Mexico City
Anyone who doesn’t believe in teleporation has never taken 2 mg of Xanax before an international flight.
Danny dropped me off at LAX a few hours before I was scheduled to depart. 11:59 pm direct flight from Los Angeles to Mexico City. I woke up from my air-slumber when we touched down at Benito Juarez Intl. at 5-something in the morning, just before the sunrise.
Landed. Dark. Quiet. My favorite time of day. Before the world begins, when most are still sleeping and few are grudgingly crawling out of bed. I grabbed a cab from the airport to the Terminal Autobuses Norte – $300 pesos (about $30 USD) as my Spanish skills rather limit my negotiation abilities. I tipped him $20 pesos- a bill I grabbed from off the wall in my bathroom, a makeshift decoration I added after a random late night trip to Tijuana for tacos and cheap Tecates. He blessed himself, twice, while holding the bill tightly in his hand.
Gate 8 held the buses to Teotihuacan, a mere $36 (3.60 ish USD) ride, which is funny as it’s about 25 miles outside of town. I appreciate the bus prices. I unapprecaite the cab prices. But I digress.
The sun had still not risen, and only started to make its appearance when we were well on our way. The countryside was beautiful… fields, animals grazing, people slowly starting their day.
Dropped off near the entrance to Teotihuacan. I caught a glimpse of the Pyramid of the Sun out of the corner of my eye as the bus pulled to a stop in front of a tree blocking the view. I departed, I walked to the entrance (it’s somewhat of a national park for lack of a better term. You pay for a ticket, there are some vendors on the walk up, but the city itself remains untouched).
A little yellow dog was at the entrance. He came running as soon as I smiled and signaled that it was ok, that I would love him. As he flopped at my feet I realized he was a she, and I pet the fuck out of her for a few minutes. She walked me a bit farther and then went back to her friends, the 2 kind men who worked at the entrance.
The Pyramid of the Sun is like that incredibly attractive, intense person that you want to know everything about but can’t bring yourself to look directly in the eye due to the overwhelming feelings you have when you are anywhere near them. The city was slowly being lit, hot air balloons dotted the horizon, Dark Side of the Moon blared in my headphones. I had the place to myself, which prevented me from having to explain why I was getting misty-eyed as fuck as I tried to wrap my mind around even a small, miniscule part of what I was seeing.
I was filled with images of a thriving city, of 100,000 people filling the streets, building these great monuments, climbing their summits and offering praise to their gods and praise to the cosmos above that they were just beginning to understand. I imagined children playing, prayers, discussions about the world they lived in, plans for the future and memories of the past.
In front of me, at the end of a long freshly made red-gravel road, looming in front of the rising sun, stood the Pyramid of the Sun.
(picture from later in the afternoon- don’t mock my sun placement)
I took a look around… standing in front of this beast, looking at the smaller but not to be discounted Pyramid of the Moon to the left. I tightened up my backpack straps, took a deep “I smoke too much weed” breath and started my climb.
The steps were precarious, with guide-ropes to help you on your way. The morning mist left a shiny film behind, adding to my wall-scaling adventure. Once at the top, I met eyes with hot air balloons passing by, as I laid on my back and stared at the sun, imagining what the original creators of this were thinking when they stood in the very same place.
Breathtaking. Sprawling city limits, trees, grass met my eyes at each turn. The Pyramid of the Moon off in the distance, asking me to climb its stairs as well.
Wandered around for a bit longer, touching the stones that made up the city, watching my footsteps, still unable to truly grasp where I was. Just a few hours earlier I was in Venice Beach, starting another chilly evening (by LA standards). Now, I was alone in an ancient city, a thousand miles away.
The sun continued to climb in the sky. Hoodie was removed and stored in my backpack, sunglasses shielding my eyes (mostly from the flocks of noisy tourists that were trickling into the city).
I felt satisfied, for now, knowing that I would be back to spend more time in this wonderful place. I walked back down the gravel path, turning around every now again to meet eyes with the pyramid, only to turn away, like a shy child. See you soon, pal.
Once outside of the park, a group of young men greeted me, asking me to eat at their restaurants. We quickly became friends and chatted about Converse, skateboarding and facebook, all while the Pyramid watched us quietly from the horizon.
They pointed me in the direction of the correct bus back into Mexico City, and I was on my way.
About half way back to the city, our bus stopped at a make-shift bench in the middle of the country. A man and a woman in “Securidad Privita” uniforms were waiting, and all of the men on the bus got off. No one spoke, no one looked at all surprised. In fact, no one’s demeanor even slightly changed. A routine to them, perhaps?
The man and the woman boarded the bus. Without speaking they looked in everyone’s bags, and patted each of us down. I obliged- my broken-spanish questioning would be far from helpful at this point. Satisfied with their search, the men returned to the bus and we continued on our way.
Mexico City. I hop off the bus with a majority of the riders, on a random corner somewhere. Called up a friend of a friend using the few coins I had in my pocket, half-assed a conversation (he speaks English like I speak Spanish), accomplished little and hung up. Fuck it, let’s ride the subway.
I found what appeared to be the city center on the map, plotted my course and hopped on. Very similar to NYC- packed, expressionless faces, quiet. Kids with headphones, people going work, errands. Echoes of the mundane. Hopped off at Juarez station.
Walked around for bit. Took in the scenery. Wide streets, blazing sun… people going about their day, uninterested in much else. Vendors (saw a Donovan McNabb jersey. You’re still a dick, but nice to see you here). Internet Cafe’s. Taco stands, bootleg cd’s.
Headed to a few hotels I saw on the way, got some prices and settled on the Hotel Casa Blanca, a nice spot with much-needed wireless internet. My phone was non-working in Mexico, but I had wanted to link up with some friends of friends. Checked in and made a few arrangements for that evening, took one hell of a power nap, and then went back out to explore.
A few hours later, after (kinda) getting tacos, roaming, and crossing an Animal Rights march, I headed back to the hotel. Tried to get ahold of these friends of friends I was to link up with, but ended up with busy signals and non-replies.
What to do? To the Internet!
Google advised me to check out Zona Rosa for the nightlife, which was convieniently only a few blocks from my hotel. I decided to try my luck with Mexico City’s dress codes (I wear the same shit every day, take my cut off shorts and hoodies or fuck off kindly) and explore the local club scene.
First stop- El Scary Witches bar, what appeared to be a tiny goth club, with pentagram-clad customers straddling bar stools and industrial concerts being projected onto the far wall. I had a Corona, listened for a bit, then continued on my way.
Found a delightful spot called (yes) “The Pussy Bar”. Had a Sol beer… then another, then about 5 more.
It’s about 10:00 PM, and I’m hammered. Alone. In Mexico City. Awesome!
Made a few half friends who all received my “Lo siento, soy de Estados Unidos. Hablo un poco Espanol” speech, followed by “No comprendo” to damn near everything they said in return. I ended up simply replying “Bailar!” and dancing to “Every Day I’m Shufflin (I guess they do not hustle here?)” which seemed to play every other song out of some club.
Danced. Spun around. Smoked a few cigarettes. Grabbed a cab back to my hotel and passed the fuck out.
—
Woke up confused. Anxiety usually strikes me at random occasions- like when I’m fucking sleeping. What I could possibly be thinking about to cause me to bolt up in bed, breathing heavy and sweating is beyond me. Once I realized where I was (lol), I calmed down a bit. My flight left at 8pm, and I had to check out by 1. Had some time to chill.
At the city square by where I was staying was a motor cycle rally- hundreds of bikes, clubbers, and on lookers.
I grabbed a sandwhich from Subway and took a seat against a wall in a quiet section of the park. Threw on my headphones, listened to Bun B and Jodeci over and over again and felt the ground rumble from the steady stream of bikes that were turning the corner and passing by my base.
A small girl on a Barbie bike was learning how to balance, while here brother, still on his training wheels, sped by. The girl’s mother held the back of her seat while she burst into tears of frustration. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her she’ll get it and never have to learn it again, and will be soaring the streets with her friends in no time. “Que” doesn’t seem to convey that, so I kept quiet. I really need to learn more Spanish.
I thought about my mom alot, when she taught me to ride a bike… about all the places she wanted to visit, and how amazing (albeit crazy) she would think my trip was. Especially the motorcycles- despite never owning one, she loved them. She’d think this was neat. I like to think she can see it through me, somehow. I dunno.
After thinking I killed a few hours, but only inched forward about 40 minutes, I decided to take a walk. Passed by a Museum, and since I’ve been to literally none in LA (or in Philly before I moved for that matter), I walked inside. “Gratis” the door man said, I checked my bag, and snapped a few pics before being told to stop doing something by someone. Fuck if I know.
Stumbled upon a church shortly after- first time inside one of those since my grandma passed a few years ago. Felt weird.
Pondering trying to score some Xanax in a local pharmacy, but, I kinda look like a narc here (a very tall narc- sup short people in Mexico) so I passed on that idea. Decided instead to start heading to the airport- to see if I could make it there on the subway. I found a street that had the same name as the airport, figured it was as good a guess as any, and went on my way.
Normal subway shit occurred. People asking for money, talking loudly, trying to sell candy and gum. Somewhere on the brown line, though, a young man stepped onto the train. He had a cloth with him, and wrapped in this were pieces of broken glass. He flopped it down onto the floor of the train and did a somersault on top of it. His skin was full of scars, forming a pattern across his back, some healed, some healing and some fresh and open. He sat close to me, spoke to others. One cross eye. I dropped my sunglasses in front of him and he kindly picked them up for me before he left the train without saying anything in my direction. I wonder about his story, what his mind thinking, how he got to that point where we crossed paths.
Airport. I see it from the train. I blindly try to follow street signs meant for cars to walk there, but end up lost in a maze of white mini-buses, shacks for houses, sidewalks wide enough for half a person and random strangers asking me if I want to “smoke weed” (some of the first english I’ve heard all trip). I decline- deciding against spending any time in Mexican jail (shout out to the first close call at Mexicali a few years ago. Fuck drug dogs).
A taxi driver is nice enough to take me to the Banco to get money out for the short ride, as I was down to my last few pesos. I get to the terminal and melt into the air conditioning inside.
4 hours and one nicely-hidden nervous breakdown later, I’m in the air. I feel charged, refreshed… and with purpose. I read a book a friend recommended me, I listen to Bun B and Jodeci (still). I don’t sleep much at all in this direction, and honestly, I don’t want to. The last 24 hours seemed like weeks to me, but now it was coming to an end, a 1,000 foot decent at a time.
Once landed, the woman next to me blessed herself. My trip started (cab driver) and now ended with a prayer. We took a bus across the airport to the International terminal. We were just a few feet from planes landing, taking off… night time silence pierced by roars of jet engines, darkness broken by flashing lights lining the strips. I wanted to stay here, in my headphones, watching this symphony. It reminded me of long drives on the east-coast interstates, weaving in and out of lanes carrying lonesome truckers chasing delivery deadlines.
Danny picked me up and I shared some stories of my trip. We made loose plans to go back, to do a “real” trip in which his local friends can guide us and I can see more of the city. I agree and am excited, but am glad I got to explore on my own, even if only for a few hours.
My mind is already on the next adventure as the start of my workweek approaches on the clock on my microwave. Brasil? Japan? We shall see… hopefully soon.
-keen