Museums, Markets, & Mexico City Bus Drivers

A turtle sunning in the water feature at
the Museo Nacional de Antropología

   

March 14, 2008: Mexico City (Chapultepec Park)

Dear Grandma,

Today I learned that being a bus driver in Mexico City is probably the world’s worst job. I know, I know. Grandpa was a miner, the tunnels were deep and dark, and there was always the nasty concern that a cave-in could happen at any moment. Still, after riding the bus down {or up? I am not sure because I have what can only be described as the world’s worst sense of direction!} to Chapultepec Park, I’m completely convinced that driving a bus in Mexico City is worse. Imagine the gridlock that can happen when 20 million people are crammed into a city. Imagine choking on all the exhaust fumes that float up from the cars surrounding you. Then imagine having to deal with tourists who don’t know where they are going, how much to pay, or how to cram onto an already packed bus. Yeah, I am sure that you would be at your wits’ end too!

Of course, I happened to love riding the bus, even though the traffic was bad. We crawled down the street, weaving in and out of traffic, picking up people as we went along. I spent a lot of time gazing out the window, pondering the fact that I had another klutzy moment – this one was at breakfast when I managed to spill the dredges of my orange juice all over the table. Fortunately, it missed B. or I would have been even more humiliated! I don’t know how these things happen to me. I just get all excited and start talking with my hands, then *BAM!* something ends up getting knocked over.*

After a while, the bus dumped us out near the Museo Nacional de Antropologia (i.e., the National Museum of Anthropology). It was almost like being back in the States because we had to go through metal detectors to get into the place! I wasn’t prepared for that, so I had to root around in my pockets to get all of my pesos out and I had to untie my money wallet thingie from my belt loop. {Yeah, holding up the works again, what can I say?} Then we stashed our backpacks, paid our ticket fees — which were dirt cheap, less than $5 US — and headed into the museum proper.

When you leave the visitor’s center, you walk out into this giant courtyard that includes a huge pond and a massive concrete awning that is supported by a skinny little pillar. According to the evil that is Wikipedia, this concrete umbrella is known as el paraguas in Spanish. All I know is that it was an impressive feat in architecture. I really don’t want to think about what would happen to the canopy if an earthquake hit Mexico City {which, incidentally, is not out of the realm of possibility} because I am fairly certain that the roof would come crashing down, Chicken Little style.

Now, M. told us going into the museum that we would never be able to see the whole thing, so he picked out some of the more important galleries to visit. I followed along, looking at all of the statues … it seems like the Mesoamericans were really into jaguars, coyotes, and women with fat thighs. Geez, if only I had been born a couple of centuries ago, I could have been revered as a goddess. {SNORT} Again, I found myself wondering why, oh why, I had never taken an art history class because — quite frankly — I don’t know shit about art, anthropology, or archeology. I do, however, know what I like and I really liked the coyotes statues. In retrospect, that’s a bit embarrassing because I discovered that the coyote I liked best was representative of the god Tezcatlipoca and {drumroll, please!} sexual prowess. Boo-yah!

Jaguars seemed to be very popular
in the Mesoamerican cultures

If you believe in the guidebook, the most impressive piece in the museum was the sun stone (i.e., the Aztec calendar) hanging in the Mexica gallery. Sure, it was cool, but I preferred the slightly creepy statue of Coatlicue, an earth goddess. Her head was made up of two serpents and she wore a necklace of severed hands and human heads. She’s the goddess that gave birth to the moon and the stars, and is often called the goddess of fire and fertility. What’s so amazing about this particular goddess is that I’ve actually heard about her before because she’s mentioned in a Neil Gaiman book entitled American Gods. You know, I’m going to have to dig that book out and re-read it now that I’ve seen the statue.

After a while, M. went in search of some kind of drum that he wanted to take a picture of. The gals on the trip, well, we wandered out to the pond and sat around watching the school groups and whistling {okay, I was the only one whistling} at the turtles. Eventually, we went to the gift shop and I picked up some postcards, the guidebook, and a map of Mexico City in case I lost the rest of the group on the subway. And then it happened. The guard at the entryway busted me for chewing gum. Geez, it’s not like I was going to stick a piece of Big Red to a statue or anything. I guess it’s a good thing the guard wasn’t an old school nun, or else I would have walked around with gum stuck to the tip of my nose for the rest of the day. {Oh wait, that was high school!}

We ended up having lunch at the cafe in the museum. Finally, I was able to get some vegetables! I ended up eating this wickedly good cactus salad, which had a great zesty dressing … among other things. The only thing I found slightly revolting was this stained glass jello thing (see the picture in this foodie blog). Actually, it was more than revolting. It was nasty, nasty, nasty. Ranks right up there with English peas. Blah.

After lunch, we split into two groups with M. and E. going back to the Palacio de Bellas Artes to see the murals. The rest of us, with B. in charge, decided to go the mercados to buy stuff. So, here we were, crammed on the bus going back towards the zocalo, in a bus crammed full of people, some of whom could have really used deodorant. While I was sitting there on the bus, I finally figured out why my knees looked so dirty all day. Yeah, rubbing your knees on the back of a bus seat in Mexico City equals filthy knees. I thought about spitting on my hands and trying to clean them off, but B. signaled for us to get off the bus.

Only, it was the wrong stop. Oops.

So, after consulting a map, we walked through blocks and blocks of home improvement stores and ended up at the wrong marketplace. It was small and a little low-rent, although I did buy some Mexican tiles there (which I will eventually put on my fireplace). Eventually, we ended up making our way to the right mercados and poked around for a while. I found these cute turtle whistles for my nephews, which are guaranteed to drive my stepsister right up the wall. (LOL!) B., K., and I sat around drinking juice in a little cafe while other people were milling around the stores. I thought about going back early, but we ended up poking around the stores again and soon I had purchased this really colorful painting which was done on this weird bark paper. We also saw this beautiful little girl feeding French fries to a rooster in the picnic area just outside the back of the market place, which really just made my day.

Of course, we ended up missing our “meeting time” and the rest of the group left without us. Turns out that was the most excellent accident, because we ran into M. who was hauling around another huge package. Seriously, I think the man will need to buy another suitcase just to get all of his purchases home! Anyhow, we sat around drinking (not the hard stuff) and talking about old movies, which made me feel really young because I honestly don’t remember seeing The Blues Brothers. I thought I had seen it before, but I had no clue about any of the scenes they were describing. My main contribution was a description of the popcorn scene in Real Genius, which I don’t think any of them had seen before. Either way, M. promised to have a Blues Brothers night, which will fill in this gap in my (pop) cultural knowledge. {I hope he doesn’t forget. Otherwise, I’m going to have to add the movie to my Netflix queue.}

Little girl at the market in Mexico City

So, eventually we took the subway back to the hotel, which turned out to be another colorful experience. You see, there was this girl, a woman really, who was completely stacked and crammed into a tiny, tiny bikini top. Oh my. You couldn’t help but notice her — and notice her, we did. Honestly, I was waiting for the guys’ eyeballs to pop out of their heads and fall onto the platform, like a R-rated Looney Tunes gag. Sadly, I never did see a nice looking guy on this trip.** Where are all the mysterious, handsome, James Bond type guys? I demand parity, damn it!

When we got back to the Zocalo, we took a short cut through what can only be called “Catholics ‘R Us.” Yeah, it was this urban mall, chocked full of saints and vestments and crosses and cruxifices. Anything a good Catholic would want could be found here — from the tasteful and expensive to tacky and cheap. Now, I know with a name like mine, you’d expect me to be a good Catholic, but the holy spirit did not come to me, telling me to “Buy! Buy! Buy!” You can thank M. for the saint that I sent you. {Yeah, I’m a bad granddaughter, but my friends think you’re cool!}

We ended the night with a final dinner in the hotel restaurant. I splurged (well, I was trying to get rid of my pesos) and ordered a fillet mignon. Yeah, that was a bad idea. It was not what I expected at all. The steak was covered in brown gravy, and was so raw that it practically moo’ed. I mean, that steak bled all over the plate. Note to self: Only order Mexican food when in Mexico.

Love and hugs,
Disenchanted

* Yeah, I have a reputation for this. I knocked over a drink at my very first graduate school reception. I have also dumped food all over the floor at my dean’s house, but that’s a different story. All I know is that when I was a little kid, knocking shit over always earned me a beating. Obviously that parenting technique didn’t work well …

** Well, wait. I guess I should refer you back to the “nice butt” comment. Really, what I mean here is that I never saw a nice looking stranger on this trip.