El Vago en Suramerica

I appologize for not updating more frequently. Im currently at a big hostel in Mexico City which offers free internet, and I never could have guessed how much of a curse free internet can be. Lines develop, and as there are only 3 computers but over 100 guests, you feel guilty using it for more than about five minutes. Here goes…

Esmeralda couldn`t come to Mexico City. What I didn`t write before is that she has a kid, and here family comes before anything. Her mother was also living at her house, and she was apparently quite angry when Esmeralda got home at 6 AM on Saturday; she was extremely opposed to Esmeralda making the trip to the city. Therefore, I took a bus. We definitely knew all along that our relationship would be temporary. I am not ready to be a father, and I think that she isn`t ready to come into the open about a relationship with somebody 13 years younger than her. It`s all good, but I miss her a lot. Since that time I haven`t really gone for any girls, nor had much of an interest in chasing girls. It will all come back soon enough, though. Don`t worry.

Mexico City is a wild place. I spent my first night here with a friend of my host sister in Guanajuato, in the neighborhood of Polanco. Polanco is a very nice, elegant, rich, and boring neighborhood, but it was nice to have some time to relax. Unfortunately I arrived exhausted just in time for a Halloween party, and for the first time on my trip I didnt have the energy to go out and meet the people there. In addition, almost everyone at the party was a couple, which made me feel a bit left out.I went to bed early that night, but I think i really needed the rest.

At this point, I should elaborate on an important system of classifying people here in Mexico. A Fresa is someone who is stuck up, thinks they are classy, has lots of money, is phony, materialistic, into style, a girly-girl type (though it can apply to guys as well). A Naco is someone who is low-class, from the “barrio,” wears shitty clothes, is cheap, and listens to ranchera music. There are certain places in each city associated with Nacos and Fresas: expensive pop-music dance clubs are usually Fresa, while cantinas are fairly Naco. There are even differences in vocabulary: to say “cool,” Fresas say “padre” and Nacos say “chido.” One of my teachers in Guanajuato was a straight-up Naco, and for the most part the people i met absolutely despised Fresas. Some of my teachers, as a matter of pride, would never set foot in some clubs in the city, not even with loads of friends. Because I became so close with my teachers, and because of the way I live, I also found myself fairly resentful of the Fresas. This party in Polanco, however, was all-out Fresa. I probably could have stayed for a while in that house, free of charge, if I had wanted. Staying in a house with Fresas, in a neighborhood full of Fresas, going to Fresa restaurant and learning Fresa vocabulary was most definitely not what I wanted to do with my time in Mexico City, so I left as quickly as possible.

The next afternoon I came over to the historic center, which immediately seemed far more interesting and exciting. The Zocalo, the main square in the center of the city, is gorgeous and always packed with people. In the streets around the hostel are immense markets and more museums than Ive ever seen. I walked around, and got a sense for the city center, for the atmosphere of the place and the layout of the streets. That night I went out with two kids from Seattle, a guy and a girl. We took a taxi to the Zona Rosa, the clubbing center of the city. Unfortunately most of the clubs were closed, as it was Sunday, so we found ourselves in some bar watching an all-girl band sing some rock. Two Mexicans there started talking to us, so we had a bit of a conversation. They seemed interesting enough. After a short time, they came with us to another bar with a small dance floor. The other guy and I danced a bit, but the two Mexicans spent a lot of time dancing with the girl. One of them wouldn`t stop making out with her, so we decided we had to leave. One of the Mexicans offered us a ride in his car, but at this point he seemed rather sketchy so I rejected the offer. On the street, a guy invited us into a strip club with table dancing. Very drunk, we decided it would be an interesting experience; ive never been to a strip club before. Soon after entering, though, we found that the girl`s wallet had been stolen, almost certainly by those sketchy Mexicans. The other guy with us ran out to try and find the wallet, and I sat tight. Some of the strippers came over, and they asked the girl with us to go up on stage with them. Frustrated and drunk, she agreed. It was quite a scene. There are usually a stripper or two on the table, but this time there were about ten, with my companion, and on the stage they were pulling off her clothes, and they were all dancing with her, and though it was disturbing in many ways, it was touching in many others. Suddenly the girl from Seattle shared something intimate, some deep understanding with these strippers. I imagine it was fun for all involved. Shortly after our other companion got back to the club, we left and got a taxi back to the hostel.

Maybe it isnt quite as exciting, but on Monday I walked to the main market, which is extremely impressive. It is the biggest market in the Americas, but even this description can`t do justice to the absurd mass of humanity that makes up the Mercado la Merced. I then went WAY south, to a neighborhood called Iztapalapa, where I climbed Cerro de la Estrella, a big hill and national park that offers a phenomenal view of the city. Even 10 miles south of the center, looking in the direction away from downtown, the city seems to stretch forever. At the top of the hill are Aztec ruins and a big cross, where every easter an enormous spectacle is held attracting 5 million spectators. As I gazed out over the view, a runner came over the crest of the pyramid and began doing laps at the top. He began talking to me, asking me where I was from and what I thought of Mexico. As it turns out, this man was about 55-60 years old, and he had been running for 5 hours. He told me that he runs 1.5 hours daily, and lives below in Iztapalapa. He gave me his phone number in case I ever need anything, and even offered to go running with me. I was ashamed to tell him I wouldnt be able to keep up. The way in which this man addressed me, full of all good intentions and offering the utmost hospitality, I found quite inspiring.

Yesterday I went on a hostel-led tour of the Anthropology Museum, which is spectacular. We saw only about 3 rooms of the some 20-odd rooms in the museum, and I still felt almost overhwhelmed. I then went with an Israeli to an art museum near the hostel.

Last night was the principal time for Day of the Dead ceremonies, so I decided to go with some people from the hostel to a cemetery in the town of Mixquic, to the south of the city. I was told that we could take the metro to a certain stop, where a bus would be running all night to the town. When we arrived at the metro station, however, there was no busses heading to Mixquic. We had to take taxis, so we agreed on a price to take us there, wait for us for an hour, and then take us back to the Zocalo in the center. The taxi ride was far longer than expected, and one german girl with us was freaking out. I was sitting in the front, chatting with the taxi driver the entire way, as she begged me to ask him, over and over again how far the town was and whether we were going the right way and if he was actually going to wait for us. I usually just laughed, and continued my conversation, but sometimes the driver and I would giggle as I asked him for the sixth time how much more time we had. We eventually did get there, and there were tons of people packing on street. We walked through to the cemetery, where the gates were closed and there was a big line of people. After about 20 minutes there, a policeman told us that the gates wouldnt open until 7 AM. Frustrated, we walked ahead hoping for a viewpoint, but even that was roped off. 10 minutes later, at about 3:25 AM, the gates were opened, so we rushed into the cemetary to see whatever the spectacle was all about. The cemetary itself was very pretty, and the gravestones usually had some flowers on them, but there was nothing spectacular at all. We looked around, and left after several minutes. There was an impressive Aztec dance going on, so we watched that for a little while, but we soon had to rush back to the taxis. We arrived back at the Zocalo at about 4 AM. All in all, it was a bit of a disappointing trip, but I did very much enjoy my conversation with the taxi driver. It was an adventure, and thats all that matters.

Peace, love, and all that shit.
Dan

Tags: Mexico

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 2nd, 2005 at 11:23 am and is filed under Mexico. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.