Mexico 2008
It was an amazing trip.
Editor’s Note: The whole time I was in Mexico, I kept composing postcards to my grandmother in my head. Some of them were pretty damned funny – funny enough that I made my travel mates laugh. Now, I can’t think about the trip without putting them in a letter to my gram so that’s how I’m going to write my blog entries about my amazing trip south of the border. – Disenchanted
Day 1: Six Hours on a Runway
A Church in Tepoztlan, Mexico
March 8, 2008: Louisville to Tepoztlan
Dear Grandma,
Today, I sat on a runway in Louisville for six and a half hours. You see, I was trying to get to a warmer climate, but the gods must have had other plans. After a winter of limited snow, we were hit with over 6 inches of snow! The Coach and I made the long drive into the city okay, but apparently the folks at the airport were not as snow-savvy as we are. The airline loaded up the plane before the toilets were operational (i.e., they had to drain the pipes the night before) and then they had trouble getting the luggage to the plane. After about 3 ½ hours, the pilot bowed to passenger pressure and took us back to the gate so that people could get off the plane. Of course, this meant that they had to redo the paperwork and we lost our place in line to take off. Plus, we had to be de-iced twice before we ever got off the ground!
We finally made it to Atlanta, well after our flight to Mexico City had left. Our Fearless Leader (hereafter known as M.) had called the travel agency and was told that we should try to get to the gate for the 3 p.m. flight. We raced – well, walked briskly – through the airport, taking the tram to the international terminal. Along the way, we lost two of our students because J. left his coat on the last flight. It didn’t really matter because the 3 p.m. flight was full, so we had to go stand in a long, long, LONG line to get our boarding passes for the 7 p.m. flight. Yes, our incompetent travel agent managed to get us seats on the later flight, but the Delta folks would not print our boarding passes at the gate.
We stood in the line for close to two hours before one of our trip mates made it to the front of the Medallion Line. He managed to persuade the ticket agent to print all of our passes – which bumped all of us ahead of some pretty annoyed passengers. Good for us; bad for everyone else.
Once we got on the flight to Mexico City, things went a little more smoothly. Not perfectly smooth because our pilot was getting ready to back away from the gate when another load of luggage arrived, but there was no turbulence, the plane was half empty so we could spread out, and we actually arrived on time in the big city. It was amazing to look out the window as we flew over Ciudad de México. Intellectually, I knew that it was a big city – the third largest in the world behind Tokyo and Seoul – but to see it spread out beneath us glittering in the night, really makes that knowledge real.
Luggage in hand, we went in search of our charter bus – only to find that it was no longer at the airport. Yes, we were stranded in Mexico City because our incompetent travel agent had not called the bus company to tell them that we were delayed. Yep, here we were, in the middle of the night, obviously tourists without a backup plan. M. was remarkably calm about this and together with the Spanish Teacher (hereafter known as K.) negotiated with a cab company for two Urban Assault Vehicles – otherwise known as Suburbans – to drive us over the mountain to our hotel in Tepoztlan. I ended up in the third seat of one of these SUVs, with my arm around my Boss (M.) because we were wedged in so tightly, closer to people than a body ought to be after 12 plus hours of traveling. {SNORT} He’s lucky that my Dramamine worked and I didn’t barf in his lap.
I just took it all in stride and all the transportation drama just made the trip more fun. Maybe I just have an odd sense of adventure, but I actually enjoyed chatting with M. as we drove through the city, up a mountain, down a mountain, and past the outdoor parties along the main street of Tepoztlan. I mean, he told me that the first time he visited Tepoztlan, there were large piles of rocks blocking the streets to keep the Federales out. Now, that’s an interesting tidbit to know!
As we waited for the hotel family to open up the gates and let us in, I looked up and down the street. There was a great piece of graffiti – I must take a picture of that for TQE – down the road. Even better, we got to watch a couple of drunk boys trying to navigate the hilly street. Let’s just say, the boys were not very successful. I loved the hotel from the moment I saw it: quaint and small, whitewashed on the outside with a little courtyard and a big bottle of purified water on a bench. It took every single room in the place to house the members of our groups. I ended up with my own room (nice!) which had a blue ceiling and white walls. No A/C, but it wasn’t really necessary because there was a gentle breeze coming through the open window. The night was filled with sound of dogs barking and the occasional cock crowing which was charming … until I tried to get to sleep. That’s when having an iPod can come in quite handy!
Love & Hugs,
Disenchanted
Day 2: A Day in the Market
The church gate in Tepoztlan
March 9, 2008: Tepoztlan
Dear Grandma,
Mexico is a noisy place. This morning, I woke up before the dawn even though I was incredibly tired. You see, the cocks were crowing, the dogs were barking, and the residents of Tepoztlan must have been excited about market day because they were setting off firecrackers! I could have slept through the cocks and the dogs, but the loud banging sounds made me sit straight up in bed, cussing as I nearly fell on the floor. In fact, I went outside in my jammies to see what the heck was going on. I’m sure that my wild hair and puffy face were not a pretty sight for the students or my Boss, but what the heck – it is a vacation after all!
In a way, the early morning wake up call was a blessing because we were able to have a nice leisurely breakfast at a restaurant near the square. Our group ended up splintering into the “old guys” and the “young’uns.” Me? I was right in the middle – too old to hang out with the students, but quite a bit younger than everyone else on the trip. Oh well. I tossed my hat in with the older folks because I wanted to see and do things, not stay in bed until later in the day. Let me tell you, I did get quite a bit of ribbing about the fact that I was the only 30-something on the trip. I tried to prove my age by pointing to all of my gray hair, but when M. told me that he graduated from high school the same year I was born, well, I lost that particular argument. {SNORT}
I have to say that I made the right decision because the food at that first breakfast was probably the best meal that I have had in a quite a while. They brought us homemade bread and rolls with this peach jam that was so fresh that you could taste summer. We had to be a bit careful with the jam, however, because it still had peach pits in it! We also had eggs and quesadillas and bright blue tortillas made fresh on an outside grill. And the orange juice! Oh my God, the orange juice was spectacular. It actually tasted like a ripe orange instead of that pasteurized stuff that we buy in the paper cartons back home. I’ve only had orange juice like this once before and that was in The Netherlands. It was, as I told my travel mates, truly an orgasmic experience. Let me tell you, that got a lot of shocked looks around the table.
After sitting and eating, chatting and laughing, we signaled for the bill (unlike the States, the wait staff in Mexico does not seem overly eager to send people on their way) and went to the outdoor market. I am not sure how to describe it. Vibrant would probably be the best word, but that really just captures a shadow of the event. People were everywhere, buying fresh fruit and vegetables, beans and flowers, clothing and jewelry. In the center of the market, we could have bought fish and shrimp, sausage and chickens. On one table, there was a whole hog’s head! The effect was a bit heady – a bit smelly, really – but I like the idea of truly fresh food. And the chickens were bright yellow, either from having different feed or being rubbed with saffron; I am not entirely sure.
After walking around for a while, I came across a pendant made of silver and lapis lazuli. It was such a brilliant blue that I had to have it, especially since it will go well with my eyes. And the price was cheap by American standards – only 140 pesos, which is about $14. At another booth, I came across this unusual cross that was made of silver and blue glass with flowers pressed into it. Even though I am not particularly religious – an agnostic really, and then only on my best days – I knew that the cross was pretty special so I picked it up for about 90 pesos.
After one last pass through the market and the square, we headed off to the hotel to drop off our purchases. At this point, our Fearless Leader, M., lied to us. You see, we were off to the Tepozteco Pyramid, a temple dedicated to the Aztec god of pulque (some kind of fermented drink), fertility, and harvest. Now, M. said it was a hike up the mountain. Ha! That path had a 90 degree incline!* Depending on where you measure from, I made it about 1/3 of the way up the path before I said a few choice words and decided that this was definitely not the activity for me. (Yeah, I need to get in shape before I go to Peru next spring!) As it was, I had a heck of a time getting back to the bottom of the mountain because I didn’t have on my hiking boots and I kept slipping on the rocks. I guess that being a Capricorn really doesn’t make you surefooted and swift when you have short, stubby legs!
I don’t feel too bad about coping out because one of the students on the trip decided that she was too lightheaded to go all the way to the top of the mountain. And then, as I learned later, a second student actually passed out somewhere at the top of the trail. Me? I spent my time in a little outdoor café with two other people drinking cheap (but damned good) beer. Yummy! Later, after everyone made it back down the mountain, the older group went to dinner back on the square in a very pink restaurant. I had this stuffed pepper that was to die for, it was that good. And, of course, we had more beer … seeing how you can’t really drink the water in Mexico. Hey, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
Love and Hugs,
Disenchanted
P.S. Sometime while we were out eating, an American who didn’t know Spanish called the hotel and asked for M. We all thought it was someone from the incompetent travel agent’s office and were really excited. Maybe the buses would show up on time the next day? Yeah, no. It turns out that it was The Coach trying to check up on me. Ha! Maybe he should have studied his Spanish more?
* Later, I looked up the site and found this description: “The climb is steep and arduous (the pyramid is about 600 meters above the base of the valley) and timing for the ascent depends totally upon the physical condition of the climber. It can be muddy and slippery in the rainy season and for many, difficult at the best of times.”
Day 3: Xochicalco
A pyramid at Xochicalco
March 10, 2008: Xochicalco
Dear Grandma,
Today was one of those days where I wished I had paid more attention in my sixth grade history class. You know the class I am talking about – the one that talked about “our American neighbors” and looked at the Aztecs, Mayans, and Incans. Yeah, I was really over my head when we went to Xochicalco because I wasn’t quite sure about the history of the place. I ended up having to look up the site in my Lonely Planet guidebook. Apparently, Xochicalco doesn’t represent one Mesoamerican culture; rather, it synthesized the best (or worst) of the Toltec, Olmec, Zapotec, Mixec, and Aztec peoples. The city came to power around 650 a.d. after Teotihuacan began to weaken. Plus, their “scientists” came together around this time to correlate the calendars of the Zapotec, Mayan, and Gulf Coast peoples.
Let me backtrack, however, to talk about the beginning of our day. It was another early morning Tepoztlan as the dogs and roosters greeted the dawn at the top of their lungs. I staggered out of bed – gimping around on a charley horse that never really went away – and managed to take a shower with hot water. Yeah, the day before I couldn’t figure out which knob was for the hot water and ended up taking a rather, uh, brisk shower. At the time, I thought that the hotel didn’t have hot water (hey, that seemed plausible seeing how I was sans coffee!), but then some of my travel mates noted that the hot water knob was dabbed with red paint. Apparently, I was one of the few early morning risers because the courtyard was pretty empty so I grabbed my camera and climbed to the top of the hotel to take pictures of the sun coming up over the mountains.
After Sunday’s noisy, crowded, animated market, it was a bit shocking to see how sleepy Tepoztlan was this morning. I know this sounds bizarre, but it reminded me a little bit of New Orleans on the day after Mardi Gras. We walked through the town, looking for an open restaurant but didn’t have much success at 9 in the morning. In the end, we went back to the pink restaurant for breakfast and waited while the workers washed down the floors with a hose. By 10 a.m., we were seated and ordering our food. Perhaps it is a good thing that our bus got hung up in the Mexico City because we really weren’t ready to leave for Xochicalco until after 11 a.m.
We sat around the hotel for a while waiting for the bus, but it never came. Or rather, it got to Tepoztlan but it couldn’t get up the road into the town! We ended up taking taxis through town and down a hill to the waiting bus. {This won’t be the only time this happens today, either!} Finally, we had transportation! It was a nice enough bus, even though I was stuck in the bus seat located in front of the chemical toilet. Phew! Fortunately, the ride was short and I was doped up on Dramamine, so the motion sickness monster was kept at bay.
Lazy dog at the Xochicalco museum
Once we made it to the site, we stopped at the museum. You know how that is: all of us girls needed to use the potty before we went running around the rather large historical site. I pee pretty fast, so I went back out and saw an amazing site – a dog taking a nap on the floor in the museum. Now, this is something that you would never see in America (well, except for at the Greyhound Museum, but still). She wagged her tail at me, let me take her picture, and then went outside to sleep in the sun … and avoid the obnoxious visitors.
Shortly after the dog’s departure, M. secured an English speaking guide to take us through the site. I shouldn’t laugh because the guide’s English was much better than my nonexistent Spanish (No hablo español) but he had the funniest pronunciation for the word archeologist. I found myself grinning like a fool every time the word came up – and seeing how this was an archeological site, well, you can imagine how stupid I probably looked. The guide also made us examine the site map carefully because there were some wildfires in the area. I think he was being overly cautious because the fire was pretty far off in the distance and I couldn’t really smell smoke.
Long story short, we spent a ton of time wandering around the site, looking at the pyramids and the ball fields. No, not football fields, although that would have been a good story to bring back to The Coach! This ball game was much more violent, with the winners (or the losers, according to this guy) being sacrificed for the renewal of the earth. It’s a little creepy to think about, especially when you walk across one of the ball fields where all of these men died. We also saw these stunning bas-reliefs along the Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent, as well as a pyramid to their fertility goddess (Phew! I hope all the girls avoided that one!). Honestly, I spent most of my time thinking about how much effort it took to build these cities without the technology we have today. Talk about some serious sweat equity!
At the end of our visit, we went into the Observatory – a “cave” within one of the pyramids – to see the shaft of light which was used to calibrate the different Mesoamerican calendars. Of course, I had to have one of my klutzy moments! When I was trying to turn off my flashlight, I ended up twisting the whole front of it off. It clattered onto the floor and rolled away, making a big old racket during a moment that should have been all solemn and quiet. Yeah, just call me a troublemaker!
We were all hot and hungry when we left the site, so M. persuaded the bus driver to stop at this little store in the town next to the site. Let’s just say that we bought a lot of beer between the 14 of us, and I picked up these really odd lime flavored cookies to eat on the bus. We weren’t allowed to dawdle at the store because we had to get to Taxco and check into the hotel.
More later,
Disenchanted
Day 3, continued: Death Cab from Hell
Santa Prisca, Taxco, Mexico
March 10, 2008: Taxco, Mexico
Dear Grandma,
I don’t think anyone can say that she has been to Mexico until she has experienced the “Death Cab from Hell” experience. If you remember from my note earlier today, our tour group had some serious transportation problems. Mexican cities — especially colonial ones — have narrow streets that keep buses from getting to hotels. Taxco had an additional problem: steep, steep hills. Our chartered tour bus made it into the bottom of Taxco before the driver pulled over and kicked us out. Fortunately, our Fearless Leader M. — with the help of the Spanish Teacher — were able to negotiate for seven cabs to take us up the mountain to our hotel.
I know you’re thinking to yourself, “What the heck? Seven cabs?” Well, Taxco is the land of the VW Bug. Not the new Bugs like we have in the States, but the old fashioned, 1960’s version. When you have 14 Americans who are overpacked, it will take seven cars hold all the luggage, especially when the drivers can’t (0r won’t – I never figured this out) put suitcases in the trunk of the car.
Somehow I ended up in the last cab, feeling like a member of a clown brigade, jammed against my boss … again. {Note: I’m not sure why, but we seemed to be crammed into the same cars for most of this trip. Don’t tell The Coach!} It’s a good thing that Secret is strong enough for a man, because after all the running around at Xochicalco I was pretty damned sweaty … and ended up with a sunburned neck to boot.
So, here I am, wedged into a car that sputters, stutters and spurts, my arm around my boss because there’s simply no other place to put it, hoping that he doesn’t think I’m all fresh and shit, when the cab takes off down a side street. “Okay,” I’m thinking to myself, “Where the hell is this guy going?” For a fleeting second, a kidnapping scene played out in my head (Maybe I’ve seen Man on Fire one too many times?) but that soon gave way to a more valid concern — Did the brakes actually work on this car? You see, the cab was speeding headlong down a vertical road, faster than a roller coaster at Disney World! To be honest with you, I didn’t have a chance to panic until we popped out at the other end of the “shortcut” and by then I was laughing so hard that I nearly peed my pants!
The rest of the evening was sedate compared to that cab ride. It took a while, but we eventually settled into eight rooms at this gorgeous — but a bit run down — hotel. According to M., the hotel had quite the following with movie stars from the 1920s and 1930s. He thought maybe Garbo had stayed there, but he wasn’t certain. As you know, I have a rich fantasy life, so I loved imagining all of these glamorous people waltzing around the hotel, sitting on the balconies, sipping martinis. This sense of history, when added to the view (My God! The view was fabulous!), more than made up for the fact that the hotel only had hot water for about two hours a day.
I guess our group had enough of family togetherness, because we ended up splintering into different factions for dinner. I’m sorry, but I *needed* a shower — even if it was in icy water — before I could eat somewhere civilized. By the time I emerged, only three other people remained: M., the Spanish Teacher, and her husband. With M. leading the way, we headed down into the night to Santa Prisca (where, to put it bluntly, we were obnoxious tourists and walked in during the middle of Mass — oops!) to take in the altars made of gold. After sitting in a side chapel for a while and embracing the soul of the place, we wandered into a little restaurant next to the church and ate on the upper terrace. Honestly, I don’t remember what I had for dinner — it was something with green chile — but I do remember the breeze (warm), the conversation (intriguing), and the Cherries Jubilee (fascinating). We ended up sitting there until the waitstaff kicked us out, then we wandered back to the hotel were the conversation continued into the wee hours of the morning. For the first time in months, I felt relaxed and free, like a real human being instead of an uptight workaholic. At that point, I knew that I was never going to work another spring break again.
More tomorrow,
Disenchanted
Day 4: Silver Stalkers
Taxco, Mexico
Taken from the balcony at the Hotel Victoria
March 11, 2008: Taxco
Dear Grandma,
Today I was stalked through Taxco by a silver salesman. Actually, it wasn’t me that he was stalking — he had realized that I was a cheapskate pretty early in the game. Rather, he was stalking the Spanish Teacher and her husband, hoping to sell them more trinkets from his wholesale shop.
Maybe I should begin this story at, well, the beginning? This morning, I woke up “gently” — no cocks, no dogs, no fireworks — just the sun shining brightly through the doors from the balcony. I made it out of bed and into the still cold shower* well before M. and the boys woke up. In fact, one of our group members had to bang on M.’s door to get him out of bed; apparently, earplugs and face masks really *do* work when traveling! I spent a great deal of time sitting out on my balcony, writing in my journal and taking pictures of the town while I waited for my group to go to breakfast.
It wasn’t until 9 a.m. that the grown ups were ready to eat. We traipsed down the stairs that led from the hotel to the road below {easy enough going down, but a bitch to climb back up at night!}. The streets of Taxco are narrow and there are no sidewalks, so we ended up walking single file, pressing against the wall when the crazy taxi drivers came flying up the hill. I was smart enough to wear my steel-toed Doc Martin’s; if someone ran over my foot, I’d have gotten away with very little damage. {LOL!}
We ended up eating at this little hotel on a square, where I ordered beans and cheese on toast for breakfast. {Weird, I know, but really quite good!} As I was sipping my {still} orgasmic orange juice at a rather leisurely rate, we were approached by our first silver salesman. The guy walked right up to our table, handing around cards for his store (the Plateria Gloria) and offering us “a good deal” if we stopped by. Honestly, it takes a while to get used to that aggressive sales approach {it was a bit like dealing with a used car salesman} but after a while I learned to say “No gracias” while walking past them.
But, back to the Plateria. Yes, our group actually stopped by the store which had some gorgeous pieces, but it was really too rich for my bargain basement pocketbook. M. ended up buying a fabulous piece of jewelry for his wife at that very first store! He has really good taste, but then, he’s an art professor. Maybe he could teach The Coach a thing or two?
Good taste aside, what is it with men buying the first thing they see? The women all looked at the jewelery, tried on the jewelery, talked about the jewelery … and then they moved on to the next store. One of the more affluent members of our group went back later in the day and bought a necklace, but that was after poking around Taxco all day.
It was outside the Plateria Gloria that the big group became two small ones. M. and B. both needed to exchange money; K. wanted to shop for silver; and I wanted to go with K. because she had shown a prowess for bargaining that was unmatched by anyone else in our larger group. While I was waiting with the guys as they attempted to get pesos at a money exchange, I was approached by another salesman — this one from the Plateria Evelyn. He gave me his card and the promise of a 40 percent discount. After the guys were rejected at the window (“No Traveler’s Checks!”), I showed K. the card. So, while the men were off standing in line at the bank (and, if I am remembering this correctly, it actually took two different banks to finally exchange their money), K. and I went shopping.
And this is where the stalking started.
I went through the store, picking out a few things like necklace charms, a bracelet, and cuff links for my new dress shirt. I tried to find a decent bracelet for TQE, but all the men’s stuff was kinda’ crappy (sorry!). In the end, I walked out with the cuff links and a 950 peso silver bracelet that I will probably never wear because I’ll be too nervous about losing it. K., on the other hand, had a huge basket of jewelery when she went to bargain with the salesman. He gave her a pretty high price for the whole batch, so she pulled out some stuff and had him recalculate. Too high? More stuff out of the basket. It went on like this for a while until she finally had a few nice pieces and a very nice price.
Only, the salesman was not done with her. He kept lowering the prices on her rejects and pestering her about it. Finally, she pulled out her money and showed him that she only had 240 pesos left. At this point, the salesman decided that he’d go find her husband and see if he would give her more money.
Yeah, surreal. And incredibly funny.
Here we were, following this crazy silver salesman down the street as he went to the bank to find M. and B. The whole time, I’m just laughing to myself, knowing that this poor sap would never persuade B. to spend more money. Of course, the guys were long gone from the bank. Now, K. and I figured they were in Santa Prisca and headed off that way — only to have this salesman dart into the church before us, looking for the guys. It’s a good thing that he was not very observant. He walked right past M., who was in some very odd position with a camera in his face. Then he walked right past B. who was just sitting in a pew, minding his own business. Phew!
K. and I spent a good deal of time telling B. about our adventure while M. was taking his pictures. Artists! Actually, it was nice and peaceful in the church, even though the feel was much different during the day (more tourists) than the night before. At one point, we got separated because M. and K. went looking for some kind of present for M.’s wife. B. and I stood around for a while, wondering where the hell they were, when another member of our group showed up. We chatted for a while, I took a picture of the little girl wedged into the crevice of the church, and finally the other two came back from their little side trip.
Little Girl & Ice Cream
Santa Prisca, Taxco
We spent the rest of the morning wandering in and out of other shops. At one place, E. (a jewelery designer and adjunct at the University of Sorta’ Cosmopolitan) bought this beautiful necklace — a solid silver jaguar that wrapped around her neck. Now, I could never pull off a piece like that, but she’s artsy, tanned, and blonde and it looked just fabulous on her. I think she had a little heartburn about spending ~ $400 US on it, but it was well-worth it. Me? I bought this darling little lapis dragonfly pin to wear on my new suit (and only then after M. told me I deserved to treat myself).
We also went down into the outdoor market. Again, it’s hard to describe the feel of these places. This one was twisty and twindy, running down narrow alleys and side passages, up stairs and down, with all this stuff for sale — from Rubix Cubes and shoes, to clothing and Mesoamerican Indian masks, to fruits, vegetables, and beans. Since I was two days into the worst charley horse ever known to mankind and since I really didn’t want to take M. up on his offer of valium, I bought bananas to take back to my room.**
The rest of the day was pretty calm, except for the fact that the silver salesman caught up with K. when we came back to the square. He actually stuck his head into our taxi as we were trying to get back to our hotel. Holy crap! Fortunately, we never ran into him again after that. Intead, we met another American at our hotel, a jewelery designer who ended up going to dinner with us. She kinda’ pissed off the kids during dinner, so they took off to go “clubbing.” In a way, I wish I had gone with them because the last hour of her company was a little tedious.
I know, I know, I should be gracious because she did introduce us to a great little restaurant (yummy mole sauce) located on this side street that was so narrow that the cars had to back up to make the corner. {I spent a great deal of time laughing at the car ballet going on outside the door, but then, that could have been the beer …} I know she probably hadn’t talked to another American for a couple of weeks. But, geez, I was tired and verging on crabby and she just kept on ordering wine! It took forever to finally get her out of the restaurant. Ack!
Love and Hugs,
Disenchanted
* It wasn’t until we hit Mexico City that I had a truly hot shower!
** Who knows if it was the five bananas I ate in two days or just time, but the charley horse finally went away when we got to Mexico City. And no, I never did take the valium, althought I seriously thought about it when I nearly fell out of bed because I couldn’t stand on my leg!
Day 5: Military Checkpoint
Armed Guard at the Taxco Bus Station
March 12, 2008: Taxco and Mexico City
Dear Grandma,
Today, I was pulled off a bus at a Mexican military checkpoint. It really sounds more dramatic than it was. You see, we took a public bus from Taxco to Mexico City. Just getting on the bus was hard enough; apparently, Mexico also has its share of incompetent employees. M. had booked tickets for the whole group ahead of time, but the ticket guy at the bus station couldn’t get the authorization numbers to work. I guess he had not seen many people with pre-paid fares before, because it took a call to the central office before they would finally let us board.
While M. and the Spanish Teacher were taking care of the drama at the ticket counter, I was people watching — a habit that I picked up from Grandpa a long time ago. {LOL!} I was amazed by two things: the armed security guard at the station (shown above) and the fact that there was a Mormon Church across the street. I don’t know why, but that church really cracked me up but it just seemed so out of place among the Catholic churches that were all over the place.
We finally made it onto the bus and settled in for what M. had told us was a four hour ride. When the bus driver starts a movie (no subtitles), you figure it’s going to be a long haul. Luckily, I was paired up with M. who has a wicked sense of humor and enough insane stories to match my own — and you know how crazy my stories are! — so the trip didn’t seem very long at all.
So, here we all are, zooming along through the Mexican countryside, chatting away when the bus comes to a toll booth. And that’s where it happened — we were waved into a military checkpoint. A soldier boarded the bus and indicated (in Spanish) that we should get off. M., calm as ever, tells the group to grab their passports and tourist cards, and we disembark from the bus. I kept waiting for someone to look at the passports, but the soldiers seemed more interested in searching the bus for what I suspect were either drugs or guns. Probably guns, in retrospect, because they didn’t have dogs with them.
Your granddaughter must have an odd sense of humor, because I was amused by the whole thing. I mean, I knew they weren’t going to shoot us while we stood on the side of a major highway. It wasn’t like I was hauling around drugs or guns. Hell, the most dangerous thing I had in my luggage was my razor! But, it was exciting and felt a little dangerous, which — quite honestly — was something that really made the day for me. {I know, I know, I’m a weirdo. Let it go!}
After a while, they put us back on the bus and we continued on our merry way. Even with this slight inconvenience, we still made it to the city in under four hours. Once there, M. and the Spanish Teacher had to buy taxi tickets for the whole group, so I left my luggage with J. and went in search of the restroom — where I had to pay 3 pesos to pee! I tell you what, that bathroom was a heck of a lot cleaner than most American bathrooms I’ve been in, so it was well-worth the equivalent of 3 cents to use the facilities. Now, I’m a fast “pee-er” for a girl, but apparently I wasn’t fast enough. When I got back to the group, everyone was already outside at the cabs and poor M. was dragging both my luggage and his outside. Oops. I feel kinda’ bad about that because my big suitcase was loaded with books and articles to work on a paper.*
Anyhow, the luggage gets outside, people are loading up in the taxis, and — because I’m the last woman standing — I end up in the last cab. I think I frustrated the cab driver because he kept trying to make me get into the car and I wouldn’t budge until M. got there. My Spanish is nonexistent, I had no clue about the name of the hotel, and I didn’t even have a map of the city! Hey, I’m fearless, but I’m not stupid. I know the makings of a disastrous situation when I see them. {LOL}
Finally, M. gets everyone sent off to the hotel and we take off in our cab, weaving through the Mexico City traffic, windows down, wind rushing in. I’m hanging onto my hat so it doesn’t blow out the window, trying to take in everything, feeling a bit like the heroine in a 1950s romantic comedy, and laughing like a fool, when I look over to see M.’s butt in the air while he’s digging through his luggage for a map.** Yeah, the seatbelt laws in Mexico are pretty nonexistent, let me tell you. The Zocalo, where our hotel was located, was full of cars and people, so we ended up stuck on a street corner for a while with the cab driver cussing under his breathe (even I know what “mierda!” means).
Love and Hugs,
Disenchanted
* I really should have listened to my inner TQE when I was packing. I kept hearing his voice in the back of my head saying “Disenchanted, don’t pack so much shit! Do you really want to haul that around Mexico?” Plus, both M. and his wife (who didn’t go on the trip) both warned me that I’d never get anything done while I was on the road. Yeah, I’ll know better next time.
** It’s really a good thing he has a cute butt because pretty much every picture I took of M. is of his backside. I swear, it wasn’t intentional. The man walks like he’s on some kind of mission from god that has to be done *right now* while I like to poke along, looking at things, and trying to absorb the culture/feel of a place. In a way, it was a little bit like traveling with TQE (only I don’t have 50 thousand pictures of his butt … )
Day 5, continued: Folklore, Dancing & Tiffany Glass
Mexico City, from my balcony at Hotel Catedral
March 12, 2008: Mexico City, continued.
Dear Grandma,
Tonight I went to the ballet in Mexico City. I haven’t been to a ballet in years, not since The Coach and I lived in Chicago. Originally, I was just going to hang out in my hotel room and relax work on my research paper, but one of the students learned that the Folklórico de México was at the Palacio de Bellas Artes every Wednesday night. Since she was willing to walk down to the box office and buy the tickets, since the tickets were only 400 pesos (about $40), and since I had packed my pretty brown sundress, I decided to join the group. After all, I hauled that dress all the way from Sorta’ Cosmopolitan and I was damned well going to wear it!
Of course, the dress had one small flaw. It had no pockets! I tried to cram my passport and tourist card into the pocket of my demin coat (Mexico City was a little chilly at night), but it just wouldn’t fit. And, even though I’m not a girly-girl, I wasn’t about to wear that ugly money wallet thing around my neck. Plus, I’m not stupid enough to go wandering around a foreign city without ID, so I swallowed my pride embarrassment and asked M. to carry it for me.*
In the end, there were only four of us were were brave enough to stroll around Mexico City at night — two students, M., and me. We headed out on the subway for the Palacio de Bellas Artes (i.e., Palace of Fine Arts) where the ballet was playing. Now, for the record, the students were a bit nervous about taking the subway because someone had told them about a man ejaculating on the foot of a passenger. Then, of course, there is the whole pickpocket issue. In fact, when the students went to get the tickets, they actually walked all the way to the opera house and back! Thank goodness, M. was able to talk them into riding the subway because I’m not sure my feet could have taken another forced march through the city. {LOL}
We emerged unscathed at our stop and walked over to the Palacio. We were a bit early, so M. — ever the artist — tried his damnedest to get us upstairs to see the murals by Diego Rivera. First, he tried to talk one of the ushers into taking us upstairs to see them. When that failed, he spotted an elevator and signaled for us to climb in. We punched the button, and waited. Had a little wishful thinking. Punched the button again. Waited some more. Yeah, that damned elevator just wasn’t going to move. Eventually, we had to give up, so someone punched the button to open the door and we tumbled out into the lobby where a cleaning lady said something to us in Spanish. She was probably chewing us out, but I guess we looked like dumb American tourists, so she didn’t call security on us or anything. Of course, I was having a really hard time trying not to laugh (there’s that weird sense of humor again), so I guess I’m lucky I didn’t get us all in trouble!
In a way, I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see the Rivera murals because apparently there’s a fairly famous one in the Palacio de Bellas Artes. It’s this mural entitled Man, Controller of the Universe and is based on a mural named Man at the Crossroads which was originally painted for New York City’s Rockefeller Center. I guess the Rockefellers didn’t care for the image of Lenin that was in the mural, so Rivera was asked to remove him. When he refused, the whole thing was destroyed. So, Rivera ended up repainting the mural (on a smaller scale) in the Palacio.**
Anyways, what does a good member of the Disenchanted family do when faced with adversity? You know the answer to this one. We go drinking. Luckily, there was a cute little bar in the Palacio, so we took a seat and ordered. Since I was still feeling like a heroine in a 1950’s comedy, I ordered a gin martini. In retrospect, that may have been a mistake because I was feeling pretty darned tipsy when it came time to climb (and climb and climb) the stairs to the galería at the top of the theatre.***
Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the time or the place. Or maybe I have just been so culturally deprived for so long, but that ballet was magical. Not gorgeous (although it was), not well executed (although it was), but magical. The costumes were colorful, the dancing beautiful, the music amazing. At times, I would look up at the shiny walls and watch the reflection of the dancers because it was a bit like looking through a kaleidoscope. I could literally feel the joy bubbling up inside my mind (again, maybe it was the booze?) and I felt … well, I was utterly charmed.
And that was just about the dancing. I was already giddy before the show started because I love architecture. I’m not a fancy expert or anything like that, but of all the arts, architecture is probably my favorite (followed closely by photography). The Palacio is a marvelous building and it has this impressive Tiffany stained glass curtain that depicts the Valley of Mexico, with two snow-capped volcanoes.**** According to this website, the curtain is made up of over one million individual pieces of crystal. It was an impressive thing to see.
Of course, I haven’t even touched upon some of the funnier moments during the evening. When we first climbed up into the cheap seats, I noticed that there really wasn’t much leg room — and I’m one of the shortest women I know. I remember M. whispering something about taking his shoes off after the lights were turned down, but I was so busy drooling over the Tiffany curtain that I didn’t think anything about it. So, you can imagine how amused I was when I looked to my left to see that M. not only had his shoes off, but he also had his legs hanging over the seat in front of him. {Eventually, I did the same damned thing. I mean, it’s not like anyone was sitting in the two rows ahead of us!}
Then, at the intermission, I felt this arm snaking around my shoulders. My first thought was, “What the Hell?” Then I realized it was just S. putting his arm around both me and the girl to his right. As you might be able to tell, S. is a little bit of a flirt. I swear, he spent a good deal of the trip practicing his pick up lines on every woman in the group. Actually, I was entertained by the whole thing which, I suppose, makes me a very bad feminist but the kid was cute and smart and evidently needs the practice if he’s hitting on a cougar like me. {LOL}
So, here’s the kid, with his arms around me and N., when M. looks over and says: “You apparently haven’t seen her husband, have you?”
Yeah, that put an end to the end of his flirting for the rest of the night. Too bad, because it was really doing my ego some good. {SNORT}
Hugs and Kisses,
Disenchanted
* Yeah, I completely forgot that he had my passport until the following day. Hey, at least I remembered before I got to the airport on Saturday morning!
** In retrospect, I remember seeing a movie that talked about the whole Rockefeller fiasco. Wasn’t it called Cradle Will Rock or something like that? Am I remembering the right movie?
*** Yeah, that martini was a hell of a lot stronger than anything you get in the States. Holy crap, I thought I was going to breathe fire when I was drinking it … and I very nearly puked it up when I was climbing those damned stairs. And I’m fairly sure that I didn’t hid my tipsiness all that well, so I’m pretty certain that I looked like a moron. Oh well. It’s a vacation, right?
**** I’d hate to be the poor sap that has to raise and lower the curtain. Could you imagine how horrible it would be if you fucked up and crashed the thing too hard against the floor??? Ack!
Day 6: The Sun and the Moon
Along the Calzada de los Muertos, Teotihuacan
March 13, 2008: Teotihuacan, Mexico
Dear Grandma,
Today, I walked through the City of the Gods. No, I didn’t actually make it to heaven, but Teotihuacan probably comes pretty close. Just getting there was an adventure worth sharing. You see, we had to get 13 people from the center of Mexico City to this archaeological site about 25 miles outside of town. This required taking three subway lines and a bus, which is harder than you might think. Even though we all made it onto the subway at the first stop, we lost four members of the group when we were transferring to the next subway line. Hey, when you are crowded onto a subway train, you have to be aggressive about pushing your way out! Fortunately, the people we lost were pretty savvy — and had written directions — so they were able to catch up with us before we made the final subway connection.
Eventually, we made it to the bus station and loaded onto the bus headed to Teotihuacan. I popped a Dramamine, opened the window wide, and let the air wash over me as we made our way out of town. M. was behind me, talking to me as we went along, so the trip was actually quite enjoyable. Even better was the fact that a guy with a guitar got on the bus at one point and stood in the aisle playing tunes as we rolled along. At different stop, another guy hopped on the bus trying to sell churros. Just chalk that up to things you’d never see in the States!
We arrived at Teotihuacan, paid our fees, and walked into the Ciudadela (the Citadel) where we were surrounded by school children. And, I do mean surrounded! There must have been at least 20 different school groups running around the grounds, each dressed in color-coordinated sweatsuits. They were all so cheerful — and in damned good shape because they hoofed it up and down the stairs of the various temples and pyramids without a second thought. Me, I climbed up the Temple of Quetzalcoatl and those stairs liked to have killed me! The Coach and I used to have double-rise steps in our old rental house in Louisiana and it always bothered me that the stair steps hit me in the back of the knee. These temple stairs were worse. Narrow. Tall. Steep. That fear of falling that cropped up earlier in our trip really came back to haunt me when I had to go back down the stairs — and this wasn’t even a tall temple!
Well, we lost the first two members of our group at the bottom of this temple because they started negotiating with some peddlers. The rest of the group took off down the Avenue of the Dead, aiming for the Pyramid of the Sun. Yeah, I ended up losing them too because I kept stopping to take pictures. Plus, I knew if I climbed that pyramid, I’d probably be touching the face of someone’s god right about now. I figured that I’d end up catching up to them and I was right. All I had to do was look up the pyramid and I could see A.’s bright green shirt blazing against the dull brownish-yellow color of the stone.
I was taking pictures of the group climbing up the pyramid when one of the little vendor guys tried to strike up a conversation with me. “Present for your boyfriend?” he said. I turned around and said “No gracias,” and he must of have seen my wedding ring because then he said, “For your mother-in-law?” I made a face and said, “Yeah, no thanks” — because you know how much my mother-in-law hates me. The guy laughed. “Ah, your sworn enemy.”
It’s amazing how the whole in-law thing transcends cultural boundaries, isn’t it?
Pyramid of the Moon, Teotihuacan
After a while, the group made it down from the (almost) top of the pyramid and we continued down the Avenue of the Dead to towards the Pyramid of the Moon, and somehow lost another chunk of our group. (The kids, they just kept peeling away throughout the day!) I think that the climb up the first pyramid must have tired out the majority of the group because no one acted very eager to scale the second one. That’s too bad because the Pyramid of the Moon seemed like it was the more interesting one. Apparently, this is the pyramid where Chalchiutlicue, the goddess of water, was honored with who-knows-what type of ceremony. Oh well, it’s not like I was going to climb the fucking thing. {SNORT} Yeah, I’m really going to have to get over that fear of falling thing before I go to Peru next year.
Instead of making a second summit, M. directed us over to the Palace of Quetzal-Papalotl where we looked at the carvings on the different pillars. These were of the Quetzal-Butterfly bird figure (one representing the day, another one representing the night). About this time, I got a little lost (in my mind, that is) because there were three temples all grouped together: the Palace of Quetzal-Papalotl, the Palace of the Jaguars, and the Palace of the Feathered Conches. Even after I bought a guidebook at the end of the day, I still couldn’t figure out which one was which. All I know is that I really liked the decorations throughout these buildings. It amazes me that these decorations could still be there, some still in vivid color, after all these years. I mean, Teotihuacan was built around the time of Christ’s birth (at least, that’s what the guidebook says), so we’re talking about a couple thousand years here.
It was just starting to get hot at the site when M. decided it was time to take a lunch break. We hoofed it across the site, out one of the gates, and down a road that skirted along the eastern perimeter of Teotihuacan to get to this restaurant called La Gruta. At the time, it felt like a heck of a hike, but once we got there, I was duly impressed. The whole restaurant is down in this immense cave, nice and cool, with sunlight floating down through a couple of holes in the roof. It must have felt really cold to the other group that was in the restaurant because they were actually wrapping themselves up in the colorful tableclothes!
I ended up ordering a spinach salad, to the chagrin of some of the members of our group. Yes, I know it’s risky to eat raw vegetables in Mexico because you never know what kind of water is being used, but I was dying for something that was not fried or covered in sauce. Plus, I was feeling a little brave because I had eaten a fruit salad the day before and it didn’t send me running for my Imodium. When it came out, the salad was not what I expected. Instead of being a pile of raw spinach, it was a pile of Mexican herbs (I’m not sure what kind) with four small scoops of cooked spinach around the sides of the plate. The herbs were a bit weird, but actually pretty tasty, especially since they were covered in some kind of salad dressing made out of cactus.
My only problem with the restaurant came with the bill. I gave the waiter 200 pesos for a 100 peso bill, fully expecting to get some change so I could leave a tip. Only, the waiter never came back! I sat there and waited. And waited. I was a little pissed, but figured that it wasn’t worth ruining my day over, so I was just going to leave and cut my losses. The boys, however, wouldn’t hear of it. They went after the waiter, then to another person (who I can only assume was a manager), and eventually got my change for me. Chivalry isn’t dead after all. {LOL}
Figurine. Museo de Sitio, Teotihuacan.
After lunch, M. offered to take the group to see some murals in an apartment complex on the other side of the site. I ended up ditching the group and staying behind with J. because I wanted to look through the Museo de Sitio Teotihuacan and the gardens around it. I’m a sucker for museums and plants, what can I say? Plus, I will probably never have the chance to go back to Teotihuacan, so I knew that needed to see the museum on this trip. Let’s face it: Mexico is not very high on The Coach’s list of places to go (and yes, I asked him).
Although the museum was small, it was full of odd figurines, like the one shown above.* I never could figure out what the heck was going on with that one, but it was so weird that I had to take a picture of it. According to the guidebook, the museum supposedly explains the Teotihuacan view of the universe, but seeing how everything was in Spanish, I wasn’t able to learn very much about their gods. Yeah, I am completely a social scientist — I’ve never really had an art history class and, like I said before, my sixth grade history class obviously did not make a lasting impression on me. {You’ll remember that teacher – she’s the one who called me a social retard. Ugh!}
I worked my way through the museum, walking over the glass floor that cut across the model of Teotihuacan. {I’m not sure that I would have been able to get my dogs to walk across that floor. Visually, it really kinda’ led to a cognitive distortion.} J. decided to head back to our meeting point and I set out with him. Soon, however, we decided to part ways because I kept stopping to take pictures of plants, especially these really cool cacti that lined the way. In a way, it was nice to have a little time to myself, just so I could reflect on everything that I had seen so far on the trip. It was peaceful, except for the people who zipped by on bicycles. I’m sure I looked like a real nerd because I practically crawled into the cacti to take pictures. {Don’t worry, I brought my tweezers, but I didn’t need them!}
Taken during my “alone time”
When I got back to the main area of Teotihuacan, three of the students were already there. They were out of water and pretty close to broke, so we just sat there for a while waiting for other people to show up. I did take N.’s shopping advice (he’s the king of t-shirts) and found a pretty decent deal on shirts for my little nephews, along with the aforementioned guidebook (purchased six hours too late). Eventually the other two students showed up and we wandered out to the main gate where we were supposed to meet the rest of the group. Again, we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Soon, a couple of the kids started to head back towards the marketplace at the Citadel where J. was waiting for his wife. It was about that time that the rest of the group staggered up outside the gate because they had been locked out of the site. {Oops!}
We watched a ton of buses go by, each time thinking that maybe this one was the bus back to Mexico City, and each time seeing a bus loaded with school kids. I was beginning to wonder if we had missed the last bus back to the City when it finally pulled up. Going back to the City, the bus ride was pretty uneventful. No churro salesman. No guitars. Just conversation with S. as he practiced some of his B-material on me.
The subway, however, was a whole different story! This guy hopped on the train holding up a portable DVD player that was blaring that old Village People song, YMCA. I was just getting into it (Yeah, there’s my inner nerd showing) when he started shouting out a sales pitch. Hysterical! I have to say that the public transportation on this trip has turned out to be most amusing.
I do, however, really need to point out one thing about riding on the subway. There’s something to be said for being safe, but stupid-safe is a whole ‘nother matter. I made sure that my passport was in my money wallet thingie and I buried all my important stuff (well, the camera) deep in the middle pocket of my backpack. I left my extra money back in the hotel in my locked suitcase. No big deal, right? Well, one of the group members questioned my common sense because I didn’t switch my backpack to the front of my body while riding the subway. WTF? Later, I looked over at the person and she was clinging to her husband with their backpack smashed between them, looking just like a scared American tourist.
Yeah, those are the people that the locals like to screw with. Stupid-safe just ain’t worth it!
Otherwise, the rest of the evening was rather peaceful. Teotihuacan was so damned dusty that I had probably had grit between my teeth, so I took a long, hot shower and brushed my teeth. Looking in the mirror afterwards, I realized that while SPF 50 might keep the sunburn away, it does absolutely nothing for windburn. My nose and chin were a real mess. I’m sure I didn’t look very attractive when we set off for dinner down near the Cathedral.
M. had this place in mind, a patio restaurant at the top of the Hotel Majestic, but it took a while to find it because the Hotel Majestic had been turned into a Best Western or a Holiday Inn, or some other freakin’ chain. We finally found the place, but it had changed. Apparently, it had ambiance two years ago … but the chain ruined it by making it look like every other Best Western / Holiday Inn in North America. Yet, the food was decent and we could see the fireworks that someone was setting off near the airport. Plus, it was amusing to listen to the people behind us as they were pretty hyper about the soccer game that was on the TV.
I managed to talk B., K., and M. into staying up for deserts and nightcaps in the hotel restaurant because I wasn’t really ready to go to bed. Poor Disenchanted. Too old to go clubbing, too young to go to sleep at 9 o’clock. {SNORT} I was really tickled when my “do-it-yourself” gin and tonic came out. Yes, they brought me a glass of ice, a snifter of gin and a bottle of tonic water. I wasn’t the only one who had to make my own drink. S. and J. (a different J.) showed up for dinner and S. ordered Jack and Coke — another assembly job. Really, the only person who didn’t have to fix his own drink was M. and that’s because he drank his rum straight. {Impressive!} Anyways, we sat there gossiping about the fact that one of our group members managed to pick up a Spanish telenovela star in the bar earlier in the day. {Doubly impressive!} You know, this was probably the best part of the day, just sitting around, relaxing, and chatting with people who were likable and interesting and all sorts of funny. I wish that I could find that kind of camaraderie at home.
Kisses and Hugs,
Disenchanted
*There was also a very odd display of teeth, some of which were painted red. Someone told me that teeth were collected by warriors as war trophies. I don’t know if this is true or not and I really don’t have the inclination to find out. All I really wanted to do when I saw the teeth was let out a big girly “EWH!” … And then I took a picture of them.
Day 7: Museums, Markets, and 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.
Day 8: And Now for More Travel Drama!
A sign for Mexico City
March 15, 2008: Mexico City to Louisville
Dear Grandma,
I am beginning to hate the Atlanta airport. Today’s travel saga wasn’t as bad as last Saturday’s, but I have to say that sitting on a regional jet with hail stones pinging off the windows is not my idea of fun. Seriously, I was having so much fun in Mexico that that the thought of coming back to the cold, dreary Midwest was a depressing thought indeed. Mexico was sunny and warm, colorful and exciting, full of new things to see and do — and my travel-mates were freakin’ awesome. The students were well behaved, smart, and funny. The “grown-ups” were amusing and interesting. Our leader was witty, knowledgeable and calm — even when our plans went awry.
I thought about changing my ticket so I could stay a few more days, but in the end, my status as a tenure-track professor brought me to my senses and I set my alarm clock for 3:15 a.m. so I could make my 6 a.m. flight home. Now, as you know from when I was a little kid, I am not a morning person, so when the alarm went off before the sun even came up, I thought about turning it off and going back to sleep. It’s probably a good thing that I packed the night before because even the hot shower didn’t fully wake me up. I’m sure I was a pretty sight when I finally made it down to the lobby with my overstuffed luggage in tow. At least someone else had the presence of mind to make our taxi reservations the night before, so all I had to do was climb into the van when it finally arrived.
Of course, I ended up in the second cab with a driver who could only be described as … confused. M. told him to take us to the airport and the guy asked, “¿Aeropuerto uno o aeropuerto dos?” Yeah, there’s only one airport in Mexico City, so that was a little disconcerting. Eventually, we figured out that he was talking about terminal one or terminal two — not two different airports. We told him that we needed the international terminal, but he ended up taking us to the wrong one. It’s a good thing that M. thought to jump out and check the sign at the Delta gate or else we would have had fun dragging all our shit over to the other terminal!
Anyhow, we finally made it to the right place only to find that the Delta line was longer than one might expect at 4-ish in the morning. Honestly, I thought we might not make it through the line in time to make our flight {Okay, I had my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t make the flight because I really, really didn’t want to leave!} but they moved us up to some kind of expedited line.
While we were waiting, I had to reorganize my luggage because my big suitcase was over the weight limit. Seeing how I didn’t want to spend more money to get it on the plane, I pulled out my extra bag and started stuffing my books and papers into it.* In retrospect, I would have been okay if I had worn my Doc Martins instead of shoving them in my suitcase because those steel toed, lug soled boots are pretty fucking heavy. But, I put them in my luggage because I expected to take my shoes off at the airport (which, incidentally, did not happen).
Pretty soon, it was just me and M. — who wasn’t taking the flight, but wanted to make sure that none of the travelers had trouble with their tickets — waiting in line. So, we’re standing there when this guy walks up and leaves his luggage sitting next to us. Now, remember, I am not a morning person and I had yet to have a cuppa, so I wasn’t thinking clearly when I said this next thing: “Holy crap, I hope there’s not a bomb in that suitcase.”
Oops.
Now, I suspect that if we were in an airport in the United States, I would have been in a world of hurt, because someone would have overheard me and security would have dragged my ass out of line. We’re completely anal about that kind of crap, especially when the TSA security guidelines are nothing more than a front to give people a false sense of security. I mean, one of the kids on our trip lost his pocket knife to the Mexico City security … a pocket knife he didn’t even realize he had with him because the knife made it through the security check in Louisville. Luckily, though, this was the Mexico City airport and my bomb comment went unheard by everyone except M. who gave me a weird look and told me, quite nicely, to shut up.
Eventually, I made it to the ticket counter (I was stuck in a middle seat all the way to Atlanta because the flight was full and he couldn’t move me), through immigration and security, and to the gate. Thank the goddess that M. gave me a face mask and earplugs, because I was able to sleep most of the way to Atlanta. Really, the only horrible aspect of this flight was that they were only serving eggs in their airborne breakfast. Eggs? Seriously? Let’s just ask for food poisoning, shall we? Obviously, I opted for the fruit and yogurt … then watched the flight attendance say rude things to the people in front of me. Yeah, she was damned incompetent; she actually spilled milk all over the woman in front of me! Nasty!
When we got to Atlanta, I ate a pretty bad burger in a pretty bad restaurant where they wouldn’t take my $100 bill so B. had to pay for me. Oops. Don’t worry, I’ll just settle up with him later, seeing how he’s an adjunct at our school. Of course, Atlanta was having bad weather — it had just been hit by a tornado on Friday and it seemed like nature was taking a second stab at the city — so the airport was crammed full of people and we ended up sitting on a nasty, nasty floor. At least our plane was able to load on time … at least that seemed like we were making progress. I mean, the Girls’ Golf Team from our University was actually stuck in the airport (with half of them flying back the following day!), so we were lucky, or so I thought.
Hopped on the plane. Got all settled in. Pulled out the sleeping mask and prepared to nod off. And then we got stuck on the runway. Again. They loaded us up into a regional jet, put us out on the runway, and closed the airspace. We sat on the plane for 2 1/2 hours before the hail stopped and we could take off. We had the worst weather on our travel days, I swear!
Well, we made it home alive and now I’m planning my next spring break trip: Peru.
Love and Hugs,
Disenchanted
* Yeah, it was raining at both the Atlanta and Louisville airports and my extra bag was not waterproof, so I lost a notepad and a couple of articles to the elements. Blah! I’m just thankful that I didn’t put anything really valuable in that bag!
[...] Disenchanted, World Explorer [...]