Dancing With the Star

Back in February, I found myself taking a dance class called "Ritmos Latinos". Today was my last day, until I return to Mexico City in July. I know what will happen then, however. I will arrive in class and try, try, try to follow the steps. All around me, people will effortlessly dance with precision and joy.

But...not everyone. There is the back row. I knew at once that I belonged in the back row at Latin Dance, even though my new friends encouraged me to dance in the front with them. I always put my water bottle and towel in the same place...back row, almost at the back door. We back row dancers sometimes turn in the wrong direction. We sometimes just pretend to turn. We dance a little salsa when we are supposed to be dancing son. When Flor, the amazing teacher, is yelling "ta TA ta ta", our feet our going "TA ta ta TA" instead. We have been known to collide with each other.

However, there is one back row dancer who is amazing. Ignacio is young, handsome, friendly, and he dances with beauty. His steps are perfect. His line is flawless. He feels the music and the beat is reflected in his every movement. One day, we tried to get Ignacio to move to the second last row. He did it for about one dance and the next thing we knew, he was in in the back with us again.

It is so helpful to have Ignacio next to us. We watch his feet, we follow his turns, we try to move the way he does. But Ignacio doesn't seem to notice or care. He isn't there to show off or impress anyone. He just loves to dance.

Everyone comes to dance for a different reason: exercise, companionship, fun, the love of music, to feel young. But in the back row, we know one person who comes just to dance. I am so glad I had the chance to watch him all these weeks.

Fruit Man!

I have a head cold. I still managed to get a few errands done today, and when I came home, I saw the fruit man right in front of our house. He has a big glass cart, filled to the brim with fresh fruit...mango, papaya, watermelon, oranges, bananas, cantalope, pineapple... He has a knife and a juicer. That's about all. I thought about how good some fresh fruit and juice would taste. I knew I had at least 100 pesos on me...an amount less than $10. So I threw caution to the wind and ordered a plastic container of pineapple mixed with papaya. Watching the fruit man at work was amazing. He peeled a pineapple, carefully putting the peel and juice into a garbage bag he had rigged to his chopping block. Then he quickly, cut the pineapple into perfect, bite-sized pieces. He followed with the papaya. I didn't see how he could possible fit all of the pieces of fruit into the container...but he did. And then, not satisfied, he cut more papaya! When he began to cut oranges for the juice, I figured he would never need them all. But, he put all of the fresh juice into a plastic cup, then got a fresh cup, and strained the juice into that one. The juice didn't quite reach the top, so he cut, squeezed, and strained another orange. When I asked the price, I couldn't believe my ears. Thirty pesos...about $2.50. I had taken out a fifty peso note. I was thinking about how much the fruit and juice would cost anywhere in the U.S. He quickly handed me my change of twenty pesos...I asked him if he had children and he said yes, so I said that twenty pesos was for them. Twenty pesos was so little to me, and a lot to him.

I had learned from one of our friends here that in order to make ends meet, all members of working class families have to work. I imagined that this man had risen before dawn, gone to the market for his fruit, carried that on the pesero and subway, picked up his heavy cart, and began his route...street by street. Many people have to travel over two hours each way on the subway and pesero to get to where they can work. They work far into the night. Most nights, just as we are dozing off to sleep, we hear the whistle of the yam man. He and his wife push a charcoal roaster that cooks yams as they walk street by street. They also bring a selection of condiments for the yams like cinnamon, butter, and sweetened condensed milk.

Early in the morning, we hear the loudspeaker of the tamale man as he announces his breakfast menu. People set up street cauldrons of steaming atole, a sweet, thick corn-based breakfast drink flavored with vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, rice or nut. If a food can be carried or moved, however, someone here will make sure to find a way.

The sound of the yam whistle or the tamale loud-speaker are, to me, the sound of happiness.

Beautiful Coyoacan on Sunday

This was my last Sunday evening in Coyoacan for a while...actually until July. I will be spending the next two Sundays in Guanajuato, which I hear is gorgeous. And then I will be heading home for about two and a half months. When I return to Coyoacan it will be the rainy season. I anticipate, however, that people will still stroll in the squares.

Today we had breakfast at a little restaurant and as soon as the family as the next table hears us speaking English, the kids joined in. Turns out the family had traveled with a circus in the U.S. for a few years. The children loved asking us questions in beautiful English. I am so humbled by the many bi-lingual children around here!

We stopped at the bakery on the way home after tonight's stroll...and spoke with the guard, who is so friendly and kind to us. Then we chatted with our neighbor who has a little poodle with bad legs...and a sweet disposition.

We saw dogs wearing dresses...babies completely covered up, as all babies are here in Mexico, kids playing with balloons and pinwheels, people going into mass, eating ice cream, dancing to son music, shopping for handmade things on the streets...all the little things that make our borrowed neighborhood so special to us.

I never loved Sunday until we came to Mexico...and now, I will always love it.

Si, pero no!

By now, you know how much I love it here.  However, I must say that in my opinion, there are some quirky things that Mexicans do.  They love to say "si, pero no..." (yes, but no....).  So they AGREE with you, but they really don't.  The following are  some examples of "si, per no" behaviors....

It is suddenly very hot here in Mexico City.  I have to wear sunscreen and a straw hat when I am out, and walk on the shady side of the street.  And I am still very warm.  Partly because I am wearing...jeans!  I am wearing jeans because if Mexican women aren't wearing jeans on the street, they are wearing dresses or skirts.  They do not seem to ever wear capris or shorts.  So, out of respect for the country I am living in, I don't either.  But jeans are really hot, as we all know.  And remember, there is very little air conditioning here.  So why don't Mexican women get together and decide that some nice capris or long bermudas would be perfectly acceptable?  Si, pero no!


Many Mexican women who wear skirts or dresses are also wearing their aprons.  They wear them all day, every day, everywhere.  Maybe they even wear their aprons over their pajamas.  So, they can't go out in capris but they can go out in aprons?  Si, pero no!

Mexican people like to huddle at the doors of the metro, pesero and metrobus.  They like to be ready to jump off.  It is true that the exit/entrance time is much shorter than it is in the U.S.  But often people just love the doorway.  So when someone really does have to exit, there is a big commotion.  Si, pero no!


Mexican people often wear winter jackets or heavy sweaters no matter how hot it is. I was roasting today as I walked around the Roma neighborhood.  Yet, I saw several people in winter gear.  Sadly, some of them also had their poor dogs wearing winter coats.  Si, pero no!


Speaking of dogs, no one picks up after their dogs on our street.  I think people come for miles just to walk their dogs on our street because they know they won't have to pick up!  I walk on streets all over this city and nowhere is there more evidence of dogs than on our street.  Mexicans are always cleaning sidewalks...with soap and water...so why won't my neighbors clean up after their dogs? Si, pero no!

Seats on peseros, the metro, and the metrobus are always at a premium.  However, Mexicans hate the window seat.  When someone is on the aisle he or she will not move over to the window...you have to climb over and take the window seat. Even very old people with a lot of packages have to do this.  I know it has something to do with the window seat being more sunny...but these are the same people who wear parkas in 85 degree weather!  Si, pero no!

I don't think Mexicans ever accept the first table they are offered in a restaurant.  Many places simply let you pick your own table.  If I were the person trying to seat people in a restaurant here, I would definitely want the "choose your own" rule!  Si, pero no!

One More Place...

Today I had breakfast at El Cardinal, which has been an institution in Centro Historico for years.  The table linens are beautiful, the waiters are attentive, and the space is lovely.  But it was the food that made my day.  The coffee was the best I have had in Mexico City.  I ordered a spinach and cheese omelette that was beautifully presented.  The omelette was sort of wrapped in bright green spinach leaves but also had plenty of spinach inside.  It was in a pool of incredibly rich cheese sauce.  I was also served a basket with two rolls in it.  I asked for butter (which is not generally served in Mexico) and when I picked up a roll, found it hot with a crispy crust.  I managed not to sigh with pleasure...but it wasn't easy!

Breakfast of Champions

I love breakfast in Mexico!  To begin with, I decided right from the start of my stay here, that I would always eat breakfast out.  This is an amazing gift to myself.  I find myself looking forward to getting up, enjoying a meal at one of my favorite spots or finding a new one.

So here are some of my favorites, in no particular order....

Sanborns


I love breakfast at Sanborn's, mostly because it was the first place I ever had breakfast in Mexico City.  When I get into a cab at the airport when I arrive, I only feel I am in Mexico when I see my first Sanborn's. I have written about this place before, so you already know my deep Sanborns-y feelings. I like that there are little plates of butter cookies on the tables.  I like the fruit, yogurt, honey and granola. I like the concha sweet rolls.  I like that I can buy a newspaper in English to read while I have my breakfast.  Nothing exciting here, but very comforting.

Meli Melo


Meli Melo is located within the arts center where I take latin dancing.  I love this spot because I love the woman who waits on me.  She is warm, friendly, funny, and always remembers exactly what I want:  scrambled eggs, pineapple, a basket of bread with jam, and coffee.  Simple, fast, delicious.   And, after that hour and a half dance class?  So satisfying!  Meli Melo is a beautiful place with a wonderful staff.

Moheli


Moheli is on the corner across from the big park here in Coyoacan.  I like the fact that if you order the "paquete" you get juice and fruit and a sweet roll and coffee with your main course.  I like that there are the same people at the same tables whenever I come here.  I think of them as intellectuals, for no reason other than that they are reading the newspaper.  In Spanish!  Good food and service.

The Green Corner


This is a chain of organic markets with cafes annexed.  Ken and I first ate at the one in Condesa on a Sunday.  I chose the wrong entree, because he got pancakes which were extremely good.  So, I started going to the one in our own neighborhood.  It is on a very busy, ugly street, so I eat inside.  The first time I tasted the pancakes I loved them far more than the ones in Condesa.  Perhaps it was because they came with a homemade, organic jam...one day banana, one day berry....these are the kind of pancakes that you could eat every single morning.  Well,  I certainly could.

SAKS


 I did an entire blog about SAKS....but I just visited another restaurant in this chain and the food was just as good.  No one makes a better fruit plate.

Cafe Tacuba

People say that anyone who comes to Mexico City MUST visit this restaurant.  I agree!  Usually we go for dinner, because they have mariachis play.  The atmosphere, even without the mariachis, would be joyful.  At breakfast, the beautiful rooms are filled with businesspeople making decisions over delicious pastries and some of the best hot chocolate in the world.


The Four Seasons Hotel

I love to go to luxury hotels for breakfast.  It is the one meal that can be affordable, right?  On my way to the Museo de Arte Moderne I stopped for breakfast at the Four Seasons on Reforma.  I had coconut meusli, toast, butter and assorted jams.  I eat a lot of toast here because I love bread and got so sick of everyone in the U.S. acting like bread was poison.  Also, the bread in Mexico is like bread used to be in the U.S. when I was a kid, before we started adding fiber to everything.

Maybe I love breakfast here so much because there are no calorie counts on the menus.  Maybe it's because they always give you real butter, not some horrible substitute.  Maybe it's because the people around me are eating with obvious enjoyment.  Maybe it's because restaurants serve breakfast until one o'clock in the afternoon.  All I know is that when your day starts with papaya and mango it is a good, good day!

The Zen of Being Mexican

When millions of people are constantly walking, working, taking the metro and peseros, driving, shopping, talking, selling and buying all at the same time and in the same places there could be lots of disagreements.  Mexico City is crowded every day, every night, all the time.  Yet, it works.  Traffic moves, although sometimes very slowly.  Metros arrive at rush hour and people squash together and make room for more.

How do the Mexican people handle it all?  With grace, humor, kindness, and patience.  They slow down.  They accept the fact that traffic happens.  They understand when friends are late.  They stand in line for everything....the bakery, metro tickets, the pesero.

But I have only been here two months.  After an entire life in the United States...and in New York, home of some of the most impatient people in the country, I still have trouble "being" Mexican.

This weekend Ken and I, along with a friend, went to Acapulco.  Monday was a holiday, so it seemed a good time to go.  The bus ride down, on Friday, was very smooth and easy.  I had made lunches (including snacks and dessert) so we had no worries about food.  The movies were good.  We arrived when it was still daylight.  The trip took five hours, as it was supposed to.

Acapulco is beautiful and relaxing.  I felt very lucky to have the chance to see this magical place.

However....coming home on Sunday was not the same smooth trip. The bus was late leaving the station.  Then, when the video began...it didn't.  The driver, however, kept the audio portion on.  I didn't mind too much when it was light out and I could read, but when it got dark, and no reading lights were available, it seemed ridiculous to have the audio portion blaring.  Then we hit traffic.  Miles before we got to Cuernavaca, the cars and buses were just crawling.    I couldn't see my watch, which was just as well.  If I had known how late it was, I would have been very hungry.  Finally, we passed Cuernavaca, but, as we got closer to Mexico City, traffic became congested again.  We got into Mexico City more than two hours late.

The Mexican people on the bus gathered their things and left.  But not me!  No, the New Yorker in me just had to let the people in charge at the bus company know that I had been inconvenienced by the lack of video (this is the video I wouldn't have been able to understand.....).  So I began to babble in the few words of Spanish I know about the video.  Ken and our friend, Juan, just stood to the side trying not to laugh.  The bus company employees were very nice to me.  They sincerely tried to understand what the problem was.  No water?  No, no I had my free bottle of water.  Traffic?  How could I complain about traffic?  This was MEXICO CITY!  Traffic was a way of life for everyone.  Finally, Ken and Juan tried to explain.  The bus company people laughed, but not in front of me.  The American woman who couldn't speak Spanish was upset because she hadn't seen a video in Spanish?  They couldn't believe it.  But they never once walked away, or stopped listening, or asked Ken and Juan to tell me to leave them alone.  They were Mexican.  They knew how to be patient.

Maybe, some day, I will know too.

Cinema Mexico!

I found the movie channels on our TV the other day.  Two of them show "classic"  Mexican movies, probably made in the 40's or 50's, considered the "golden age" of Mexican cinema.   I know only a little about old Mexican movies because the very first time we rode on a bus here from one city to another, they showed old movies.  Many were westerns, and one had a cowboy singing to his gal and his burro!  Th only actor I ever recognized  was "Cantinflas"...because I  vividly remember seeing his big Hollywood movie, "Pepe", at the drive-in's in 1960.    I even remember the theme song (which was nominated for an Oscar).  I just looked it up, and heard Shirley Jones sing it in English, and then watched it dubbed into Spanish.  Watching this four minute song clip, it is so easy to see how Americans got such erroneous ideas about the people of Mexico.

As "Pepe" trots around looking like a bum, with his pants almost falling off, Shirley Jones warbles about how cute, little, funny, and silly he is.  Everyone except Shirley seems to be wearing a sombrero.  Basically, the song (and film) tell us that a Mexican man is just a joke.  This was not Continflas' fault. He had been in "Around the World in 80 Days" in 1956 with David Niven and had been a huge hit, even winning a Golden Globe award.  But Hollywood didn't know what to do with him.  He was a huge star in Mexico, and the people here understood the "Cantinflas" character, much as Americans and Brits understood the "little tramp" that Charlie Chaplin played so well.

Fast forward to the nineties and Mexico's film industry is hot again.  When I first saw "Amores Perros", I was astounded.  I had to immediately see it again.  I was fascinated by Gael Garcia Bernal...and perhaps he is the "Cantinflas" of modern Mexico.  In this film, as well as "Y Tu Mama Tambien" and "Rudy y Cursi", Bernal plays a similar character...he is young, goofy, and trying to cope with the insanity of life.  Salma Hayek's "Frida" was a masterpiece that introduced millions to the fascinating life of Frida Kahlo.

There have been great Mexican actors and films for a long time...and I think the industry here is just hitting its stride!

The other Saks!

If there is one thing that ALL Mexican people seem to share it is their astounding work ethic.  Everybody works hard.  You hear the loudspeaker from the bicycle of the tamale man early in the morning.  You hear the whistle of the yam man late at night.  No matter how early you arrive at the mercado, all of the fruit is already beautifully arranged.  Restaurants open early in the morning and stay open until late at night.  The pesero drivers stop for every single fare and never get annoyed or impatient.

Nowhere is this incredible work ethic more visible than in a fine restaurant.  On Saturday morning, Ken and I went to the San Angel branch of  SAKS.  (no relation to SAKS 5th Ave.)

I had visited the restaurant once before and noticed the excellent service.  However, this time Ken and I opted to sit inside.  We were immediately asked to choose any table we wanted.  Once we chose, and indicated that we wanted coffee, it was perfectly served  almost at once.  The waitstaff and busboys wear the most crisp white uniforms I have ever seen.

The breakfast menu is filled with wonderful choices, and you get so many extras with your entree that breakfast can fill you for the day.  We each had a carafe of freshly made mixed juice; a fruit plate (papaya, banana, and mango with yogurt, honey and homemade granola); our entrees, rolls and coffee, and a choice of sweet rolls.  We both chose the house specialty, organic corn muffins.  Naturally, as we had so much to eat, we spent a lot of time at SAKS.  Our table was right in front of the busboys' stand, so we were able to watch them up close.

I have never watched young men work so hard and so fast and yet maintain complete cool.  These guys were zipping through the large dining areas.  Every time you were done with a fork, whoosh, it was gone and replaced with a fresh one.  The moment you finished your fruit....plate gone!  They were like dancers gliding over the slick, smooth floor.  I noticed, too, that they had the time to smile, laugh, and speak to all of us.

I can't wait to return to SAKS....I can't wait to bring my U.S. friends to this wonderful restaurant, either.  I often wonder why it is so satisfying to take a pesero or go to a restaurant here.  But I think the only difference is the attitude that these Mexican workers have.  They are thankful for their jobs.  They have tremendous pride in their performance. They want you -- the customer -- to be happy.  And boy oh boy...they succeed every time with me!

Tuesday with Marthe

When I started Latin Dancing here in Mexico City, one woman took me under her wing. She has that air of authority that some people just seem to come by naturally. She is at the head of the table when we share coffee and sweet rolls after dance class.  Her name is Marthe.  Marthe looks pretty at every single class.  Her hair is always done, her makeup flawless, and her jewelry always matches her outfit.

Last Monday after class, she asked me to have breakfast at her house the next day.  I was very honored to be invited to her home.   I hurried out that afternoon and bought a pair of nice pants, new shoes, and a bouquet of flowers as a hostess gift.  I figured that I would be home, doing laundry or some other chore, by noon.

The next day, Marthe picked me up in her SUV.  Now, I can still barely speak Spanish and Marthe never had much opportunity to speak English.  Therefore, our conversations have a cartoon quality about them.  She asks me about my street, I answer by telling her about my elementary school.  I ask her about her parents, she tells me her favorite store.

So, I had no idea where we were headed Tuesday morning.  We were stuck in traffic for miles.  She drove with expertise and confidence while talking on her cell phone and pointing out sights to me.   She said her home was in Condesa, but when we passed San Angel, I knew we were heading in the wrong direction.  Finally, we arrived at a gate...and I could have sworn the name of the place was the "Naval Club".  I thought...maybe her husband is a retired naval officer?  Maybe they have a second home here within the "club"?  But we were clearly at a club restaurant and, as another surprise, Marthe's friend, Graciella, was meeting us.  Graciella was warm, funny and friendly, but her English was no better than Marthe's.   And my Spanish had not improved during the long car ride.

After breakfast, I explained that I could get home by the Metro.  Well, Marthe and Graciella just loved that one!  It seemed that our day was just beginning.  Marthe wanted to show me some of the Mexico City that is not reachable by metro and pesero.  Off we went...to Bosque de Las Lomas, where Graciella lives.  The houses are enormous and absolutely beautiful.  I was reminded of Beverly Hills.  We then had to visit one of Marthe and Graciella's friends in a high rise apartment building.  Then, after dropping Graciella off, Martha asked if I had ever seen Santa Fe, where the young and wealthy of Mexico City work and live.  I hadn't, and I guess you know where we went next.  The buildings in Santa Fe are brand new, very high, and very modern.  This part of Mexico City is completely different from any other part.  Marthe knew every street and pointed out landmarks while negotiating horrendous traffic jams.

We had now been out for hours.  She wasn't tired, but I was.  She turned into a parking lot and I thought...finally...we are at her house.  But we weren't, of course.  We were at her tennis and swimming club!  I had a tour and Marthe spoke to some gentlemen who appeared to be the managers.   I just needed to rest...but there were more neighborhoods to see.  Finally, I could tell we were coming down from the hills of Santa Fe and getting back to areas I recognized.  I offered, again, to just be dropped at a metro station, but suddenly, Marthe hit a button that opened a garage door and in we drove.  Her garage had a crystal chandelier in it!

I staggered into Marthe's lovely home where the dining room table was set and food was waiting for us.  I had some delicious soup, friend plantains, and rice.  Marthe's husband, whose English is flawless, came downstairs to meet me.  By now, though, I could barely even speak my own language.

As Marthe took a call from yet another friend on her cell phone, her husband told me that the only thing Marthe loved more than finding and nurturing new friends was showing off her beloved Mexico City.   When I got home, sometime after six o'clock, I realized that my "breakfast date" had lasted eight hours!  I had seen much more of Mexico in one day with Marthe than I would have in weeks on my own.

The next time you picture a "Mexican woman" please picture Marthe, a retired kindergarten teacher, wife, mother, grandmother, dancer...and a woman I am proud to call "my friend".

Mexican boys...they're unforgettable....(to the tune of California Gurls)

I just love watching the boys of Mexico.  Don't get me wrong, all the children here are beautiful.  But there is something so poignant about the little boys here.  A lot of it has to do with how they dress, especially for school.  They wear little uniforms and their thick black hair is severely parted and slicked down with something to keep it perfectly in place.  I love to see them walking to and from school holding hands with their mothers or grandmothers!  And, since all of them have to hold hands with somebody, it isn't a big deal.

I met the first little guy I fell in love with in the garden of a museum in San Angel.  He was with his mom and grandparents, and looked to be around three and a half or four.
 I know that with my blond hair and American looks and clothes I was completely alien to him.  But when I began to speak to him in Spanish (well, my version  of Spanish), he loved it.  We walked around the garden and he told me the words for various objects and giggled as I tried to pronounce them.  We shook hands when we parted.  About an hour later, when I left the museum, I ran into my pal and his family again.  He was overjoyed.  We went through all of our "hellos" again...and then, when I finally said goodbye, he kissed my hand. It was an old-world gesture that he had to have learned, probably from his grandfather.

One of my first Mexican "boy" friends was a gentleman who I estimate is in his seventies or eighties.  He sells handmade table covers and little kitchen things on the street near the Mercado.  I try to buy something from him when I see him.  He always kisses my hand, too.  The last time I saw him he asked about my children.  When he heard I didn't have any, he was heartbroken.  He then gave me a gift...an artificial red rose, which I treasure.

Today on the street I saw a little boy with his mom and grandmother.  Again, he was between three and four...just an adorable age.  As soon as his mom and grandma saw me admiring him they stopped and had him say hello.  He was eating an enormous ice cream cone and I asked about the flavor and indicated that it looked pretty good to me.  So naturally he offered it to me.

Mexican boys learn how to turn on the charm very early...and they never forget how.

Me and La Flaca

All I  to do intended to do today was see the Museum of the City of Mexico.  I walked to the subway along a beautiful side street.  I had breakfast at Sanborn's and headed to the subway. Half an hour later I was in the noise, color and beauty of the Zocolo.




I went to the City Museum, but for the first time here I was extremely disappointed in a Mexico City attraction. The building was in poor repair.  There was some furniture and a display of cartoons.  I had been expecting a comprehensive story of the city.  Even the museum book store was uninteresting...and filled with cigarette smoke.

So I walked back to the Zocolo.  Every time we go there, we see crowds of people heading in a direction we have never gone.  Well, thanks to my abbreviated visit to the museum, today I had the time.  I became a part of the crowd that seemed to grow larger with every block.  This was not the Mexico City I was used to; the city of beautiful flowers, fountains, interesting restaurants and historical buildings.  This was the grittier side.  Here, people didn't sit on park benches to enjoy ice cream cones, but sat on the curb quickly eating their tacos, changing babies, smoking cigarettes.  Every building was the home of numerous stores...uniforms, military gear,  pipes, electrical equipment.  This was not the area to find a beautifully woven shirt or piece of Mexican pottery.  This was a neighborhood of working people; poor people.

And here in this neighborhood I had my first glimpse of Santa Muerte..Saint Death.  She has been venerated here for a long time,  some say since the 1940's, but has only been above the radar for the past ten years or so.  The two million people who pray to her, allegedly mostly criminals and the poor, believe that she has the power to solve problems, grant wishes, make their dreams come true.  Because she is a skeleton who wears a robe or  dress, she is also knows as "La Flaca"...The Skinny One.  The use of skeletal figures in pre-Christian religion in Mexico is well documented.  There are stories of people tying up skeletons and threatening them with lashings if they did not grant requests and wishes.  Needless to say, the Catholic Church has condemned the worship of Santa Muerte.    But here in Mexico, the Catholic Church is not filled with the bland, blond statues that it is elsewhere.  No, here in the churches of Mexico, Jesus on a cross really looks like a man dying on a cross.  He is thin, his face wears an expression of agony, he wears a real crown of thorns in his wig.  He wears real clothing and is covered in rivulets of blood.  Religion is all around...part of everyday life, certainly not just a "Sunday" thing.  I go into churches all the time and have never found one empty.  People are fervently praying...they bring flowers and candles to statues.  They pin photos of themselves to the robes of statues.  This is also where the "Day of the Dead" is celebrated with passion and love.  People bring the favorite foods of the deceased to their graves on November 1 and celebrate with their dead friends and family, right in the graveyards.  Every business, no matter how small, has a statue or picture of Christ of Our Lady of Guadalupe displayed.

On the first day of each month, the "original" Santa Muerte is worshipped. She is given gifts of alcohol, candles, flowers, cigars and cigarettes, gold, food, money and, instead of incense, is surrounded by marijuana smoke.  Some people who used to believe in the Catholic Saint Jude, the patron saint of impossible causes, have now stopped praying to him in favor of Santa Muerte.  One woman explained, "he has enough to do."  It is also said that one can pray to Santa Muerte for the kinds of things that wouldn't be "acceptable" in the Catholic church.

Seeing my first Santa Muerte was both exciting and frightening.  I saw a man putting something on a statue and figured it was the Lady of Guadalupe.  But this statue was wearing a beautifully embroidered bright red dress or robe.  I looked up, and saw her skull face.  Santa Muertes wearing red are the ones who grant wishes relating to love and passion.  I noticed that a statue of Jesus was directly across the street from Santa Muerte.  On the very next block was a Santa Muerte dressed in bright golden yellow, indicating that she would grant wishes relating to financial success and power.  Again, a statue of Jesus seemed to watch her from across the street.

I went into every church in the neighborhood after my contacts with Santa Muerte.  I couldn't shake the chill that had come over me.  And I thought...only in Mexico would people casually work, eat, and socialize under the shadow of beautifully dressed skeletons.

So, the Museum of the City of Mexico was a bust...but it led me an experience that taught me much more about this surprising place.

Waco, Ruby Ridge, and "letting guns walk"

So, the United States Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms is supposed to be keeping guns out of the hands of criminals.  Makes sense.  And it seems that most members of the ATF would know that if guns are purchased in cash...and in paper bags...in a city bordering Mexico... that those guns might end being used by criminals IN Mexico.  And it is very clear that the most dangerous places in Mexico are the bordertowns where the drug cartels operate.  So what was behind the ATF's policy of "letting guns walk" into the hands of criminals in Mexico?  How long has this been going on?  And, most importantly, how many people have lost their lives as an indirect result of this policy?  Obviously, a killer is a killer is a killer.  If a member of a drug cartel couldn't find a gun, he would find a knife or kill with his bare hands.  But why would the ATF make murder easier?  News reports tell us that many ATF agents not only voiced strong opposition to this policy, but feared the day when one of these weapons would kill someone who mattered....a U.S. citizen.

Now I could understand this attitude if we were at war with Mexico...if, as in WWII, our citizens considered the people of Japan and Germany the enemy.  But to let guns be knowingly purchased by criminals, knowing they would murder many innocent Mexican people is not even comprehensible to me.  And, to suddenly express regret about the policy when a U.S. citizen is murdered by one of the "walked" guns makes me wonder if the ATF agents realize how very sad this is.  It is a tragedy that a US border patrol agent was murdered.  His family is distraught now and will mourn their loss forever.  But how many Mexican families have lost loved ones due to these guns?  How many Mexican people are still mourning the loss of a father, mother, son or daughter?

It shouldn't have taken the murder of one of "their own" to bring this inane policy to light.  But I am thankful that it did.

Totally off the subject, but....

The librarian in me wants you to know what I have been reading and what I might recommend.  It is extremely difficult to get affordable books in English here in Mexico, so my very last U.S. purchase was a kindle.  I love it.  Here are some recommendations:

Bloodlands: Europe between Hitler and Stalin by Timothy Snyder.  This is the kind of book that comes along once every ten years or so.  As I read it, I found myself imagining the incredible amount of research and work Snyder did to write this brilliant book.  I have always read about World War II, but this book tells what was going on in the years leading up to the war.  It is often very difficult to read due to the horror that these leaders inflicted upon so many millions of innocent people.  However, anyone who has an interest in European history should make this the next book to read.


Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand.  I have generally read about the war in Europe, but watching the HBO series "The Pacific" made me realize that I was ignoring some vital history.  This is the story of Louie Zamperini, a larger than life character.  He was one of the fastest runners in the United States, and made the U.S. Olympic team in 1936.  He met Hitler...stole a Nazi flag...and became a bombadier in the Pacific.  Then, sent on a rescue mission, the dilapidated plane Louie is in crashes.  You know he survives, but the tension never lets up as we follow Louie and Hillenbrand vividly portrays the agony he is in.  

These Things Hidden by Heather Gudenkauf.  Someone gets pregnant.  Someone delivers a newborn baby to a "safe haven". Someone adopts a child.  Someone goes to prison.  Told from various points of view, this story keeps you guessing.

Room: A Novel by Emma Donaghue.  I have long been a Donaghue fan, ever since reading her amazing book Slammerkin, which I also highly recommend.  Room has received a lot of attention and deservedly so.  It is the story of an abducted young woman who gives birth while in captivity and keeps both her son and herself sane because she is able to create an entire world within their prison room.  


I am currently reading Steve Martin's book about an art dealer, An Object of Beauty: A Novel.  I don't know why Steve or Emma both needed to tell us that their books were novels.  It must be something new.  

All aboard!

When we lived in New York City, we were close to not one, but THREE subway stations.  I always took the same line to work in the morning, but coming home I would "mix it up".  Whenever I hear of someone moving to NYC, I always ask how far away the subway station is.  So, when Ken found our house here in Coyoacan, one of my first questions was how long it would take me to walk to the metro.

He told me that the walk to the "Viveros" station was not too bad.  He said there was a second station, "Coyoacan", but it was about half an hour away.  Most days, I am on the metro.  When I am fresh and filled with energy in the morning, walking to the station is a snap.  But...on my way home, every joint in my legs is aching.  I have usually spent the day walking block after block on cobblestones or hard sidewalks and I have generally also visited a museum or two.   When I climb up the stairs to the street, the walk to our house seems almost impossible to me.

At every one of the 163 metro stations in Mexico City, however,  another 

form of transportation is available.  These are the "peseros", green and white buses of various sizes and age that were given their name because it once cost only one peso for a ride.  Currently, a metro  ticket costs 3 pesos ( or around a quarter) and most peseros cost 4 pesos.

It took me well over a month to learn to get a pesero from the metro to my house.  Every time I got off the metro at the "Viveros" station, I would see all the peseros waiting to take the metro passengers the rest of the way home.  But when I asked for the pesero to Coyoacan, I was told to cross the street, which would have had me going in the absolute wrong direction.  It took me another few times to understand that when I asked for "Coyoacan" the drivers naturally thought I meant the "Coyocan" metro station.  So I decided to get off the metro at the Coyocan station.  One night I saw a pesero waiting...and asked the right question,"do you go to CENTRAL Coyocan?"  Yes, this pesero did!  It was a very easy route number to remember:  #1.  I have since learned that #1 peseros go all over Mexico City and I have boarded them confidently only to find myself a mile or more away from my home....walking yet again.

Then, I found magical #52.  This pesero appears right across the street from my local supermarket, the Mega.  I hop on, pay my 4 pesos, and it goes right down my street!  Another big city problem solved by the pesero!

Peseros used to be old VW buses, and some still are.  I rode one today, with two heavy bags of groceries, and there wasn't much room in the back.   I smiled at my fellow passengers and most smiled back, but one guy looked annoyed...which is so unusual here that I got a little nervous.  Nothing happened except that annoyed man's girlfriend helped me when I had to climb down with my groceries.

The most amazing thing is watching the pesero driver do absolutely everything.  He stops for anyone who holds out a hand. He immediately pulls back into traffic, which, in Mexico City, is no easy task.  However, while he is doing this, he is taking money from the person who just boarded, making the correct change, answering everyone's questions and trying to weave in and out of traffic and go as fast as possible.  Naturally, as soon as the driver attains a little speed, someone asks him to stop and he does, always without complaint.

Some peseros are "pimped out"with decorations and loud music.  Others barely run.  The one I took to get to the Basilica de Guadalupe didn't have a gear beyond second...the driver hugged the sidewalk as everyone passed...even people walking.  Others go so fast that passengers who are standing (which is typical, as there are a limited number of seats) go careening into each other and may fall into the laps of fellow riders.

The pesero is not meant for long distances.  They provide a great alternative to taxis, especially for a woman on her own, like me.  I am sure many pesero drivers inwardly groan when an American women with next to no ability in Spanish starts to climb aboard....but....each peso earned here is important.  And Mexicans just aren't cut out to be grumpy.

A Typical Tuesday Night in Coyoacan

Ken, our friend Juan, and I went to the mercado to grab a taco or two.  I wanted them to try this delicious ice cream from a new store.  While walking there, we came upon five men dressed totally in black....no Rep. Poe, they were not members of a drug cartel, but musicians!  They started across the square...a sixth man joined them...and this one was carrying a birthday cake! They seemed to be going in our direction. Just as we reached the door of the ice cream parlor, the baker lit the candles on the cake,  and the band launched into the beautiful Mexican "Happy Birthday" song...right to the young ice cream scooper!

Once again,  I gave thanks for being in this amazing country.  The musicians played many songs...people danced outside the ice cream store...everyone applauded...and we got our ice creams.

There are beautiful moments every single day here in Mexico!  You just have to keep your eyes open and follow the music.

Shame on you, Congressman Poe!

Today, I heard Rep. Ted Poe (R-Texas) on the CBS Morning Show.  He said that no Americans should visit any place in the entire country of Mexico and there was not one safe place in Mexico.


When I told people that Ken and I were moving here to Mexico City, people began warning me.  Most of them had never been to Mexico.  They were simply kind, concerned friends who were relying on media reports like this one from  Rep. Poe.  I didn't hear anyone from CBS saying "come on, Congressman, are you really telling U.S. citizens that there is not one place they can safely visit in the entire country of Mexico?"  I have not heard of anyone in Congress making a statement that such hyperbole is not helpful or true, or asking  Poe to retract or correct his statement.

Just imagine, for one minute, that on the morning news, Rep. Poe had told Americans not to visit Israel or Kenya!  He would be excoriated as anti-semitic or racist.  But we all know that Isreal, Kenya, and many other countries in the world are dangerous for Americans and others. Until today, I had never heard a congressperson tell the U.S. public that every single place in a country was dangerous.  Why is it that, over and over, the good people of Mexico are fair game for those like Poe who want to spread hatred and fear?

I am not excusing the violence perpetrated by the drug cartels.  It is horrifying, primarily for the people of Mexico.  However, when Ken and I lived in one of the wealthiest parts of Manhattan, three men were murdered in cold blood directly across the street from our home, allegedly by rival drug dealers.  When I worked in the Bronx, one of my colleagues was murdered as he stopped to buy doughnuts for his co-workers.  A gunman fired from a car into the store, aiming at someone else.  The murder was drug-related.  


I worked for eighteen years in my hometown of Schenectady and, like Rep. Poe, I prosecuted child abuse and sex crimes and went on to serve as a judge.  The violence I know about is appalling.  I will never forget some of the stories I heard or the injuries I witnessed.  But I would never tell anyone that every single place in my hometown is dangerous simply because we have a dangerous criminal element, primarily related to the drug trade.


I must have missed the part of Rep. Poe's statement where he warned people away from visiting Guyana, scene of the 1978 Jonestown massacre where over 900 people died; or Austin,  Texas, where a gunman killed 16 in 1966;  or Virginia Tech, where 32 were murdered in 2007;  or Oklahoma City, where 168 perished in a bombing in 1995; or Columbine, where 13 were murdered by privileged schoolboys; or Tucson, where 6 were murdered and one of Poe's colleagues was gravely wounded earlier this year.  Nor did I hear him warn people against going to Dallas.  Maybe he doesn't remember that November day in 1963 when a beloved president was assassinated, changing everything for a generation of Americans.  Does Poe remember that  April evening in 1968 in Memphis where a charismatic civil rights leader was murdered?  Does he recall that just months later in Los Angeles a man who might have been president was killed?  


Making blanket statements that call an entire people dangerous is not only ignorant, but dangerous.  Anyone who doesn't know that, hasn't studied much history.  


Shame on you,  Congressman Poe.