Puebla

The trip to Puebla was lovely. After the 'misery zone' as Paco puts it, we passed some beautiful countryside which did actually have some of that golden light. (I had been noticing a flat quality to the light here, which presents ‘just the facts’, and does not burnish or caress what it touches.) Corn in shocks in curvy foothills, piedmont rapidly giving way to shallow volcanoes, not so different from Cville—except the volcanoes. Occasional men, donkeys, carts. Poured concrete seems to be the building material of choice-- or is it slabs poured at a factory and shipped? When someone has time and a little cash, they might paint the walls in varied bright colors. These buildings pour out over the countryside in bleak neighborhoods or climb the mountainsides like in Quito. This kind of building is common in China too, and ugly there, too. Then we went through extensive pine forests, The trees were paraboloid, or hyperboloid to be more precise, and had pom pom tufts of long needles, sometimes looking like giant gumdrops, not at all the tall triangular forms we are used to. They were sparse enough that there was tall grass underneath. The volcanoes were very dramatic, and one was smoking or steaming a bit. But the big one, Popocatopetl, had patches of snow. There were some low strata clouds about two thirds of the way up Popo.

trees with socks in Puebla

Puebla itself is a large, sprawling city but the colonial downtown is in a coherent small area. The bus stop was close to the Hostal, which was just a couple of blocks from the Zocalo. The Zocalo was ringed by the cathedral, government buildings, and at ground level, colonnaded cafes and such. It has trees (painted with lime to about four feet from the ground, as if they are wearing socks) and grass and is altogether pleasant; and especially in the evening, maybe  because of the holiday is crowded with people. Many are launching lighted toys into the night that have the effect of fireworks, just like one Jacob gave me. Now I know what it is for! I believe the Zocalo is built over ruins of more pyramids or some sort of ancient ruins. Puebla has various local treats including buttery cookies, a sort of pumpkin seed halvah, and pastries with dried fruits. Sweet, sweet, sweet!  

typical dish (mole poblana) on a typical dish

I successfully found the Fonda Sta Clara, the one Paco recommended. Oddly, it was not where google maps had it, but luckily was on the way. I had seen a street photo on google maps, so recognized it. There was another Sta Clara operation at the pinpointed location. Despite all the Christmas stuff, or maybe because of it, the restaurants are not that busy. Fonda Sta Clara meal:

a gordito is a fat little (3”) pancake with stuff on top: the usual suspects, beans, cheese, beef, salsa.

A chalupa is like a mini tostada-- this one had red sauce not too hot and a little tinga. Which is shredded chicken or beef, tiny shreds.

Fonda Santa Clara

A molete is like a savory fried pie about the size of McD's apple pies but with a savory filling. Not on a par with pakoras.

The mole poblano was odd, chocolatey tasting, sweet, rich, not really spicy, with a lot of gloppy sauce  . . . odd, to my taste.

Puebla is lovely  and looks like a Spanish town or a bit like Cagliari, with stuccoed houses with pastel paints and a certain deep yellow, bougainvillaea, palms, and other trees, taller than in DF; tall rectangular windows with iron grillwork. But also inset tiles mixed with brickwork, and stone doorways; tiny shops tucked into vestibules. They sell snacks like tacos and doner tacos and churros and gorditos, and total junk, but never fresh veggies or fruit like China. 

Buildings are on the courtyard principle, and views inside are a lot like courtyard houses in Beijing—bikes leaning on walls, an old table in the courtyard, miscellaneous junk. Some have beautiful gardeny spaces inside, but some on more industrial streets are filled with broken machinery, tires, and the flotsam and jetsam of a repair or machine shop.

I have not seen dog or cat one, except for two ladies of a certain age, both sporting leopard print dresses, sitting side by side on a bench. They each had an animal print tote, and from each tote peeped a chihuahua. No one looked happy. 

On the left is a wall with panels inset with talavera tiles, a Puebla specialty, a brilliant yellow wall around a church courtyard with bougainvillea spilling over. 

Teotihuacan, December 20

Temple of the Moon

I got the subway, early, to the bus station. There was a tired, droopy middle-aged woman with a Disney princess backpack sitting nearby. I got on the right bus, and set off early to get to Teotihuacan with my picnic lunch of delicious fragrant guayabas. The ride went through the residential and exurbs of Mexico city giving way to scraffy countryside surrounded by worn volcanoes and dry fields spotted with opuntias. We also passed fields of cultivated opuntias in rows, grown for nopales and dried shocks of corn: it is the dry season and has not rained for some months. I was sitting next to a man who was a professional guide and a self-made shaman who knew quite a lot about the ruins at Teotihuacan, but also I think, a lot of woo. He said, and I expect he did, speak Nahuatl, the ancient language; he said they still speak it in remote mountain villages. He spoke intelligently of the history and structure of the place, of migrations of populations, and anything else I brought up, but also spoke of spiritual herbs and carried an obsidian blade he had found to ward off negative energy. He held retreats for wealthy Californians.He seemed to have an ambivalent attitude about white Americans-- and why not?  A week or so later, I saw a man in a crowded market who waved and tried to talk to me, who I took for a tout. The man seemed angry and frustrated and I wondered if it was this man-- unlikely, though. But he didn't seem to be carrying anything, selling anything.
     Soon we pulled into the parking lot and walked through a museum and ran a gauntlet of souvenir shops to the avenue of the dead.

This place reminds me of the Forbidden City in that it is a huge gathering of administrative and religious buildings, the seat of empire, built around a corridor form; this one is two kilometers long and in Beijing is one; and of course the Forbidden City is not as old. Teotihuacan is not so restored and the interior spaces are mostly inaccessible.I think it was not so intricate and finely wrought in the first place, but certainly the structures are more massive. There were some visible interior murals but they were quite faded; the pigments were all botanical. This place is surrounded by  ancient volcanoes and grassland dotted with opuntia and a few varieties of trees. It is easy to see how the people thought it was a holy place. Oddly, it was not destroyed or built over by the Spaniards. The state has declared it an archaeological preserve so no towns are immediately nearby. 

At the top of the Temple of the M

There were many locals selling souvenirs along the avenue, the best of which were clay whistles which made either puma or eagle noises. I think they were really like kazoos, but the sound the pumas made when demonstrated were quite unearthly. Most of the other tourists were Mexicans, whole families, but few organize tour groups. There were some Chinese (from Duke), Germans, and a French woman with whom I shared my lunch.
     I decided to climb one of the pyramids, which was some 70 meters high, 267 steps. It sounds not so impressive, but standing in front of it, it looms large. After a couple of flights of stairs, I was out of breath, but relieved to see that even 20 year olds were puffing: the stairs are steep, around 9 inches; irregular; and it is at a high altitude,

something you don't notice just walking around. And it is absolutely shade free. After gazing at the surrounding volanoes for a few minutes, it was time to go down; and this was daunting.Suddenly it looked very steep. irregular and slippery. I was not the only one feeling this way! But I am here, so I must have gotten down. Traveling around the perimeter of the site rather than down the center of the avenue on the way back was a better choice. The landscape was beautiful and new to me. The opuntia were the size of small trees, and there were very graceful weeping trees with racemes of red berries. Tithonia and various smaller wildflowers snugging around the bases of trees. I wonder what it looks like in the spring rains.
It was getting hot by the time I was ready to leave, so I joined some others drinking unfamiliar sodas, waiting for the bus back.

Azul y Oro, Cafe Azul and around Coyoacan

December 20

Every trip has a lost day and this was it. I hope. I wanted to do the green line circuit of Coyoacan and points south. I wanted to get off at two stops, University City to look around and to eat at Azul y Oro. The chef there is famously a Mexican food historian, and the menu looked very interesting, and reasonably priced for alta Mexicana cuisine; and I wanted to check out Frida Kahlo's Casa Azul. Then I would come back and visit the Museo Antropologia, which stays open until 7:00.  But first I got stuff for a picnic for tomorrow's pyramid trip

So I bought bread, cheese, pate, guayabas and, planning to take the other Metro line, head that way. But I notice a bus stop and see that the bus goes to Nueva Leon. That is the name of the entry stop for the green line. So I hop on and the driver tells me when to get off.

I am in a totally strange place. It is beyond the end of my central city street map. I have no other map, having left the lonely planet guide in Cville, Just because it was a library book. Idiot.  I realize that Nueva Leon is many miles long, and I am nowhere near the part I nead to be. There is a nearby book store, but nothing opens until 10. The local 7/11s and gas stations have no maps or suggestions.

 I find the metro line some blocks away and head for the statue of Columbus which I think must be the Plaza de Madrid, which I remember the driver calling the stop. (I just happened across a photo of a statue in a plaza in Madrid with the same statue of a woman in a wagon pulled by lions, that is in the Plaza de Madrid in Mexico City.) But it is not the place, but is on Reforma. Reforma is a main boulevard designed by Maximilian and is lined with glittering skyscrapers and green strips, with periodic plazas with memorials. It also does have many interesting sculpted benches, all different.  I go to the Revolution memorial and am told where the Tribus stop is, but it doesn't seem right. So I find the place that does seem right. After some waiting, I find that it is a stop only for the red line. But I find out where the green line goes. So I take a cab. Get a green line ticket and hop on board. By now it is around noon; I was shooting for boarding the green line by 8:00.

At UMAC

The ride is not very interesting or dramatic. I get off at university, which is also or mainly a huge shopping conglobulation, walk a mile or so to the Uni gate, walk some more, pass an interesting wild garden with giant scentless orange monarda, passionfruit, small white cosmos, as well as some kind of tobacco with white-throated purple flowers, some of which looked years old and treeish, and  giant castor beans. I find the sala nehuatapetl or whatever,a deserted art gallery,  and the resauant Azul y Oro-- everything is closed. It is break. At least I find a toilet. I have been planning this lunch for at least a month and spent several hours (it is now 2:00 and I have had nothng but a banana and coffee all day) getting here. I feel like I have tramped many, many miles, and probably I have. I am losing the spirit of ‘whatever happens, it’s an adventure’. I start walking out of the uni, and, following the first truly bad directions I have gotten, exit by another gate. It is partly because I couldn't name the street I came in and have no map or idea or orientation. So after tramping a mile or so and realizing I am getting nowhere, I take a cab again which drops me off right in front of the shopping center.

Roadside Casualty

I eat at Sanborns, which is good  in a Hot Shoppes sort of way, with costumed waitresses. They were kind, and I ate a lot, but not what I had in mind.  I leave looking for the turibus stop, with a Walmart as a point of reference. It is nowhere in sight. This shopping center turns out to be about the size of the UVA main grounds. Then I happen to spot it--  the stop is on another main highway across a pedestrian bridge over an eight- lane highway and down some stairs. At the stop I fall in with some German ladies who turn out to be retired Finnish teachers. There is a tiny Charlie Brown highway Chrismas tree, a memorial to a fallen pedestrian at the stop. We wait by the highway for 45 minutes and reboard,

The bus took us through neighborhoods with tree leaves and xmas lights slung low across the road that bopped the tallest of us in the top of the bus. We passed charming neighborhoods with parks and endless roads like the one in Beijing where the 'French' bakery was: grubby 2 or 3 storey buildings, stores, etc. with no coherent feel. These kinds of places are hard to get to know.

around Coyoacan

The three of us checked out the Casa Azul, the Frida Kahlo house which was a shrine to Frida and Diego; I am not that much of a fan, but it seemed like a must-see. There were several cats and nice courtyard sculptures. We got on a metro to get back which was unbelievably crowded and the Finnish ladies decided to get a cab the rest of the way. So I came home, got some yogurt and v8 for dinner, and was unable to unlock the gate. Stood around for awhile, decided not to hang around on street corners, and went to sit at the nearby bus stop.

            Finally I knocked on the sister's door (a neighbor directed me) . The sister had three lovely daughters, and a very different household, relaxed and kid-oriented. There was a large navidad and kids’ stuff strewn around. We chatted and he sister called Paco. He drove back from wherever he was and  naturally fixed it immediately.

One of the 3 locks goes clockwise, the others counterclockwise. So he doesn't lock the different one. So when I thought I was unlocking all the locks, I was unlocking two but locking one. He was very nice, but I felt like an idiot.  So here I am, having checked email and ready to call it a day---tomorrow the Pyramides, and  a picnic. And if it is not too interesting, I will come back and try the museum, and figure out a dinner plan. Buenas noches.

I felt very very tired and frustrated at the end of that day, but reading my notes, it seemed like I actually accomplished quite a lot.

About Mexico DF

This is a very big, flat place. Most buildings are just a few stories tall. The whole place used the be a lake (Xochimilco is what remains), and just last week they had a 6.8 earthquake that didn't make the news in the US; but not much damage.  The city is really about 16 towns that have grown and merged together, and is now about 20 million strong.Every day it is in the low 70s and sunny; at night in the 50s.

Mexico City is more people-dense than any place in China, at least around Christmas time. It is exhausting, being surrounded and jostled every minute of the day, and being tummy to tummy with strange men on the subway, though there is nothing purposely inappropriate going on. There are lots of Mexican tourists, mostly blue collar and often with children; but few norteamericanos, Japanese, Germans, Australians. 

I negotiated the subway with zero mistakes, I am getting competent at this! And hopped a barraca, the casual buses. And found the house, though it is very out of the way.And didn't get ripped off or anything. Blooming with confidence!

The neighborhood where I am is more prosperous, but it is nothing like as dramatic and super-futuristic as coming into Shanghai. The people so far seem friendly but reserved; they use the usted form here. Tomorrow I will take the red tourist bus on its circuit and have a real lunch. (Tonight a China-style dinner, a bottle of juice and a few almonds-- not really hungry).

December 19

Monte Nacional

Today I went back to the Zocalo with the idea of visiting the artesan market (very expensive) the national Pawn Shop (Monte Nacional) a huge elegant building right on the Zocalo, with a room of attentive people gazing at a screen with numbers (an auction?) and on the other side, what looked like a huge bank with about 30  windows, and lines of people snaking towards the windows waiting to pawn or redeem their stuff filling a vast stone room. On the side opposite the agents’ windows, there was a very elaborate nativity scene with running water in the river. The effect was of a huge, ancient bank combined with an airport waiting room. The salas where you could buy jewelry, antiques, and artwork did not open until 10, and I was too early. 

      Streets leading off were full of jewelers who exhibited cheap chains and charms and who bought gold--their main business, it seems. 

one of a series of skylights at the Monte Nacional

By this time I was hungry and stopped at a place with a line out the door. I made a reservation, went to the nearby street market, and bought an embroidered blouse for half the price in the artisan's market, and came back just in time. So I sat down and the waitress suggested cafe con leche which sounds ordinary enough, but at that moment it sounded so wonderful . . . I also ordered chilaquiles with an egg, which turned out to be a wonderful mess. I told the waiter, Yo puedo compartir, si quiere, and in a minute an older gentleman joined me: a habitue who had flirtatious nicknames for all the waitresses. We talked (Besides the perfect weather, being able to communicate relatively easily is making this trip so easy-- I am having a great time!) mostly me talking, and when it was time for me to leave to catch the bus, he offered to pay! After some refusal, it seemed he was serious, so there you are. 

guitar-maker's shop at Mercado de Artisanales

   I hopped on a bus; like Beijing, there seems to be miles of glittering downtown; however it doesn't have the intensity of construction and destruction Beijing has.  After a time, I got off near a market I wanted to check out and found a huge Mercado de Artisanales; mostly garish junk. I did buy painted paper bookmarks, paper made of bark? And a small picture for Susan; a large piece of heavy blank paper to make another journal (for the cover); and a bit of embroidery, of a different kind, and some tejas (tiles) in the Puebla style. So now I think I have done the shopping. I saw the first Mexican cats of the trip: One tiny shop that was crammed crammed crammed had space for seven large fluffy cats who were . . . very relaxed. Leaving, I walked through a park. I saw an empty backpack in the bushes, a warning to be alert... There is a tree here that is a kissing cousin to the one in front of Max' place in Shanghai. Many of these neighborhoods have that French Concession feel, of grunge and splendor, with many repurposed old buildings. As in Shanghai and practically everywhere in Europe, the trees are frequent but small. I saw at least three tiger swallowtails, and a black bird that was larger, slimmer, and had a longer tail than our starlings. Not too many wandering animals. Beautiful blue sky today, and the city mostly sweet-smelling. 

As in China, snack stands have large griddles powered by propane or rarely, charcoal. All sorts of tacos, tortas, other snacks are available. If you get a plastic bag of chips, they pour in a hefty squirt of hot sauce. You can get crunchy lime-chili crickets, or fried lentils; juices squeezed and strained on the spot.

Market stalls constructed of pipe frames covered with blue tarps or sometimes just tarps on the ground pop up in every available, and not available (sidewalk) space. They sell mostly junk, but clothes, makeup, a startling number of booths dedicated to dog costumes, and junky jewelery from China.