Ode to Mexico City, D.F. (day-efay)
I am no longer afraid.
This urban beast, the capital of my beloved Mexico, the virtually unavoidable axis used to intimidate me. It is enormous, dirty and dangerous.
But now, it is mine.
Mexico City is a cacophony of contradictions.
It is the capital of corruption and culture.
A city where education and ingenuity mirror a poverty of wealth, where Mexican affection rubs a rough urban edge.
D.F., the mega-complex, where EVERYTHING, ANYTHING and NOTHING happen all in the same momento, en una vez.
It has been called a parasite; sucking water, resources, clean air and people from far and wide.
It is the haven, they say, of crime, kidnapping and piracy. It is dirty, smelly and raw.
At the same time, it is a relic, a living museum, a defining piece of world history over 700 years old.
Mexico City, the center of two once great, prospering empires built one atop of another.
The Spanish smothering the Aztec.
Zocálo atop Plaza Mayor.
Cathedral atop temple.
Palacio atop palace.
Beautiful buildings built from bloodshed now sit sinking on their uneven foundations as the new Mexican market, the new Mexican empire struggles as it flourishes.
D.F. is a literal, metaphorical and physical feast for the senses and it is all about la venta, the sale.
The grey, smog-stained structures erupt with color at street-level: red, blue, yellow, green, a rainbow of tarps, umbrellas and make-shift markets.
You can buy anything in this city in a store or on the street, en la calle.
The street is usually quicker, cheaper and more crowded than the stores, anything you can think of and a couple of things you never imagined are pesos away and around every corner.
Silence is the only elusive commodity. Between car horns, whistles, cat-calls, sirens and sing-songy street vendors, "¡Apesoapesoapeso! ¡Barabarabara! ¡Paselepaselepasele!" hawking their wares.
One may think to escape to a church or cathedral to find a reverent noiselessness, but here in Mexico, faith and prayer have a permeating whisper all their own.
D.F. is fumes, food and sewer.
It is a place for the tolerant and the forgiving.
Mexico City must be forgiven for its filth and feo-ness, so it may be awed and admired for its pride and grace.
I am no longer afraid.
This urban beast, the capital of my beloved Mexico, the virtually unavoidable axis used to intimidate me. It is enormous, dirty and dangerous.
But now, it is mine.
Mexico City is a cacophony of contradictions.
It is the capital of corruption and culture.
A city where education and ingenuity mirror a poverty of wealth, where Mexican affection rubs a rough urban edge.
D.F., the mega-complex, where EVERYTHING, ANYTHING and NOTHING happen all in the same momento, en una vez.
It has been called a parasite; sucking water, resources, clean air and people from far and wide.
It is the haven, they say, of crime, kidnapping and piracy. It is dirty, smelly and raw.
At the same time, it is a relic, a living museum, a defining piece of world history over 700 years old.
Mexico City, the center of two once great, prospering empires built one atop of another.
The Spanish smothering the Aztec.
Zocálo atop Plaza Mayor.
Cathedral atop temple.
Palacio atop palace.
Beautiful buildings built from bloodshed now sit sinking on their uneven foundations as the new Mexican market, the new Mexican empire struggles as it flourishes.
D.F. is a literal, metaphorical and physical feast for the senses and it is all about la venta, the sale.
The grey, smog-stained structures erupt with color at street-level: red, blue, yellow, green, a rainbow of tarps, umbrellas and make-shift markets.
You can buy anything in this city in a store or on the street, en la calle.
The street is usually quicker, cheaper and more crowded than the stores, anything you can think of and a couple of things you never imagined are pesos away and around every corner.
Silence is the only elusive commodity. Between car horns, whistles, cat-calls, sirens and sing-songy street vendors, "¡Apesoapesoapeso! ¡Barabarabara! ¡Paselepaselepasele!" hawking their wares.
One may think to escape to a church or cathedral to find a reverent noiselessness, but here in Mexico, faith and prayer have a permeating whisper all their own.
D.F. is fumes, food and sewer.
It is a place for the tolerant and the forgiving.
Mexico City must be forgiven for its filth and feo-ness, so it may be awed and admired for its pride and grace.
I have come to love this megalopolis. It is not as dangerous as everyone says.
Mexico City is fun, welcoming and easy. The list of things-to-do can go on forever.
The Metro is well-organized and extremely easy to use. Be smart, skeptical, yet trusting of taxis.
Remember a lot of life is about luck and horror stories are usually just that...stories.
STAY at Hostel Amigo (www.hostelamigo.com) it is a wonderful hostel with lovely common areas, TV, bar and pool table. There is also a nice hotel next door to Hostel Amigo called Hotel Isabel. They have private rooms with TV and a shared bathroom for $140 pesos a night. If you can stay there you can still hang out in the bar at Hostel Amigo. It is very fun.
Also, at the Zocálo, next to the cathedral is a Tourist Information booth. They speak English and have all kinds of free maps, including a color Metro map.
There is so much to do in Mexico City you may actually want to come back for more in spite of itself...pinche ciudad desmadrosa y hermosa.
I HEART D.F.
1 comment:
Beautifully written. Thank you for taking us with you.
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