El Capital
aka La Cuidad, CDMX, simply "Mexico," and--not too long ago--D.F.
Mexico City, in other words.
People keep asking me, Is this your first visit? I say, Technically, no, but essentially yes, and then I relate how on my first visit in 1997, pregnant with my son, I discovered the hard way that I’m one of those women that can’t be at altitude when pregnant.
And La Ciudad is very high, higher than Denver, at 7350 feet. I was sick, very sick, like lying-on-the-airport-floor sick, the entire time we were here and remember very little.
So, in a way, it’s my first time in Mexico City, a place I’ve wanted to visit for years now. Of course, like everyone else, I’ve been hearing the hype for some time, and I’m here to tell you, I’m a fan.
I came here to see if maybe I could stay. It’s a four-hour flight from my home in Oakland and one-hour time difference which makes it enticing to work here, to save here, to try to make a life here.
I think it’s doable. A lot of folks from all over are doing just that. Several Didi drivers (Uber here) have said, yes, many migrantes here, from Europe, from Estados Unidos, from South America.
On my first day, the internet was unexpectedly and frighteningly bad. I was alarmed. I posted on some FB expat sites and got responses like, Yeah, welcome to CDMX.
I was surprised. I thought, how can so many people be coming here to work if the internet is iffy?
My friend E. said, Oh, no. That won’t work.
But as I explore, I think there are ways to secure good Wifi. Also, bless her heart, when I wrote my host, Yessica, she sprang into action and spent the entire following day with TotalPlay, the internet company here, re-wiring things. She also brought me a hard ethernet cable (which mysteriously stopped working a couple of days later), but the Wifi has held. I interviewed the State of Vermont’s CIO this morning, and it just had to work, and IT DID, blessed be to God or Our Lady of Guadalupe, as the case may be.
Mexico City is a revelation.
First of all, it’s incredibly and fantastically GREEN. In fact, it’s a massive city of 22 million people (yes, you heard me) plopped down in a valley surrounded by mountains and no less than 35 volcanoes, one of which is active, and covered by a gentle jungle canopy that offers gorgeous shade, beauty, mist, and mystery.
The trees are really something. You know those rubber plants we call “houseplants” in the US? Well, they’re massive trees here, cloaked in dense layers of thick, leathery leaves. Massive roots the size of armadillos buckle the pavement. The shade at midday is like nightfall.
I am deeply grateful for the trees here. I’m Irish and Norwegian by heritage. I don’t like hot, clear, beating sun. It hurts my skin, my head, and my eyes and saps my energy. At home in California, I basically hide inside at midday all summer long.
I’m totally digging this shady city of soaring jacarandas with their elegant curvaceous branches, glossy privet, delicate ash trees, American sweetgums, confused palms, and ficus trees four stories tall with waterfalls of characteristic wavy leaves.
And the plants! Many, many philodendrons of all types and sizes, including split leaf (they’re huge and everywhere) and monstera (ditto) spring from every patch of earth, from groupings of ancient clay pots on balconies, and from patios and landings along the sidewalks, so you’re confronted by layers upon layers of greenery.
For example, the little garden outside the kitchen at my AirBnB on Jojutla Street is just a narrow-ish alley, really, but with a 25-foot-tall, yellow-flowering hibiscus presiding over a veritable orgy of plants, including a robust creeping vine that reaches past the second floor. Bursting from every level, corner, and patch of wall or earth are massive versions of the typical houseplants you see at Trader Joe’s in the US. Dracenas, ferns, umbrella plants, and—again—philodendrons of all kinds.
Here’s how one fine writer who was in CDMX to deliver a paper on Finnegans Wake (!) put it a few years ago:
Mexico City felt like a metropolis inside of a jungle while surrounded by mountains on every horizon. It's a gigantic place with variation across each neighborhood, but the parts we mostly stayed in (La Roma and La Condesa neighborhoods) were so full of lush green, tall thriving trees that there was often a canopy for the sunlight to creep through. There were so many miniature parks with jungles of trees and plants alongside old statues and fountains. Giant, lush bougainvillea vines climbed lampposts and hung on electrical wires. Palm trees clustered together. Many of the buildings had porches full of plants…
To deepen the experience, I’m here during rainy season. That wasn’t my intention, but I like it. Every day has been a gorgeous, velvety temperature. I wear short-sleeve or sleeveless shirts every day. You just need an umbrella. And the plants and trees of course love the daily deluge and pop into almost psychedelic versions of their green selves as they bathe. It’s almost funny, like something out of “Little Shop of Horrors.” One evening after dinner, as I meandered along with my umbrella through a veritable tunnel of pulsating green plants and trees, a waiter saw me and ran out to take my picture.
Which brings me to la cortesía. I had read that Chilangos (the people who live in Mexico City) were incredible, that it was hard to get out of Ubers or Didi's because it took so long to exchange pleasantries, that people commonly acknowledge and greet you in the street, that strangers in restaurants wish you Buen provecho (bon appetit) before tucking into their own meals, and I have had all of these experiences, beginning with my first Didi driver who took me to my AirBnB and waited patiently for me to get in not just the first gate, but the second gate as well before he went on his way.
I was touched and deeply appreciative.
I got here at 4 a.m. on Tuesday, June 17th, and crashed for a few hours, then got up, worked for a few hours (amidst the shaky internet), and then went exploring. I found myself in a local cantina with a bull’s head affixed to the wall, where I had a quesadilla and a beautiful silky-smooth glass of tequila with a chaser of a tomato-orange juice concoction that was delicious!
Against the wall, roughly 40 people at a table that ran the length of the restaurant were laughing, singing along with songs blaring from the speaker behind the bar, and having a grand old time. This was Tuesday, lunch, mind you. It was infectious, and so much fun.
For the first few days, I was uncomfortable abandoning my computer in the afternoons. I mentioned to my dear friend E. that my “boss” (at my current contracting gig) liked to lurk in my documents while I was working, effectively standing behind my back which I HATE, needless to say.
She—my friend E—immediately said, Stop calling him your boss. He’s your client.
This reframe changed everything.
He is my client. I don’t work for the company. After that, I was able to work until 1 or 2 p.m. and take off, knowing I had completed my client work.
I spent the first few days traipsing around Condesa, marveling at the plethora of incredibly cute cafes full of alacritous employees wearing uniforms or even tuxedos! And the bars are something else! I stumbled upon Baltra, which I learned is on a Best Bars of the World list, and no wonder. It was an absolute jewel box of a place, with — get this — six or eight enchanting terrariums full of emerald green plant kingdoms suspended in the windows and lighted! Talk about my kind of place.
It wasn’t just my kind of place though. It was PACKED, and it’s tiny, and dark, and beautifully decorated with seafaring (Darwin is theme! How fun is that?) and maritime antiques of all kinds. It’s just an incredible thing—sort of like having a drink on the set of the old Cirque du Soleil before it got slick and boring.
And I had a splendid cocktail there. I’ll have to tell you the name later. I may even go there after this. I’m getting myself excited.
Today is Friday. I escaped my pension by 11 a.m. and made my way to Chapultepec Castle, where I saw a sweet felted, scalloped vest which made me laugh. The views from the terraces were extravagant and super interesting, given that we were basically floating on a jungle canopy in the middle of a city of 25 million. Opera singers were performing on one of the terraces, and I sank down gratefully to listen for a time.
From the castle, I set off for the Tamayo Museum, only to discover there are no Tamayos in the Tamayo museum. I was out of there like a shot and made my way to the street to call a Didi and get to lunch at the little wine bar I wanted to check out. Alas, they were closed, and I wound up in Roma, at a little place called La Trucha, which was fine—I got two fried eggs, some warm baguette, half a sliced avocado, and some lightly roasted heirloom tomatoes.
After that, I found myself in a leafy-green park with a huge fountain featuring a naked Greek or Roman God of some kind. From there, I made my way to a little cafe, but then saw across the street something enchanting: a man in a window of an architecturally stunning building. My instincts said, Go there now, which I did, and found myself—get this—in an opulent 19th century building filled to the rafters with beautiful antiques and harbingers of the past where Octavio Paz used to work!
Yep. And now, working there, are host of the cutest boy bartenders in leather aprons. Here’s one giving Johnny Depp vibes:
Okay, here’s my last vignette. I stumbled upon Centro the other day. In fact, I discovered the Zocalo by accident, literally wending my way there, and was totally wowed. I knew it would be amazing, and it far surpassed my wildest dreams. First of all, it’s at least four times, maybe eight times, bigger than I expected it to be. It’s massive, so much so that the huge cathedral is dwarfed, and the altar — man, the altar, don’t even get me started. It’s a phantasm in intricate gold.
The zocalo and Centro were wild. I was basically carried along on an ocean of people. The streets were packed, the diversity was wild. I saw ancient old folks, characters in felt hats, dancers, organ grinders (of course), women in gingham aprons selling their wares, students, families, mariachis, tourists, vendors, you name it, moving like rivers through the narrow streets.
I had lunch at an old place called Las Casa de las Sirenas behind the cathedral. I sat on the terrace. It was raining, I was served a perfectly cooked sea filet on a bed of risotto, but had to ask for salt and salsa—and then it was excellent. But, check out the view. Good God. Right? Yes, God is good when restaurants like this exist. I just marveled. I kept jumping up to peer over the edge of the balcony. The waiters were kind and a little alarmed. They brought me a mezcal cocktail. It was lovely. And check it out: my waiter in a tux again. Waiters in tuxes are everywhere here, and it’s utterly fantastic.
Okay, that’s it for now. That’s not all I’ve done, nor all of I have to say about Mexico City or this trip, but that’s it for now folks, before I bore you to tears.
In summary, Mexico’s really all that. It’s gentle, beautiful, and fascinating, with layers and layers of history, and I’ve not even scratched the surface. But I intend to. I’ll be back.
Goodness this makes me want to get on an airplane again, when I’m still not recovered from the last trip! Amazing.
Enjoy! It’s an intoxicating place. The Zocalo has that magical energy, you can feel it in the air.