While Saturday took me out the pride of vanished city on the far reaches of the metropolis, Sunday saw quite the opposite. El Bosque de Chapultapec is like Central Park and the National Mall wrapped into one, a vast forest near the center housing the great cultural institutions of the nation. At the original origin of la Reforma (now one of the critical bend in that thorughfare) I was surprised to find the monument to los defensores de la patria 1846-47. I do not recall any monuments in Washington to los invasores de aquel patria 1846-47, but then again, I suppose Manifest Destiny is monument enough.
Just beyond this monument is la loma de chapultapec, from which el bosque derives its name. El bosque is too heavily wooded (hence the name) to have really affored me a picture from the foot of the imposing incline. One can see why the Aztecs made temporary home on this hill when they were still a struggling transitory people in the days before they built an empire from the swamps of Lake Tezcoco. One can also see why los niños héroes could resist for so long the onslaught of the US marines in one of their less glorious endeavors. Today the hill is home to more peaceful, colorful residents.
The scars of battle are invisible today thanks in large part to the fact that Maximillian I also chose this as his residence in one of the few (if only?) instances of a native monarchy in the New World since the arrival of Cortes and Pizzarro. Although short lived, Max really made this place a palace, taking full advantage of the splendid views.
Just outside el bosque their is obvious reference to both the talud-tablero and the colorful natural flaura. Witness Sr. Legoretta's 1971 Hotel Camino Real, replete with 6 up-scale restaurants, a full convention hall, and lots of keys to keep track of. And of course a hefty, fairly regular bill for services rendered by los pinturas.
Back within el Chapultapec and conciously devoid of hue, el Museo Runfino Tamayo is an exceptional surprise. The architects Teodor González de León and Abraham Zabludovsky made concious reference to the talud-tablero, but without the superficial formal play that disregards serious attention. No, here is serious effort on the part of Modernism to utilize the spirit of a tradition (in this case, the 'floating' nature of indeginous Mexican architecture) manipulated by a lack of faith in gravity and spatial certianty (i.e. the X plane turned 90 degrees to become the Z plane).
The collection was unimpressive, being about 2/3 temporary exhibition space (in this case, an exhibition of Chicano art) , 1/4 semi-temporary collection space, and the rest being devoted to the large atrium which serves to both justify the formal solution and give a reason to it's formal reference to tradtional Mexican architecture.
After a brief jaunt at the Tamayo, I headed for the adjacent Nacional Museo de Antropolgia. Along the way I happened upon a demonstration by los Voladores de Papantla. It must be great to just hang out all day....
What I said then and still say now: WOW!
And then there were these guys, mystical and exotic, but not demanding the same kind of astonishment.
The big umbrella covering half the courtyard of the Museum of Anthropolgy did, however, elicit an uncontrollable, audible WOW as soon as I saw it in person. My friend Julian's sketches had given it life in my imagination all those years ago, but never had I realized just how impressive it was...
But then there was the collection: certainly the most complete history of a civilization(or rather civilizations) I have seen anywhere. Terminating the main axis (for all it's Modern heroics, this is a classically disposed building) is the Sun Stone. Mistakenly interprested to be a calendar, it is in fact a more religious than secular piece meant to give some certainty about the actions of a region blessed and cursed respectively by too much and too little (none for many months) rain.
Fertility also must have been at the forefront of the concerns of the Mexica. Indeed, it's nothing of which to be ashamed.
I vaguely recall this guy from one of the installments of Super Mario Brothers.
Just beyond this monument is la loma de chapultapec, from which el bosque derives its name. El bosque is too heavily wooded (hence the name) to have really affored me a picture from the foot of the imposing incline. One can see why the Aztecs made temporary home on this hill when they were still a struggling transitory people in the days before they built an empire from the swamps of Lake Tezcoco. One can also see why los niños héroes could resist for so long the onslaught of the US marines in one of their less glorious endeavors. Today the hill is home to more peaceful, colorful residents.
The scars of battle are invisible today thanks in large part to the fact that Maximillian I also chose this as his residence in one of the few (if only?) instances of a native monarchy in the New World since the arrival of Cortes and Pizzarro. Although short lived, Max really made this place a palace, taking full advantage of the splendid views.
Just outside el bosque their is obvious reference to both the talud-tablero and the colorful natural flaura. Witness Sr. Legoretta's 1971 Hotel Camino Real, replete with 6 up-scale restaurants, a full convention hall, and lots of keys to keep track of. And of course a hefty, fairly regular bill for services rendered by los pinturas. 
Back within el Chapultapec and conciously devoid of hue, el Museo Runfino Tamayo is an exceptional surprise. The architects Teodor González de León and Abraham Zabludovsky made concious reference to the talud-tablero, but without the superficial formal play that disregards serious attention. No, here is serious effort on the part of Modernism to utilize the spirit of a tradition (in this case, the 'floating' nature of indeginous Mexican architecture) manipulated by a lack of faith in gravity and spatial certianty (i.e. the X plane turned 90 degrees to become the Z plane).
The collection was unimpressive, being about 2/3 temporary exhibition space (in this case, an exhibition of Chicano art) , 1/4 semi-temporary collection space, and the rest being devoted to the large atrium which serves to both justify the formal solution and give a reason to it's formal reference to tradtional Mexican architecture.
After a brief jaunt at the Tamayo, I headed for the adjacent Nacional Museo de Antropolgia. Along the way I happened upon a demonstration by los Voladores de Papantla. It must be great to just hang out all day....
What I said then and still say now: WOW!
And then there were these guys, mystical and exotic, but not demanding the same kind of astonishment.
The big umbrella covering half the courtyard of the Museum of Anthropolgy did, however, elicit an uncontrollable, audible WOW as soon as I saw it in person. My friend Julian's sketches had given it life in my imagination all those years ago, but never had I realized just how impressive it was...
But then there was the collection: certainly the most complete history of a civilization(or rather civilizations) I have seen anywhere. Terminating the main axis (for all it's Modern heroics, this is a classically disposed building) is the Sun Stone. Mistakenly interprested to be a calendar, it is in fact a more religious than secular piece meant to give some certainty about the actions of a region blessed and cursed respectively by too much and too little (none for many months) rain.
Fertility also must have been at the forefront of the concerns of the Mexica. Indeed, it's nothing of which to be ashamed.
I vaguely recall this guy from one of the installments of Super Mario Brothers.
And you may remember this Olmec ego from the Simpson basement,
After the museums closed I was compelled by wanderlust and a knowing curiousity about a hotel in Polanco. So in Polanco I found the Distito's answer to the Upper East side: posh, glitzy, and dull. The aforementioned hotel did provide me with a surprisingly delicious glass of Baja California red (a small carafe for only 80 pesos). As I sat appreciating the architecture of that modest modern gem in the company of 3 wait staff and another American preoccupied by his wireless and a salad, I pondered how there can be so many restaurants, many seemingly empty most of the time, surviving in such a competitive market. I carried these thoughts with me on my next novel adventure: the metro. Begun for the tumultuous '68 Olympiad, it is one of the more extensive public transit systems I have seen. Quite reliable and frequent, it is also shockingly quiet coming the earsplitting shame that is the MTA. Indeed, with characteristically dim lights on the train, coupled with the fact that the train and the station are both treated in the same nostalgically oil crisis era orange and it's pleasantly quiet approach, I found myself jumping back in alarm even though I toed the linea amarillo. My ride home in the quite narrow, key lime pie car was quick, pleasant, and uneventful, but for the vendors who practice their craft between every single station in seemingly every car. Oh, and my bright red tan-to-be (see previous post) made only more conspicuous that I was most certainly 100% in the minority in this subterranean domain.Hasta luego.
1 comment:
Simon, you're the man.
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