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Ribbon Wrapped Around a BombBy Stephen HendersonDATELINE – Mexico City A pitahaya is a pink tropical fruit only rarely found for sale in the sprawling produce markets of Mexico City. Having just arrived in town this past July, I decide its availability is a good omen. But when a vendor, with a startling whack of his machete, exposes the fruit’s spooky interior -- dense white goo studded with black seeds – I’m not so sure. “Es dulce,” the man says. (It is sweet.) As I raise the flesh to my lips, I’m both afraid and excited.
As Mexico City’s pendulum swings between life and death, one’s senses become abnormally alert and there’s always something new to see, hear, touch, smell and eat -- like the pitahaya which, by the way, was wonderfully sweet. In a place that over 20 million people call home, however, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Since you can’t possibly see everything, here are a few neighborhoods you won’t want to miss. PolancoThis is where the affluent come to play. And, as one of my friends puts it, “when you are rich in Mexico City, you are obscenely rich.” Polanco has many fashionable restaurants and luxurious high-rise hotels lined up like chess pieces about to storm Chapultepec Park across the street. The Marriott, Nikko and Intercontinental are all fine, but a few blocks away is the Habita Hotel. Minimalist in décor, it is a chic, sleek hideaway, with a seriously groovy roof bar and pool. A house DJ spins a magic vibe all day. You can turn the music off in your room, of course, but I prefer it on. Taking a dip soon after I arrive, I loll in the afternoon sun and silently practice my espagnol. Hint: Mexico has had centuries to deal with its inferiority complex with Spain; the U.S. is the place everyone loves to hate now. So, make the effort. Even knowing which greeting to use as the day advances – buenos dias (good morning), buenas tardes (good afternoon) or buenas noches (good evening)– can make a huge difference in how an American is perceived. If you really want to blend, shift your body clock and eat lunch later. At 1:00 and 2:00, restaurants in Mexico City are empty; by 3:00, they are mobbed. Arriving hungry at Entremar, I greedily devoured a whole fish, split, and grilled with a red salsa of four chilies on one half, and a green salsa of parsley, garlic, and lemon on the other. Red, green and white (get it?) Mexican cuisine is fond of such flag-waving patriotism.
After browsing some of Polanco’s swanky boutiques, I had a late dinner at La Valentina, where I drank my tequila neat (no one from Mexico City would be caught dead drinking a margarita), ate tortillas that were picante, and swooned to the mariachi band singing ranchero songs. Only the iciest of hearts doesn’t melt to this music. La Condessa and RomaUp early the following day, I ran in Chapultepec Park. Perhaps you’ve heard the air is bad in Mexico City? It is, and gets worse throughout the day. It’s wise to exercise first thing. Then it was off to tour Roma and La Condessa. Of the city’s nearly 300 colonias, or neighborhoods, these two are among the most genteel. Roma seems misnomered, though, as the architecture here evokes Paris’ Belle Epoque – a reminder of France’s late 19th century invasion of Mexico, and the installation of Maximillian and Carlotta as royalty. This star-crossed couple’s brief reign has been much romanticized. There is, in fact, a whole generation of upper class, elderly Mexicans who still revere all things French, and speak it as their second language. Many of Roma’s most impressive dwellings – with beaux-arts balustrades and window grilles, coved ceilings and marble stairs -- are now galleries like Landucci and OMR which showcase the ebullience of Mexico’s contemporary artists. It is hard to find a gloomy Mexican painting – outside of sacred art, that is, which is frequently quite grim indeed. Casa Lamm, the hub of Roma’s art scene, has an outstanding collection of books on Mexican jewelry, gardening, ceramics, architecture, herbs, interiors, and cuisine – in short, all the things that give life here such zest. Though infamous for having less green space than any major urban center in the world, what few neighborhood parks Mexico City has are usually worth a closer look. Parque de Espagna in La Condessa, for instance, is a small jewel of gushing fountains, palm trees, beds of pale pink lilies and pathways lined in herringboned brick. Birds chirp so loudly that they almost drown out the car traffic zipping by at the park’s perimeter. An oasis, too, are the rickety tin stalls selling freshly cut flowers on practically every street corner. Here are enormous girasoles (sunflowers) with black centers six inches across, Iris, Gladioli, and Calla Lilies plunked into tinted water that dyes the white petals turquoise or purple. Mexicans like to “improve” nature, you see – as is also evidenced by vendors selling hunks of pineapple, mango, watermelon and cantaloupe, peeled to order. They serve the fruit spritzed with both limejuice and chili powder. That’s a jarring contrast. La Condessa is busy with cafes and restaurants that spill so far out onto the sidewalk, pedestrians seem not merely to be passing your table, but about to ask for a bite. Somehow, this is not bothersome. At Litoral, I started with translucent slices of rare tuna on blue tortillas, then had a thin, densely flavorful piece of flank steak, served with grilled Serrano chiles and guacamole. Food note: grilled Serrano chiles cause hiccups, though this didn’t prevent me from eating every single one. Zocalo/Centro HistoricoResidents of Mexico City love to exaggerate the dangers of their hometown, especially to gullible tourists. That said, have your wits about you when visiting the Zocalo. It is the heart of the world’s most populous city, contains the country’s biggest public plaza, and fronts the largest cathedral in Latin America. Don’t be afraid! Instead, exult in the living, breathing kaleidoscope. Vendors hawk faded photographs of deities such as the Virgin of Guadalupe (Mexico’s patron saint), Emiliano Zapata and Marilyn Monroe. Day-laboring men sit behind signs that tout their skill at plumbing, plastering and laying floor tile. Handicrafts from around the country are on sale, including my favorite: jewelry from Chiapas, which has tiny scorpions or beetles encased for all time in a golden prison of amber. A perfect gift for your Indiana Jones, Jr.
After touring the church, I ducked around to Avenida Guatemala, directly behind the cathedral, where stores sell such religious souvenirs as milagros, tiny tin prayer requests in the form of legs, arms, eyes and hearts. La Exposicion sells life-sized crucifixes hung from the ceiling like legs of Iberian ham. The pious gore of this artwork – every wound is more articulated than in Gray’s Anatomy – is shocking at first, yet it’s also uniquely Mexican. Curious fact: look at the daily tabloids being sold at Mexico City’s newsstands. Instead of bikini-clad blondes on the cover, as there would be in London, there’s usually a close-up of victims from a car crash or murder. Are there any two words more fearsome and fascinating than “human sacrifice?” A question worth pondering while headed towards the Templo Mayor. What remains of this once-massive temple site – which was demolished by the Spaniards almost immediately -- was re-discovered only quite recently, when electricians working underneath the cathedral discovered carvings of the Aztec goddess Coyolxauhqui. Michael Meyer and William Sherman in The Course of Mexican History assure us it was at this very spot on one bloody day in 1487 that 20,000 young men had vital organs ripped from their chests in order to appease the gods. An incomprehensible statistic, this. Feeling myself about to lose heart, I headed down the street to El Caballo Mexicano, which is where this city’s urban cowboys shop. Shelves are piled high with fantastically worked leather saddles, bridles, whips, and holsters for pistols. Unaccountably, I’m suddenly mad for one of the skin-tight, embroidered outfits that charros wear. I try on a navy blue model with an intricate lattice of gray suede stitched on the outseams and across the waist and seat. It fits like dream. About to buy it (a bargain at $300), I stop myself. I’d come that close to being seduced. Beware! This is what happens in Mexico City. The exuberance of life, and the dizzying, dazzling variety of things for sale, presses upon you like an offer you can’t refuse. St. Angel and CoyoacanA true megalopolis, over time Mexico City has gobbled up several smaller towns that were once distant suburbs. Two of the prettiest are St. Angel and Coyoacan. Each has its own town square and a distinctive local flavor. If you have the good fortune to be in St. Angel on a Saturday, the Mercado Sabado at Plaza San Jacinto is a must see, as artisans from all around the city set up booths. Brunch at the St. Angel Inn is terribly civilized and if you’re a fan of the muralist Diego Rivera, his house is here, too. The walk from St. Angel to Coyoacan is along Francisco Sosa, an enchanting avenue of private houses and large trees that arch up and over the narrow passageway between. You feel like you might be in Seville, Spain – which is doubtless what its architects had in mind when they first laid it out for Cortes, who moved here shortly after vanquishing Montezuma. A few blocks from Coyoacan’s lively plaza – it has a bandshell, and organ grinders and kids playing with metallic balloons – is a bustling market where the lunch counter of Pepe Coyote serves delicious (and perplexingly inexpensive) food. Large pitchers of aqua fruta, which is purified water mixed with exotic fruit juices, are served family style. Thus fortified, I visited the Frida Kahlo Museum, a few blocks away. Poor Frida! She contracted polio while still a child, was horribly injured in a bus accident at age eighteen, and would undergo thirty-nine operations to heal her broken body. She was born and died (1907-1954) in this same house, the Caza Azul, where she painted all doorways and window frames Kelly green, the dining table yellow, and tile floors a fire engine red. For much of her adult life, she lay in a bed with a mirror tied to its canopy, studying her reflection. Well over half of Kahlo’s canvasses are self-portraits; a critic once described them as “ribbon wrapped around a bomb.” She is a complex and fascinating woman, alas soon to be domesticated by Hollywood in a movie starring Salma Hayek (“Wild, Wild West”), and directed by Julie Taymor (of “The Lion King” fame.) Touring her garden, which is centered on a majestic Magnolia tree, I decide Frida Kahlo is the very essence of the Mexican will to live. She once said to a friend, “why do I want feet, if I have wings to fly?” I thought of Frida again later that day when I pass a papeleria, a store selling nothing but paper products. Outside, a guy with a microphone headset has attracted a diverse crowd of perhaps fifty men, women, and children. He’s demonstrating some device that, with a flick of his wrist, cinches an orange ribbon up into a huge poof, suitable for placement on a special gift. His audience, which has been absolutely spellbound, murmurs in delight, and a few older ladies even applaud. The guy takes a bow for his bow. I love this more than I can say. And, it’s for such moments that I return again and again to Mexico City. Where life, if not a cabaret, is at least a brightly-wrapped surprise. An Ideal Day9:00 a.m. If it’s a Saturday, shop for antiques at Plaza de Angel in the Zona Rosa. If it’s Sunday, take a taxi to LaGunilla, Mexico City’s notorious flea market. In either case, bring muchos pesos, as the bargains and merchandise are outrageous. 11:00 a.m. Stop into Café de Tacuba. Order a big cup of bittersweet hot chocolate, and a sugary roll to dunk in it. 12:00 a.m. See Diego’s Rivera’s house and the Casa Azul on the “Frida Kahlo tour” organized by the Marquis Reforma Hotel. This is also a quite comfortable, “executive-class” hotel in you’re in town on business. 3:00 p.m. Have lunch at Fonda Hotentote. The outdoor patio drips with bougainvillea and chiles en nogada are a house specialty. 4:30 p.m. Go to the Franz Mayer Museum, a private art collection of a German industrialist who immigrated to Mexico in 1905. The decorative arts displayed here are beyond exquisite – don’t miss the Virgin of Guadalupe where her body is made from inlaid mother of pearl. 6:30 p.m. Soak in the roof pool at Habita Hotel. Have a massage. Take a nap. (You’re going to be up late.) 9:00 p.m. Have dinner at Ixchel, which serves up-to-the moment fusion cuisine in a colonial-era house. 10:30 p.m. Shoot pool at Cafecito Del Billar. This is a funky, old-fashioned billiard parlor, with claw-footed table made from elaborately carved wood. Will playing on such a grand table improve your game? Tal vez (maybe). 12:00 p.m. Go to Barfly, where the Cuban music is hot, and the dancers hotter. The secret to salsa dancing is that while your hips are in constant motion, your body is stationary above the waist. Got that? 2:00 a.m. A midnight snack of tacos al pastor at El Tizoncito. These are tortillas filled with thin slices of grilled pork, cilantro and fresh pineapple. Have a “side” of cebollitas, grilled baby onions, and wash it all back with horchata, a milky drink made from rice that tastes faintly of cinnamon. 3:00 a.m. Dulces Suenos. Sweet dreams. When You GoGetting There: Continental Airlines (800-525-0280) has several connections a day from BWI to Mexico City, via Houston. United Airlines (800-241-6522) in partnership with Mexicana Airlines has one non-stop a day from Dulles to Mexico City. LodgingHabita Hotel -- (Av. Presidente Masaryk 201) - (5) 282-3100) Marquis Reforma (Paseo de la Reforma 465 – (5) 229-1200) ActivitiesNational Museum of Anthropology (Paseo de la Reforma and Gandhi – (5) 553-6386) Landucci Art Gallery (Colima 233 – (5) 514-2323) OMR Art Gallery (Plaza Rio de Janeiro 54 – (5) 207-1080) Casa Lamm (Alvaro Obregon 99 – (5) 525-3938) El Caballo Mexicano (Av. Pino Suarez – (5) 542-7100) Frida Kahlo Museum (Londres 247 – (5) 554-5999) Franz Mayer Museum (Av. Hidalgo 45 – (5) 518-2266) Cafecito Del Billar (Orizaba 99 – (5) 207-8441) Barfly (Plaza Masaryk – (5) 282-2297) Dining:Entremar (Hegel 307-B) – (5) 531-2031) La Valentina (Plaza Masaryk 393 – (5) 282-2297) Litoral (Tamulipas 55 – (5) 286-2025) Café De Tacuba (Tacuba 28 – (5) TKTK). La Fonda del Hotentote (Cruces 40-3 – (5) 522-1025) Ixchel (Medillin 65 – (5) 208-4055) El Tizoncito (fifteen locations around town) Words of Advice – Only drink bottled water, sin hielo (without ice). Feel free to take Mexico City’s subway which is clean, efficient and by far the fastest way to get around town. Never hail a taxi on the street, especially the ubiquitous green Volkswagens. Have the hotel or restaurant call a radio cab for you. For more information about Mexico, call the Mexican Tourist Information office at 800-446-3942. Photo Credit |
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TM
Fears and thrills. I’ve traveled to Mexico City many
times, and I’m always called back by its jarring contrast of enormous
sophistication and an almost elemental crudeness. The city is both hell and
paradise, with no purgatory – if you’re lucky, and drink only bottled water
– in between. Instead, there are tremors: the aftershocks of conquest,
revolution, earthquakes, ferocious fertility and delirious decay. It is a
place, and culture, that makes a game of mortality and each November 2
celebrates The Day of the Dead with prancing skeletons and clanking bones.
Eat, drink and be merry, for manana…. 
Later, it was off to the nearby National Museum of
Anthropology. The building, a triumph of high-1960’s Modernism, is itself
worth a visit. Though little of the signage is in English, the epic scale
of these Mayan, Aztec, Olmec and Toltec artifacts speak for themselves.
They also are a reminder of how remarkably strong Mexico’s blood-lines are.
These millenia-old physiognomies are seen everywhere throughout Mexico City:
the broadly-bridged nose, high cheekbones and dark black hair. Indeed, one
of the astonishments for a first time visitor is – as in Asia -- how
remarkably homogenous the population is in appearance. 
And no, it’s not your imagination. The Metropolitan
Cathedral is listing visibly to the right as it settles ever deeper into
what used to be a lakebed. When in 1521 the Conquistador Hernando Cortes
first visited Mexico City, then called Tenochtitlan, it was an archipelago
navigable only by canoe. Cortes compared it to Venice. (A pleasant vestige
from this watery past remains in Xochimilco, in the city’s south, where you
can rent a gondola for the day and float through aquatic gardens.)
Engineers have tried for centuries now to prevent the cathedral from
sinking. Progress is being made, apparently, as on this most recent visit,
the floor -- usually a forest of scaffolding -- was clear. 