Our first day of travel is an epic one. The alarm goes off at the absurd hour of 2AM, which I think we both are more accustomed to as bedtime. Groggy and sleep deprived, we are brought to the airport at 3 to be in time for our 5AM departure. Why the airline encourages you to be two hours early at this hour of the morning is a mystery, especially because not a single airline even shows up to work until 4.
Flight to Houston where we are seated next to Mark, a talkative and possibly insane former Provincetown resident on his way to Puerto Vallarta. Within minutes, we are encouraged to come "party with him" and an invitation is issued for us to join him on his yacht for an afternoon of cocktails. The words "compound", "millions", "private swimming pool", "200 foot", "chef" and others are dropped about like honey roasted peanuts, which they don't even offer on planes anymore, but oh well. He seems nice enough, but I am put off by his detailed instructions on how to best smuggle ecstasy through security in one's anus.
We have decided, or more accurately, our bank account has decided for us, to stick to as closely to a budget of $50 USD a day, including all food, lodging, and, well, tequila. This is already proving difficult even before the plane touches down, as the hostel we have booked runs a steep $28 a night.
Flying into Mexico City at dusk is a surreal and overwhelming experience. The city seems to sprawl in every direction for miles and miles until there is nothing you can see but city and lights and dots and pueblas and life surrounding you with no end.
MEXICO CITY
Population - 21 Million
Elevation - 2240 meters
Arrival time - 6,20PM CST
Deplane, Immigration, Customs. Grab back packs and hit the streets. Our budget does not afford us the comfort and convenience of a taxi - $10! - so we opt for Lonely Planet's advice to take the alleged nearby subway for only 3 pesos each - about 25 cents. In what is the first and no doubt not the last betrayl by Lonely Planet, the metro stop is no where in sight: Despite the blatantly simple directions - "walk 200 meters past the taxi stand" - there is no metro. My Spanish skills are immediately taxed to the limit by asking no fewer than six different people with answers ranging from "just to the left" to "there is no metro station here." We are like a team on Amazing Race, running around the airport, sweating, huge packs slumping our posture, yelling in elementary Spanish. We are decidely not going to win the million dollars.
One of the first thing one notices on the streets of Mexico - old Volkswagen Beetles. Everywhere. No, seriously, a damn army of them. Like cute little locusts - ancient engines sputtering and puttering, gears shrieking, burping exhaust. Every third person seems to be driving one. Even the taxis are old VW bugs painted a sort of caramel and maroon. Did VW have a clearance sale after they stopped producing the classic beetle? Did someone lose a bet? What is going on here??
We check into our hostel, the no-room-for-error "Mexico City Hostel" and drop our bags, a bit dazed that we are actually here. The hostel is a charming old building with handpainted tiels adorning the massive stone staircase that snakes up four floors. It is, like most hostels, a United Nations of travellers, young and old, a symphony of languages and cigarette smoke, beer drinking, rarely washed and be-dreadlocked camped out on lap tops, Facebooks updated at a furious pace.
The hostel is on Calle de Brasil "just steps away" (to use a guidebook cliche that is, in this case true) from the awe inspiring Catedral Metropolitana which stands majestic guard over the enormous Zocalo - for which "town square" seems an embarrasing and inadequate definition. This is ouir first on-the-ground impression of the capital. It is huge, jaw-dropping, decked in tens of thousands of multicolored Christmas lights, jammed with people covering what must be the area of two or three football fields. Indeed, it is one of the world's largest city squares.
On the east side is the stately Palacio Nacional, housing the President's office and the seat of government and on the south side are the city offices. But this is irrelevant. Because as night falls, all you can see are the comically oversized illuminated piñatas, flashing stars, even Lite Brite-esque nativity scenes that tower several stories above the action. the center of the Zocalo hosts an ice skating rink and various other faux-snow covered winter themed attractions which, of course, seem absurd in the balmy 70 degree weather. This is still the height of the Christmas season and all this excitement is the lead up to El Dia de Los Tres Reyes on January 6, the day Mexican children traditioanlly receive their presents, delivered not by Santa Claus and his reindeer, but by the Three Wise Men (Los Tres Magos) who apparently, from what is on display here, break into Mexican homes after midnight and leave cheap trinkets, bootleg DVDs, and plastic Disney Princess dolls.
Feliz Navidad!
Much more to come... as well as pictures!
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