Don't Drink the Water

Cold milk is hard to come by in Mexico. I had forgotten this. It is mostly ultra-pasteurised and therefore, superb in long-term shelf storage; but not so superb to the taste buds of an obsessive and spoiled lactophiliac.

However, (in good American culturo-centric style) I have determined that Circle K does have cold milk -- albeit in the ultra-pasteurised boxes-- in the refrigerated section. To congratulate myself, some chocolate biscuits seemed called for as well.

My primary personal accomplishment of today is that I have a) ridden the MetroBus and b) ridden two lines of the subway and c) have navigated successfully and non-pickpocketed back to my hotel. A yarn shop was also located, but that is by-the-by. .

Moving along...

For those readers not avidly following social networking blurbs of personal information about the writer, my week began at 5.30am Monday morning with a 4 hour drive through insane snowfall from Norwich to Heathrow Terminal 5. It is kind of the bees knees. Since I was not flying to the US, I was allowed to have both a carry-on bag and a purse/laptop bag; this made me happy in my own Migrant Fruit-Picker sort of way.

British Airways, in contrast to its shiny terminal with the tallest elevator in Britain or some such nonsense (but without free wireless -- cheap jackasses) is not exactly the bees knees. It almost seemed like our plane had been retired from NorthWorst airlines as no longer rubbish enough. It looked normal, but was rather tatty on the inside. The crew, though, were absolutely lovely.

However, I had a lovely Mexican lady next to me, who lives in London and was married to an Italian and who has 5 daughters from Malaysia to Arizona to Mexico to London and who (in the most precious way) would insist on trying to chat when the movie was getting good. She had made mosquito picnic covers and decorated them with crocheted flowers for her daughters. She was fascinated that I was knitting.

The last time I was in Mexico was 1993. I don't believe customs was as much of a goat-roap then as it is now. After collecting luggage, one must stand in a queue about a mile long (much, much longer than immigration). Upon reaching the front of the queue, all bags and coats are x-rayed... THEN, you have to press a button and if you are unlucky enough to have the glow-box turn red, a man must dig through your stuff with some very dodgy gloves of uncertain hygiene (thank heavens for Zip-loc packing this trip). Well, I do declare, I was not picking up and placing that luggage onto that table for him. If he wanted to look at it, he could jolly well wrestle it up there; I also asked him to return all pieces to the floor for me. Unless customs is going to welcome me with a margarita without salt, 20 hours of travelling does not make me want to unnecessarily hoist luggage around. This whole process was an incredible example of ineffective bureaucracy in motion.

Immediately upon clambering into the Mexican-blanketed interior of the most unfriendly taxi in the world (it was a pre-paid airport taxi seguro -- don't worry, madre y esposo), I was transported back to the chaos of Mexican driving. I am undecided about whether it is better to wear a seatbelt or not, as it might prevent one from escaping.

These are primary Mexican traffic principles to remember:

1. There are lanes; but there are really no lanes at all. In some places, there really are no painted lanes, just a 6-lane-wide area of milling, honking, polluting kerfuffle.
2. There are directional indicators; but these really don't signify anything.
3. There is a horn; and you use it a lot.
4. There are traffic lights; but these are merely vague indications of a suggestion of behaviour that one might want to follow. For example, there are policemen who stand in the middle of intersections and when the light turns yellow, they blow their whistles and beckon cars to continue driving; when the light changes to red, they blow harder and faster and faster and wave frantically to KEEP DRIVING!!!! *toot! toot! TOOT!*
5. It is perfectly acceptable to block an entire intersection.
6. Pedestrians in the street are perfectly normal; I have already felt the need as well.
7. It is perfectly acceptable to talk constantly on one's cell phone.
8. On the positive side, there is not a lot of visible road rage... that I have seen. Of course, that could be because everyone knows that everyone else could have guns. There are gun-toting caballeros (and cops) everywhere. Even the rent-a-cops have guns where they are guarding the bakery -- must be some crazy desperados robbing bakeries.
9. None of the above rules apply to bicycles or to motorcycles.

As I am staying in one of my beloved Hilton properties (because they award points and miles), my room is more than adequate and I got some Oreos and 2 bottles of water as a welcome (being a Gold member, you see. Oh.... if I could only get to Platinum like B!). I was quite over-excited about the prospect of Tuesday's breakfast, although this turned out to be excessively optimistic... although OK. Today, my day started with soggy flautas instead of the strange (and yet foggily familar) tortilla duo with cheese and sliced ham -- other daily options are huevos revueltos (this means 'scrambled' eggs but it just makes me think 'revolting'), refried beans (what an ideal way to start off a work day!), and salsa (possibly the tastiest thing there). I am happy to report that the fruit does not have the 'Hampton Inn' fruit taste of US properties (my theory is similar to my earlier-described theories of Subway alien mind control). For breakfast area entertainment, I managed to pour almost an entire jug of milk all over myself and my work attire. This was exciting.

After attempts to recover a scholarship programme with the Consejo Nacional de Sciencia and Tecnologica (I don't thrive in conflict situations, but there seems to be room for progress and everyone was very lovely), my diverting afternoon exercise was to navigate self to yarn shop -- Lanona Botona -- locate reasonable dining establishment (other than Hooters or Starbucks), and navigate self back home with public transportation. All three goals were met, and a section of the city - San Angel - was discovered, which is quite different from the unique and tragic chaos that is the city centre.


There are some lovely buildings in the centre, and at night the National Cathedral and National Palace are dramatic and pretty in their twilight silhouettes. The day is obviously more chaotic than evening for traffic, the dirt and drudgery are glaringly visible, and there is an opportunity for an absolute hey-day for British Health and Safety at every step. At least the Templo Mayor (to R) is fenced off, although the rickety elevated walkways through it look quite primitive. Since Mexico isn't necessarily the safest place, I have been quite reticent to take loads of photos since I already stand apart being a gringa and rather tall; there is no reason to ask to be bothered or thieved. Once acclimation and language memory has progressed a little more, more photos will be forthcoming.

Mostly there are people going about their business, although this business is rather varied than one might expect. Like Thailand (yes, a blog is still due for that), there are street vendors selling everything from juices or sliced fruit in plastic bags to illegal videos and music to normal mew agents. There are also random things like an old lady with a tiny side table plonked in the middle of the pavement with a selection of 5 pairs of knitted slippers (5 total, not 5 styles); a  griddle and open fire surrounded by plastic patio chairs, again in the middle of the sidewalk, where someone is cooking meat and peppers; there is this army of organ-grinders throughout the Centro -- and yes, they wear uniforms with military-style hats.

The streets, in the centre at least, are a constant din of intruding and manic noise. Normal city street sounds (remember our horn rule) do not seem to be enough and are enhanced by a speaker system in nearly every shop front. These speakers may be blaring music of various genres, or a pre-recorded enticement into the shop on continual loop, OR the personalised microphone sales babble of a large girl in rather less pink spandex than is prudent. There are also people playing flutes and such like -- and the Organ-Grinder Army, of course.

Seguridad privada (aka, rent-a-cop) seems de rigour whether the shop is selling sewing machines, bathtubs, fabric, yarn, or toys. This is kind of depressing. With regard to locating specific types of items (outside of up-scale territory), shops seem to be arranged in some sort of pre-destined order. For example, for plumbing and bathroom decorating needs, you would walk along Ayuntamiento between Lopez and Dolores. For electronic products (including hawkers standing along the pavement with 3-ring binders of sheets of computer programmes available), one walks up Lazaro Cardenas between Rep. de Salvador and Rep. de Uruguay. Fabrics and such are located to the east and south of the National Cathedral.


Shops are most certainly basic. Traditional size seems to be equivalent to a mid-sized bathroom (see image to R, behind street sweeper trolley) and pretty much you just buy some stuff and randomly arrange it inside. Cheetos, some picture frames, and a selection of toilets would probably be a sensible outlet. There are three plumbers sitting on a curb on Rep. de Salvador with a little cardboard sign advertising their availability.

As in Bangkok, much of life seems to be oriented around mere survival.

However, a notable exception to 'regular' shop size (and there are more exceptions as well; this is just my current amusement) are pastellerias -- or bakeries. In this shining window and display, we can see a vision worthy of the Harrod's Food Hall. It is all very Eloise. And it is the oddest thing to find something so glamorous right around the corner from beggars and toilets and shower displays on the pavement.

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On a different aside, it might be worth noting that 'Do Not Disturb' signs no significa nada en el Hampton Inn Centro Historico. Generally, there is no need for me to have my room serviced daily, and so to prevent unnecessary work for lovely housekeepers, my sign goes out most days. On my return from constitutional stroll yesterday afternoon, I discovered Bear in prime princely location on bed and room completely tidied -- down to my hairbrush being cleaned out.... (?)  :)

In an effort to present self a little neater today to the housekeeper I fully knew would come in, my toiletries were carefully tidied this morning. Round items were stacked, miscellaneous items were stowed in plastic bag. However, this was apparently lacking in skill, and required additional straightening (as demonstrated to L).

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It should also be noted that absolutely no yarn was purchased in brief excursionary and navigatory exercise today. Lanona Botona (unlike others in the centre) allows smooshing. Centre shops (perhaps in reason related to seguridad privada) have all yarn behind counters and/or in locked glass display cabinets.

Shop is located in a charming part of the city, with cobbled streets and tumbling bougainvillea emerging from walled residences.

A return for morning knitting group may be necessary whilst awaiting flight home in two Monday's time....