¡Teotihuacan! (la ciudad de los dioses)

On the first free day outside the office I just could no longer bear screwing around with aimless meanderings, however insightful these derives have been. No, I had to stab straight at the heart and soul of this country, and the obvious first step seemed to be that most iconic of Mexican landmarks: Teotihuacan! Begun by the myseterious Toltecs (possibly) between the time of Alexander and Chirst, it was, at it's zenith, home to 150,000 (and possibly more) souls. The city was built around a sophisticated system of infrastructure which serviced both the urban elite and agriculture (which was paramout in this highly contrasted wet and dry, life and death climate). Equally mysterious as it's builders, the city was abandoned around 700-800 AD, although the Aztecs later occupied and upgraded the still sacred site. What's left today is organized around the Avenue of the Dead, a 3 KM axis which likes to step up and down into vast courts, one after the other. Obviously, this was not route for anyone in a hurry. One end is dominated by the massive Pyramid of the Moon, while the center is flanked by the even more massive Pyramid of the Sun (el Sol being of utmost importance to an maize based society). Each seems to be an emulation of the mountains in whose shawdows they dwell.
There are nearly innumerable small pyramids lining the Avenue, all built in a nearly identical talud-tablero style. This is an architecture unconcerned with grace: it is absolute power which these stones mean to impress. What's left of this city is made up of merely a few pieces, less than a dozen in total, repeated again and again in a simple and clear demonstration of power. True, these were plastered over and painted with elaborate scenes in vibrant colors, in which their form was secondary to the message at hand, but still the uniformity is striking nonetheless. I cannot imagine why a city would need so many temples (or churches for that matter, especially in a culture with few or only one denomination).
The two pyramids are an exception to the ubiquity of their smaller counterparts. First, take the pyramid of the Sun. It's the second biggest in the Western Hemisphere and 3rd largest in the whole entire world. Its base is roughly as big as its older cousin in Giza, although its profile makes it only about half as tall.The punctuated ascent breaks the initial immensity of the climb down to a manageable few strains. I'm really glad this is in Mexico, because you could never get away with this in litigation saturated States. One slip o these super-sized steps and you could surely find yourself and few other tourists in el hospital. And there would certainly have been a splendid view of the whole city on this perch half way to the sun.Punctuating the axis about a kilometer further north is the lesser but nicer Pyramid of the Moon. Unfortunately, visitors are prohibited from climbing to the apex of this one, but the platform at the midriff offers a privileged, if less panoramic, and certainly more comfortable, vista.Another curiosity of the pyramids: someone can plan an event so important that the tracks needed to hold the lights or fireworks or whatever take precedent over the preservation of a UNESCO world heritage site. What's more, everything that remains in Teotihuacan is made of lava stone, which is quite porus and brittle, which makes drilling holes into it that much easier! Of course, there are other notable and exciting exceptions to the monotony of the talud-tablero...
It was quite chilly up there atop the Pyramid of the Sun, and down on the Avenue of the Dead too. Fue muy viento! (windy, that's right!). In the last few days I have learned that coming to the Basin of Mexico in November without a lot of long sleeves and heavy fabrics is an uncomfortable mistake. Likewise, no matter how many goosebumps pay me a visit, I also now realize this is the closest to the equator I have ever been (by a longshot) and the great Sun still shines its bright benevolent rays on the pyramid built in it's honor. Hasta luego mis amigos.

A Walk in the Dark (starting at sunrise)

Thursday night took me south to the most immediate, albeit banal, landmark in my morning vista. The big green monolith with its less than charming cylindrical cap is, just after the American pop and Spanish talk that weens me from dreams to reality, the most recurring feature of my mornings (although my eye usually drifts immediately to the hazier, more haunting volcanoes in the distance).
I had only two intentions that night: find the base of that tower (which proved further and more elusive than I thought), and to see how a hamburguesa stacks up to it's counterpart from the north. On the first matter, I found exactly what I was looking for. Besides a rather tedious, soaring Calatrava knock off (flash without the WOW factor that I must concede to the Spanish charlatan) at it's base, which I admit I was too disinterested to even record in photo, I was even less impressed with the tower up close than I am from afar. Apparently, it is the WTC for the DF, a name which I'm sure predates 9/11 and demonstrates the overwhelming influence of American business interests in the western hemisphere (for neither W nor T accurately reflect a Spanish abbreviation). Nevertheless, I was still awed at the sheer number of people, especially young people, loitering around the base. Why would literally hundreds of people be hanging out in front of what, from what I can tell, is merely an office building surrounded by a few business looking hotels and American-style bar & restauraunt chains? There is a pretty nice mid-century modernist neighborhood between the tower and the Viaducto Presidente Miguel Aleman (a real hard edge just to south which exhibits the la ciudad's marriage to the auto, the homeless presence, and some of the city's more adventurous architectural vernacular).
This neighborhood, aside from being haunted by the tamales oaxacenos which are omnipresent all over the district, is named for American cities and states. La Calle Chicago has some real chamers, and not just a few of the classic Detroit beauties which turn my head when I'm not looking at the other kind.
On the second count, I found what I was looking for just a block from the base of the big bore. Hamburguesa's MEMOrables. Aside from the Queso Oaxaca, I found the burger to be nothing more or less than something I could find in Murray Hill. Sure, it was tasty, and big, and they do serve it with jalopeno's instead of pickles on the side, but otherwise it was just a big tasty burger.
Still adjusting to the peso, I screwed them on the tip which, when I realized my error brought me a great deal of grief which could only be alleviated when I returned to make up the difference. More than to 'do the right thing', I did it mainly just to lift the burden of guilt from my own shoulders, which I think is as good a motivation as any. Afterall, in the end, we were all much happier so what sense is there in paining my latent Catholic tendencies?

Anyway amigos, check in tomorrow when I post pictures from Teotihuacan. Hasta luego.

Pink Movie Neon

With orders to leave work as is and get out (which happened in that other city only once because I looked like a lunatic for lack of rest three weeks running) I was struck with the urge, no the need, to get out past Vincente Suarez and into the vast unknown beyond. So I took out and finally made good use of la mappa de Ciudad to chart a comparative tour of major nodes in the walkable area. Hanging east a few blocks I found the edge know as la Avenida de los Insurgentes and found out where I'm gonna buy all that stuff that isn't food in the coming weeks. Here's a thoroughfare reminiscent of LA or Queens, but with curbs which could curb a small deluge and keep even a sandaled foot dry. In short, they've got high curbs here, really high. I've never tripped on a city street anywhere in the world as often as I have in the last three days. Nor have I seen such a variety and richness of paving and ground treatment (well, maybe in some places in Italy. The streets of Verona are paved with marble after all).
Anyway, la Avenida, while mostly cerrada was still teeming with life and taco and torta vendors I'm still too scared to try. The hamburgesas were quite tempting, but curosity and my television attention span spurred me on further towards what I knew was something grand and round up ahead. And so finally I found la Glorieta de los Insurgentes, a glorified traffic circle cum subway interchange with an isolated nexus of pedestrians and loitering at its center. A great node of potential, certainly teeming with every kind of activity and temperment, but lacking that certain something which really burn it on the mental map, neon and giant blinking Coca-Cola bottles notwithstanding. What I, as an American , found truly monumental about the place was the name: that in a capital city there is a major avenue and metro exchange honoring insurgets. Yep, just like the kind from the news. Such a celebration of unauthorized, grassroots revolution is as yet unknown in Washington. The Calle de Genova (I am still at a loss as to why there are so many geographical locations in the area pulled from the Italian peninsula) offered a byway north to the Paseo de Reforma. Genova was a bumpin' spot, full of bars and Burger King and other American celebrations of saturated fats and oils. I'm surprised I didn't see a Taco Bell or a Chipotle there along side KFC and McDonalds. So anyway, on to the Paseo de Reforma which more that satisfies the requirement that any serious city have an excessively large highly stratified tree lined way which takes about 15 minutes to cross. La Reforma is lined with mediocre high rise corporate identities who have no shame in shouting out to the city who they are without necessarily expressing what they do. I'm no stranger to the situation of wide boulevard and day time office center, but while I expected to find a few people isolated in passage from somewhere to another else where in this corporate no man's land, as would be the case in most American cities, I was awed to see people here there and everywhere. And activity too. There was a whole squard of Federales waiting for the Federale metro (and not a few Federalas), while a select few rode off into the moonset on their seways. Further on I found one of the postcard landmarks of the city, the Angel, which I'm fairly certain I saw a few years ago in Berlin. It's awakening to see, and frastrating to traverse, such immense traffic circles this side of the Atlantic.

Walking back was unremarkable, but for little details too numerous for tedious report here at this hour. One thing of note, one thing really quite amazing, is the sheer number of people, everywhere, anywhere. On a street with not a single shop or taco stand open for business there are dozens of people coming and going, here and there. At all hours. And when there is something open there is critical density, and diversity. At small taco stands that amount to nothing more than a table, some chairs, and a tarp claiming a space on the sidewalk, you might see a suit, a slick hairdo, a skateboard, a homosexual, a grandmother, all enjoying the mole I'm sure will make me sick whenever I get the courage to use my Spanglish to order. Certainly I look forward to that. For now, hasta luego mis amigos.

The bliss is heavy...

After two days in this city, this immense and dazzling capital of Mexico, I keep expecting to wake up in a tiny little Brooklyn hole at a frosty four in the morning at the end of December. Yet, today I woke up again in the semi-bright haze of a Mexican morning to the sound of tamales vendors and Spanish dee-jays doling American pop songs.

Indeed, I will enjoy this dream as long as it lasts. Seriously though, la ciudad is really something special, especially for an American. The sensuous vibe is most certainly exotic, and yet it still feels like America, like reading in a dream. There is something immeniently familiar about the place yet overlayed with something which cannot be grasped, something magic and wonderful, even if a little elusive.

It must be confessed, however, I haven't had much chance to see the greater metropolis: for me, so far, the city is about 9 square blocks of tree lined streets and art deco architecture known locally as La Condesa (built out from a former horse racing track, the two concerntric ring streets surrounding the beautiful Parque Mexico has the added charm of intersecting twice with all its cross streets disorienting the visitor with an unverifiable sense of deja vu). Yes, this vast metropolis is, so far as I am concerned, just a few streets with all the tacos nopales I could every hope for. There is a much greater city beyond, of course, (just take a look at the skyline of Benito Juarez)and I will get out to it soon.

Until the weekend comes, however, it's life as usual with 12 hour work days and strained eyes at the end of mostly productive days. The similarities run short there however: this office is really something else, more in common with what I hear of Santa Monica than what I know of my old New York. What is lacking in spatial clarity is balanced with a social ease hardly known in the reserved, focused northern branch. I can project a truly great office when considering what I know so well of the one and what I like so much about my first impressions of the other.

For those of you who are worried about my physical well being here, don't fret. Just look what's for dinner. If anyone can tell me what that cactus is or how to eat it, I'm all ears.

Hasta luego mis amigos.