We arrived in Mexico City last night and it feels like the Bangkok of the Americas. Huge, cultured, vibrant, ugly, beautiful, all together. We arrived after a fairly long journey: a two hour bus ride to Merida (before which I had a morning dash to the DHL office to send off a gift that was a bit too bulky to carry further), a taxi ride to the airport, a two hour flight and then a taxi ride to a flat in La Condesa. Which is a really stunning part of town, with lovely little apartment blocks and houses, and so many trees and parks filled with trees, and small restaurants with people eating and music playing, but not too loudly, just a wonderful atmosphere. Neighbouring Roma was also delightful.
Last night we walked around a bit, and finished with dinner at Azul, which had been highly praised but wasn’t all that amazing and cost the same as several meals worth at Yerbabuena. I did try ant eggs and must admit that for all my boasting about a stomach of steel, I found them strange, rather carnal in flavour, more even than bird eggs.
This morning we met a friend of the Gentleman Friend’s, an American who is settled here, and with him walked around the central, colonial, bit of town. Quite spectacular, despite the wonky subsidence, and the ravaged pyramid with the Spanish cathedrals made of stolen stone looming over it. Given this, it was rather pleasing that in the shadow of the cathedral was an energetic trade in limpia, a traditional cleansing with smoke and herbs. Inside the churches were very different from the more modest ones of the Yucatan: lots of gilt, immense altars and chandeliers. Much more like those in Catholic Europe.
After we parted ways with the friend, the GF and I decided to strike northeast towards Morelo. As soon as we left Centro it was a different world. Far fewer white Mexicans, almost everyone there was of indigenous heritage. Dirtier, more derelict, with harder expressions on faces. It felt more dangerous and all the warnings about avoiding certain areas of Mexico City came back to us. There is something irresistable and arbitrary about crime, it’s not something you can talk or smile your way out of. In any case, we arrived at our destination, the church of death, La Santa Muerte. It was, so far as I could tell, a converted house rather than the church, and outside were two tall skeletons in elaborate attire, and a ravaged drug addict praying in front of them. We went inside rather cautiously, having been told by many about having to take care. At the entrance a woman squirted some yellow liquid into my hands and I followed the example of those in front of me and rubbed it on the back of my neck. It turned out to be rosewater and so I smelt of death for the remainder of the day.
The inside of the church was remarkable. Lit in the sort of grey-white light that feels more shadow than light, and with images of death on every side. The main altar had a white painted shop mannequin, dressed in a gown, by one side – it represented a corpse perhaps, and a woman stood before it, praying and weeping. The main altar was a mass of flowers and images. Christ on the cross hung to one side, but most of it was taken up by skeletal forms in rich attire and, interestingly, a large US flag. We bought a couple of prayer cards and came out feeling we had been in some profound underworld, very different from the jolly Caterinas that one can buy in any souvenir shop.
On the way back we walked through Roma and Condesa again and stopped at El Parnita for a really excellent meal, the best I’ve had in Mexico, with superb tacos and delicious salsa. And now we are back, looking forward to our communion wafers with cajeta picked up from one of the traditional sweet shops in Centro.