Saturday morning I was at the airport one hour ahead of take-off and I said, well joyfully yelled, to myself "Let the vacation begin". But they began the worst possible way. They didn't begin at all. First I was at the counter for 45 minutes because the ground crew was incapable of pushing the right buttons to tell the computer to print out the ticket. It was now 5 minutes before take-off time and even calm as I was I was about to tell them my opinion. We now decide that the lady at the ticket counter is going to give me a hand-written ticket. It turns out that they were out of tickets which could be used for this purpose. At take-off time they call the boarding crew to tell them to hold the plane for me. Then some more stupid attempts to convince the computer to spit out a ticket for me. But no luck. Then the phone rings. They just found mechanical problems on the plane they were holding for me. Everybody had to get off and the plane is scheduled to leave 5 and a half hours late at 12:30pm. That plane was supposed to bring me to Phoenix where I would catch another flight to Mexico. While she was explaining to me that there is no way for me to catch that second flight because no airline services Phoenix on time for me to make the connection, the phone rang again. The other plane going from Phoenix to Mexico City had also mechanical problems and will not leave at all. Talking about bad luck. It was pouring down on me. Anyway, the best I could do was to wait a full day and to try again on Sunday.

Now it's Sunday and I walk towards the terminal and the terminal is on fire. No, just kidding. The terminal is of course not on fire. I couldn't possibly have that much bad luck. No, I was walking down the terminal when an unshaved young fellow approached me and asked, "Excuse me, is today Sunday?". I had to smile, because I knew that within a week I would be in his very shoes. And at that moment I also knew that it is going to be a unique vacation. The flight went well and I got the first glimpses of what the city stands for from the air: a valley surrounded by mountains filled with smog, bustling streets, houses, and shacks. Minutes later I am here -- in the center of D.F. Since Distrito Federal -- or DF for short -- is the official name for this metropolis, I'll stick to that handy name. No big city should have more than two or three letters anyway.

It's now up to me to find out which one of my friends is right. I heard all sorts of comments before I left. From "nice" to "mmh, interesting" to "You are crazy. What are you gonna do in the middle of all that smog and crime?". The last statement was easy to respond to with a simple "So, what's new about LA and SJ?".

Two things I noticed within the first 20 minutes. Nobody speaks any English. That's good. This way I'll be forced to use the few words of Spanish I know. Second, the air is not that bad. My eyes don't burn and it doesn't smell that bad either.

Even though I have only a small backpack I want to find a hotel in the center of downtown right away. At the airport I step on the subway after looking at a map of the sub system. I only knew I had to switch once and when I get off I figured there would be another map so I can find out how to continue. Not so, apparently only some sub stations have maps. Another lesson learned: Things are not overly organized, so one shouldn't make too many assumptions. After a detour to some other station with a map I made it into the heart of downtown, the Zocalo.Without wasting my time I asked at the first hotel how much a singles room is. $9, not bad. He even allows me to look at it first. I take it because I couldn't ask for anything better. Two minutes from the Zocalo, ideally located so I can walk to many sights on foot, a balcony from which I can see the Cathedral Metropolitan on the Zocalo and hear the street musicians. The water even gets hot, soap, towels, and a working elevator. I am impressed. I threw my backpack on the bed and am out the door to explore "El Monstruo" -- the Monster as some Mexicans call DF.

Tuesday, September 7th, 1993, 6:30pm:

The city is quite captivating and she has its own way of leading and guiding tourists through it. Once I step outside my hotel a chain reaction starts. You discover an interesting building on the corner, so you go there to admire it. Once there you see a big crowd gathering half a block down on some other street. Curiously as one should be you go there to check out what's happening. Once your curiosity is satisfied you hear some music pouring out of some house a few hundred yards away. Naturally you have to go there as well to see if it is a good restaurant or bar. This kind of chain reaction will not stop until it gets dark and your legs scream for a rest.

I have now used this chain reaction technique for three days. It works really well for me. My kind of sight seeing. I saw tons of interesting buildings, churches, monuments, and markets this way that are not in my travel guide and most likely not in any others either. Part of the success of the chain reaction technique is that historic buildings are so densely spread over downtown DF. Sometimes it seems that every other building is ancient and has its own history. It reminded me a bit of Vienna or Rome. DF sure has close ties to the European culture and hardly any to that of the US. The only influence of the Gringo culture I have noticed so far is a war memorial in the Chapultepec Park saying something like "to those killed by the US forces" and the popularity of hamburgers and hot dogs. Of course, the omni-present McDonalds is here too. European culture is noticeable in the architecture of many buildings, street names, and monuments. However, I have no clue to why there are certain monuments for Europeans. Any ideas why there is a sculpture of Beethoven in the Alameda Park?

Even Austria is crossing my path all the time. First I discovered a sticker with the Austrian eagle and the word Austria on my bed frame. Next, I was walking on Av. Viena and later on Rio Danubio. Although history was never my favorite subject I still remember that once all of Mexico was ruled by an Austrian for a short period of time. Hence, in a way I am strolling through former Austrian streets. By sheer coincidence I toured a castle today to find out that that was the residence of Maximilian Ferdinand von Habsburg while he ruled Mexico. I have to assume that he was a rather lousy ruler since he was killed by Mexicans.

Another thing that reminds me of Europe is the quantity of churches. DF must be rivaling Rome for the title "City with the most churches". There must be one for each day of the year. In short, churches are everywhere and since people are very religious here you'll find people in them at any hour of the day. I myself haven't been to that many churches in such a short time for a decade.

The architecture here is beautiful but DF has to fight with two forces: swampy soil and the 1985 earthquake. The impact of those two strong facets of mother nature is unfortunately visible on about a third of the monuments. Many builds are closed because they are unsafe. Most of the affected ones lean yards to one side and show big cracks. On some buildings -- like the Palacio de Belles Artes -- already during construction the frame started to tilt. Although eight years passed by, the results of the big earthquake are still visible in the form of demolished houses, office buildings, and piles of rubble.

So what about the traffic? Generally speaking, traffic signs and rules don't count much. Everybody seems to be driving according to her or his common sense. Making a right turn at a red light even though you are in the leftmost lane and you have two cars to your right seems okay. If people feel that a third car will fit in the two lanes, they'll drive accordingly. Pedestrians don't need to worry about getting run over without knowing what happened to them. All drivers are very courteous and honk their horn hundred yards from you if they feel you are in their way. That seems to work very nicely.

Young kids that aren't allowed to drive yet but feel the need for speed, just strap on their roller skates and "grab" a colectivo (a type of smaller bus) at the rear bumper and hold on and savor the thrill of their joy ride. Tonight I saw a colectivo with four kids trailing. The thing that would worry me most are the potholes. Tires of a bus can handle them but the whole skating shoe might disappear in one of them. Not a pleasant thought.

Another habit is that drivers late at night when they come to an intersection without a light simply honk their horn instead of slowing down. This must be the ultimate California stop. Very fuel efficient by-the-way.

Despite all of this, I would consider the drivers in DF safe. Common sense driving after all by definition makes sense. It's easy for me to say that since I don't have to drive here.

Cops which are everywhere have fallen in love with their red-and-blue lights. Another possibility might be that they don't have a switch to turn it off because it is very hard to find a cop car without its red-and-blue lights on. Even at midnight when there is no traffic and the cop is obviously only cruising around, the lights have to be on.

This is another noteworthy fact about DF. Since cops are abundant and nobody gives a damn about red traffic lights the solution is to put a cop with a whistle on every intersection in the city to enforce that people actually stop at red and give those that have green a chance to move on. Quite a unique solution.

Besides cops there are also large numbers of other people in uniform (military personal, guards, subway cops, etc.) who have equally meaningful jobs such as standing at an entrance of a construction zone and making sure nobody without authorization enters. Yes, labor must be cheap because in some museums it takes four people to sell you a ticket. One who takes your money, one who hands you your ticket, one who rips your ticket apart as validation and a fourth person of whom I have no idea what her/his jobs is. Maybe she/he is the supervisor.

Wednesday, September 8th, 1993, 10pm:

Besides sightseeing another important part of traveling is food. So far I haven't been to a single restaurant -- or what we would call a restaurant in the US. Also, in four days of hiking through the streets of DF I have seen only one supermarket some ten miles from downtown. Rather than people going to places where food is, food makes it to places where people are. What a concept! No matter how or where you entertain yourself at night, you will be surrounded by food vendors. You'll see the expected taco, torta, and quaesadilla stands, an equal amount of hamburger and hot dog stands, flat jack and dulces stands, and corn on the cob (which, by the way, tastes excellent with lime and chili) stands. Basically anything that you can make on a 1x2 yard stand is available. The imagination and improvisation talent of the Mexicans is adorable. I was hanging out at the Garibaldi Plaza at midnight and it was getting kind of cold when that guy pushes his shopping cart up to me and starts selling me hot coffee. He had a charcoal burner in the cart keeping the water boiling or hot. All other stuff was off-the-shelf: instant coffee, sugar, whitener, cups, and straws. An entrepreneur who found his market niche.

My three main food groups here are pastries, tacos and related hot meals from food stands, and bread. The pastries are as good and as cheap as I remembered them from Baja California. I found this marvelous pastry shop where they have forty or so different pastries, cakes, and cookies -- fresh every morning. So the first morning -- sort of my daily morning ritual -- is to walk over there and pick three to four pieces that I never had before. That's my breakfast. Dinner time doesn't start before it is dark at 7pm or later. Having dinner at 10pm is rather common. On some of the days I come home at 7pm to freshen up, to rest, and to write on this report. By 9pm I have enough energy again to slip into a sweater and go out for dinner and to check out the night life. Describing the beverages is easy. Since I hate all carbonated soft drinks there is not much left: water, beer, pulque. Water and Mexican beer are readily available in US stores, so we all know how they taste. But pulque, that's a completely different story. Like tequila it is produced from the maguey cactus. The guide book describes it as a mildly intoxicating drink that is also nutritious. The story that I've heard is that if you are a foreigner and have more than two drinks of pulque you'll start speaking Spanish. If you have more than three, you'll start speaking Chinese and other languages as well. You can order it in different flavors and colors but I naturally had to have it "natural". I guess that would best translate to "Pulque Classic". The color is kind of whitish, not white like milk but not translucent like water. Kind of like lemon tea into which you pour a wee bit of milk which than reacts with the lemon acid. I take the first sip. Strange things happen in my mouth. It feels very unusual, like my saliva production kicks in at full power. There is also this indescribable feeling when my tongue glides over the upper part of my mouth. Very interesting sensation. Then I start swallowing. Now I finally taste it. If you want to know how it tastes you'll have to have one yourself. All I can say is "very interesting". After I had drunk half the glass I couldn't resist. I stuck my finger into the glass to find out about the consistency. What i expected proved to be true. It had the consistency of spit. For the rest of the evening I had to think of the way how Costa Ricans make their chi-cha drink.

Since we are already heading this way we might as well start a little discussion of the night life in DF. One activity as you already know is to spend the night at the local pulqueria. They always play easy going Mexican music to which you'll start stomping your foot after a while. Sometimes you'll also find a Mexican who had one glass to many. But they don't start speaking in English or German, only in Spanish but louder. Listening to mariachi musicians on Garibaldi Plaza is another way to spend the evening. Like every major city, DF has a few nude bars, but unlike San Francisco I haven't seen any prostitutes yet. Dance clubs with international style music or salsa clubs are primarily along main boulevards like de Honduras or Paseo de la Reforma. Along the latter is the Zona Rosa, yes the Pink Zone, with its modern clubs that charge "modern" US cover charges of $12 and more. Of course, those that can't or won't pay that much money go to enjoy the free donation-based entertainment at the major parks or plazas. The "cultural" events offered there cover a wide variety. From performances of ancient dance rituals, theatrical pieces, rock concerts to clowns everything can be found. You just have to be at the right place at the right time. There was one "act" that was popular and performed in different parks by different people. I just couldn't figure out what it is about. The "actor" gathers a crowd around him in a circle. The he spreads some snakes, vegetables, and other meaningless stuff around. Then he starts talking like he wants to hypnotize the people. Next, he hands out little things like a picture of the madonna. Some people seem to give him money in return. Then he keeps talking and talking and occasionally the crowd answers his questions or just gives an astonished sounding "awh". If you have any clue what this is all about, let me know. My feeling is that these "actors" present themselves as people with god-given talents which they are willing to use for an exchange of a little fee and trust.

One of the main pastimes not only as evening entertainment but also during daytime is to go to a park and make out. No kidding, there are many -- and I mean many -- parks in DF and whenever I got to one there were dozens of young couples doing what they do best -- making out. For US measurements, quite an open display of affection. It adds to the friendly flair of the city. Now about the women. Whoever came up with the stereotype that Mexican women have a tendency of being chubby must not have seen DF. They all have perfect shapes.

Friday, September 10th, 1993, 9pm:

Somewhere before I already mentioned that I am glad that I don't need to drive here. The main mode of transportation is on foot. Every day I'm putting ten miles or more on my sneakers. From morning to evening it is up and down streets, hills, pyramids; crisscrossing parks and back and forth the aisles in the museums. In total that would make a daily trip to Halfdome. A good way to burn of the sugar from the delicious items from the pasteleria and the fat from the taqueria meals. But my feet alone wouldn't get me anywhere in DF. The metro -- that's the subway -- is a convenient way to get around within a 20 mile range from north to south. From there you got to switch to local buses that get you to places like the Olympic Village which is about 16 miles south from downtown and as far south as I made it. In order to really leave the city one must use long-distance buses. Their quality ranges from luxurious Mercedes Benz buses with color TV to old pre-Greyhound style buses with multiply cracked windshields. After about 15 miles north of downtown one actually leaves the city behind and finds oneself in a semi-rural area. The farthest trip to the north brought me about 40 miles north to the city of Tula. Wherever you go taxi cabs are also a pretty common way to get around. No matter if it is downtown or semi-rural area in the boonies, a cab is always available. And finally there is a mixture of a cab and a bus called colectivo. If you stay for a week you'll eventually have to use all of the above means of transportation at one point or another.

NY and LA are the only other big cities I've been to. Somehow I expected DF to be like LA. You drive for hours and you'll never leave the urban area. But besides the obvious differences between those two giants, there is one formed by time. All cities in Greater LA are new and more or less designed. If you cross the border from Anaheim to Garden Grove you won't notice any difference. In DF that's different. Centuries ago there was a large number of distinct small towns and villages spread throughout the valley. They all had their own characteristics, their own cultural, religious, and political centers. It was only in the last 50 years that El Monstruo started swallowing up all these villages. that's why today you can walk from one urban area to another and cross a little village with narrow cobble stone roads and village flair in the middle of DF. Coyoacan is one of these villages. Very charming. This would be that place I want to live in had I had to live in DF.

Now about the weather. From May to October is the rain season and faithfully it rained every afternoon since my arrival. Usually I look forward to it. It cools and freshens the air nicely. Sometimes it rains, sometimes -- like today -- it pours. Within an hour certain street were flooded with inches of water. Overall DF's other name "City of Eternal Spring" is justified. Mornings have a nice refreshing temperature -- not cold but not warm either. By noon it's warm and by mid-afternoon it a wee bit hot. Then it rains and it's back to warm again. Nights are cool, a sweater and a thin jacket will make it pleasant again.

A real tough subject is stereotypes. Usually somebody always gets offended but I will give you my two cents anyway. These are just my opinions, so don't come running to me if you experience something different.

Number 1 Stereotype: Montezuma's Revenge will Get You. Well, it hasn't gotten me yet and the only thing I did as precaution was to drink bottled water instead of tab water. Food from taco, etc. stands are certainly okay and even vegetables like tomatoes didn't seem to do me any harm. Knock on wood. But then again, I don't have the average stomach. My stomach is trained by eating Manfred's home cooking.

Number 2 Stereotype: DF is full of thieves. The city admits that there is a problem and it urges subway riders to pay attention by placing signs in the metro. Agreed, there are some thieves but they are also in every city of the first world. Precaution can decrease the chances of becoming a victim drastically. I never had any problems and none of the tourists I talked with had.

Number 3 Stereotype: High Crime Rate. You've got to be kidding. I've been walking around by myself in many suburbs and downtown late at night and I felt extremely comfortable. Maybe I am ignorant and don't know about certain crimes in certain area but I've met only friendly people. What can I say, it simply feels safe all around. The next anecdote should give you an example of how friendly the people are. I get off the bus and all I know is that two and a half miles away is an archeological site. I ask someone where it is. The guy had no clue but while we were talking somebody else joins the conversation and says he'll walk me their. We walk down the street and chat a little bit with some English and Spanish words. At the next intersection he says he doesn't precisely know where the site is ((I personally think he didn't know at all and just wanted to be helpful) and he has to ask the cab driver that was standing at the corner. After a few minutes he comes back saying that it is three maybe even four kilometers and that I couldn't possibly want to walk that far. I told him that I knew all along that it is about 3 kilometers and that that is no big deal. Next, he says he doesn't want me to walk that far and pays the cab driver the fare and opens the door for me. I am stunned. I knew they were friendly but that is the icing on the cake.

Number 4 Stereotype: Women Lean towards Chubbiness. Just another stereotype, i.e. incorrect generalization. You can put them on the cover of Vogue any time. I can't wait to get to Monterrey. (If you have read my report on my previous trip to Mexico you'll know why.)

Number 5 Stereotype: Mexicans are Short. This is not a stereotype, it's true. I banged my head getting out of the shower and during daytime I have to duck whenever there is a covered passage like at a construction site.

Saturday, September 11th, 1993, mid-afternoon:

The influence of the US on Mexico is growing. Infants and kids are raised on nutritionless Pepsi and Fanta. KFC, McDonalds, Dennys, and Dominos are establishing themselves in the bigger cities. And some people -- who in my opinion have non-functional taste buds -- prefer Wonder bread to the bread from the local panaderia. Kids are sitting on street corners playing Nintendo or other video games. Clothing also bears and shows US influence. I've seen literally hundreds of people with Bulls and Michael Gordon T-shirts. At least in the area of music most Mexicans favor music "hencha en Mexico". On rare occasions DF has picked up some US ideas and established their own business based on it. The Mexican counterpart to the US GNC stores is Super Soya, a chain with quite a few branches in DF. Besides the amino acids supplements and high protein powders they also server dozens of fresh "all healthy" milk shakes. And if you really want to get rid of some merchandise, the solution is the same as in the US; give an "oferta de 2x1". The status symbols seem to be copied from the US as well. Primarily it is the car but nowadays you also have to run around with a cellular phone if you are somebody important.

Monday, September 13th, 1993, 1pm:

The day that had to come sooner or later is here. It's departure day -- time to say Good Bye. It's only a temporary Good Bye because like my famous countryman I'm able to say, "I'll be bachh". It was a busy eight days. In a week I was able to see everything that stirred my interest in DF and vicinity. The eight day I simply relaxed. Actually there is one thing left that I would like to do but I found out too late to fit it into this vacation. Climbing the volcano Popocatepetl just outside DF would certainly be a fascinating adventure. Despite the fact that it is snow covered all year round and requires ice axe and crampons, according to the literature, it is doable in a single day. A ten to twelve hour hike/climb should get a person in good physical condition to the 5452 meter (some 17887 feet) high peak and back. So, if you are seriously interested let me know and I'll plan a trip.

Naturally DF cannot be summarized in a single word or sentence. There is simply too much to it. Pieces of many cities are reflected in DF in one way or another, Downtown DF reminded me of Vienna's first district with its many historic buildings and pedestrian zones. The hill right behind the Basilica Guadalupe was to me what Griffith Observatory is to LA. The Chapultepec Park plays the same role in DF that the Golden Gate Park plays in San Fran. This list of similarities could be continued but I think you get the impression.

Looking back at the last eight days, the highlights of my trip were the following. The most important and most satisfying part of the journey was to learn about the Mexican culture by either being at the historic, ancient cities, by seeing their achievements in a variety of museums, or by reading about the historic events.

The social interactions with the Mexicans despite my very limited language abilities were quite pleasurable and sometimes amusing. One day I was drinking a beer at night in a bar while reading about Mexico when some Mexican invited me have a beer with him. After the first beer I was already his "mi amigo". Time flew by while we were talking about soccer (The first name that comes into peoples' mind when mentioning Austria is Tony Polster.) and politics and the bar closed. But that didn't seem to bother the few remaining men who convinced the bartender to give them a few more drinks. By now I was everybody's "mi amigo" and people talked to me left and right but to the most part I had little clue what they were talking about. Yesterday I entertained a hundred or more people at the Alameda Park. As every night people gather to hang out in the evening and a mime started a show for which he picked three men and women from the audience. When I saw him start selecting people I knew he would pick me even though i tried to sort-of hide in the last row. But because of stereotype 5 and me being 6 feet I stuck out of the crowd. Sure enough he picked me. The mime then had us do stupid things to amuse the crowd. The women had to squeeze the men's biceps, pinch their butts, and give them pseudo kisses. For me he had something special in mind; he had me play a monkey. Since I don't mind making a fool out of myself in public I gave the performance the best I got. I was roaring, throwing my fists against my chest, climbing parts of monuments, jumping around monkey-style and letting "hunga hunga" noises escape my throat. The crowd seemed to like it and one spectator came up to me afterwards to let me know that I did a good job. All of that to me is part of the social contact with the people that make DF the city it is.

Some of the other highlights that you can also find described in travel guides were the ruins at Tula and Teotihuacan including the world's third largest pyramid and Coyoacan.

As a final note, I'd like to add that I believe that if you spend too much time in the same environment you become blind. You will lose the ability to recognize and see things as they are or as they compare to other issues because you continuously saw them from one perspective and eventually you'll believe that this is the only and true perspective. Stepping outside your common environment will open your eyes again and at least hint at the the possibility of a different perspective or a different answer to a question that you had answered already many years ago. DF is not that different from a big city in the US or any big city in the world for thus matter, but at least it is a starting point to temporarily leave the well known facts and accustomed styles behind. How much could I have learned on a vacation in the US? How much new angles to life could I have seen there? I still have a lot to learn. Furthermore, over the last years I have lost that certain satisfying feeling I first found while traveling in Spain and Portugal. To me it is worth looking for it and I will find it again.

Now, if you really made it all the way to this line, you might ask yourself, "So? What is he trying to say?". Just one thing: Stop and smell the roses; then move on.

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