Can it be adequately referred to as 'jet lag' when one has only adjusted to 2 hours behind and traveled less than 2000 miles in the same hemisphere? Whatever it was, yesterday I felt a bit drunk and slept like a stone when I reached the bed at Hotel Habana on Republica de Chili, Mexico City D.F.. The journey involved a few delays, as must be expected during the holidays, but with the magic of planes I am dropped like Dorothy in Kansas to this huge city once again.
When Curtis and I walked out into the Zocolo after a shower and lunch, it was filled with the pursuits of winter in the North. An ice skating rink, a snowmobile track, snow sculpture and inner tube sliding on the ice, all with the Cathedral in the background. I love the juxtaposition, all these modern little kids romping away in the snow that all kids everywhere seem to naturally love, with the oldest Catholic church in the western hemisphere (1550) towering above, full of its sad karma of grandeur and tradgedy. That combination seems also as timeless as children loving snow.
Curtis, in his tour guide mode, could tell me that the city uses it's revenue to offer this 'Festival a Magica de la Navidad' and all the activities are free. Families stand in line for hours to reach one of the features.
The sun is shining, like a warm day in spring. Last time I was here it was rainy and cold, so the gods are smiling now, ready for Christmas.
Another poignant scene yesterday, as we walked along Calle Gustavo Madero (Permanently closed to cars now, heavenly) we passed 2 little kids sitting on the pavement, about 6 or 7, maybe younger. One was playing a little accordion, and they were both singing in a style I think must be learned from the Son Jarocho music. They had a little lime green plastic piggy bank with a big hole cut into the top for tips. The singing is projected heartfelt and from the mid chest it seems. It is especially heartrending when performed by little kids I think. I left a coin, but still feel concerned about where they live, and what their lives are like.
On the other end of the spectrum is the 26 year old priest we sat next to on the plane from S.F. to D.F. He was going from Vancouver BC to a wealthy area in the city, S. of where we are staying. He had just finished touring with the Arch Bishop and could regal us on how fun it was riding first class to Australia. When we told him where we stayed in the city, he said his mom wouldn't let him go there. He rarely took the metro because "we have a driver', as he said.
He watched an animated movie on his laptop while we slept through the nightflight.
It is good to be here on the ground with the bustling masses.
Two cafe's barely takes me to myself. I have this terrible American female urge to slather on some oil and find a spot in the sun.... but the park is full of giant photo scene background booths and a carnival.. and no one lays in the sun here. They will be posing for holiday photos with the walking Toystory characters or the lifesize glitter castle scenes.
The organ grinders are playing in the street. We will walk and walk, preparing for Dave and Bob to arrive on Christmas, ready to take the Curtis Daily tour de force. Buenas dias, y amor siempre
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