Sprawled over 3,200 km, the US-Mexican Border has 40 entry points. For a large part, a river, the Rio Bravo marks the boundary. Usually, tourists go to Mexico by air. There are as many as 30 international airports within the country. But airfare is forbidding. Houston-Mexico City Return alone would chop off US $400. I’m not a bank robber or a gunrunner. For me, the only way was to hack a 22-hour bus ride. With one bag of potato chips and two bottles of water, I braced myself for a long journey.
Leaving Houston, the bus turned south and continued without turning again seemingly on “A Road to Nowhere”. It was getting darker and darker; I was half-awake and half-sleep. The bus stopped briefly at few places and eventually came to a grinding halt. Someone tapped my shoulder. I thought it was Brownsville, the last town on the US side. When I got down, I encountered strange faces, dialects and signs. People got shorter, slimmer and browner. Men were supporting moustaches, wearing cowboy hats and jackets. Ladies were dressed up in pink, tangerine and white colors. Many were munching on tacos and tortillas. There was music in the air. I looked around and found a few musicians in silver studded outfits with wide brimmed hats. They were playing violins, guitars and trumpets . The beat was fast and sounded like the musical score on “Drugs, Guns and Guerrillas.” Unlike, dullness at US bus-stations, the mood was quite festive here.
It took me sometime to realize that I was already in Mexico. Perhaps due to my moustache and brown colour, I was taken as a native returning home. No one bothered me for my passport or papers though I had paid US$40 for a 30-day visa back in my own country. (The Mexicans are only subject to a random check.)
It was past midnight. I bought a ticket for Mexico City coughing up US$68. Showing the ticket to every second person, I located the bus and occupied my seat. It was quite comfortable and had air-conditioning, restroom, audio & video facilities. In a short while, a uniformed man entered and announced something in Spanish. I didn’t understand a word but my heart sank when he occupied the driver’s seat. He was rather short for the job and had to spread his arms in full length to take hold of the steering wheel. I recited some holy verses to ward off any accident. Having satisfied myself, I reclined the seat and went back to sleep.
Being the rainy season, it was pitch dark outside with occasional lightning. The area was mountainous and barren. Cactus trees, telephone lines and power poles provided some signs of life. The bus stopped only at three stations. All were equally festive, teeming with people. I got some hot soup and bread shying away from fruit and drinks.
At midday, the bus approached Mexico City. The road become congested withthe flow of buses, cars, taxis and motorcycles. A pleasant surprise was the green taxis, Volkswagen Beetles, the original rear-engined ones, zigzagging on the wide road, oblivious to the traffic signals or signs.
At long last, the bus stopped at Norte or North Terminal. I got a gust of hot air upon stepping down. My legs cramped & breathing became slightly difficult due to the high altitude (2,300 m) and smog. However, the terminal was nice, clean and huge. There were dozens of transport companies plying buses of every class, color and condition. This, coupled with endless stalls and kiosks, was mind-boggling. I seemed lost in its vastness and looked around for help. A Western Tourist came to my rescue and pointed out towards two cabins: one for hotel and the other for taxi. I got the address of a three-star hotel and a pre-paid four-dollar voucher for a shared taxi ride.
I came out of the terminal and showed the voucher to a uniformed attendant. She directed me to a taxi already occupied by a European couple. I also squeezed in. The taxi moved out, turned onto the main road and joined a mad race. We passed by markets, plazas, green parks, colonial buildings and skyscrapers.
After dropping off the European couple, the cabbie studied the address given by me. He drove a good length on the Paseo de la Reforma, a major avenue in Mexico City, occasionally turning onto side roads. Despite his best efforts, he could not locate my hotel. Having paid for the taxi-fare at the bus terminal, I was not the least worried and enjoyed the ride. Every half a mile or so, there was a large traffic circle with some sort of monument in the middle. Eventually, the cabbie dumped me at another Hotel, the Mayaland. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it was cheaper and probably better. At long last, I was able to stretch my legs and relax in a mega-city with 25 million people.
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I rang up my email friend, Sylvia. She promised to come next day at 10 am. I didn’t believe her as Mexicans’ attitude towards time was reportedly flexible. But Sylvia came on the dot, dispelling all doubts. She was slim and energetic and suggested a long walk in the downtown. That was a wind-fall: not only did it suit my style; it provided me with a trusted guide in a city infamous for pick-pocketing, mugging and rip-offs.
We passed by monuments, parks, fountains and tree-lined avenues. Soon we turned onto side streets which were narrow and crowded. Of the 25 million people living in Mexico city, as many as 6.25 million were said to be young entrepreneurs or comerciantes, willing to buy or sell anything, in the street or off the street. It could be electrical appliances, clothes, computers, cameras or foods. We went through diversified areas studded with bookstores, bars, cafés, butcher shops, auto repairs and hat-shops. The street-life became more vibrant and colourful with dare-devil live performance of fire-swallowers, jugglers and acrobats.
Sylvia suggested to go on the top of the tallest building in Mexico, Latin American Tower, with a height of 181.33 meters. For a small charge, we were taken to 44th floor by a fast lift and had a magnificent view of the city. We could see 747s flying in front of us. Also we saw an endless urban sprawl filling up the Valley of Mexico right to its brim. Yellow smog covered the skies. Being at an altitude of 2,300 m and ringed by mountains, there were many problems. Fresh water could not be brought in and waste water not thrown out. The sub-soil had turned soft causing many old buildings to sink or shatter.
Despite all this, it was fascinating to walk in the alleys and avenues of the city. At long last, we reached Zocalo. In fact, Zocalo is a generic name for a city-centre. In Mexico City, it was a great square, second only to Red Square of Moscow. Surrounded by imposing colonial monuments, the Zocalo was throbbing & pulsating with rhythmic beat of drums and the ankle-rattles of the native dancers. A giant Mexican flag was also fluttering to contribute to the razzle-dazzle.
In 1978, when underground tunnel work for being carried out for the Metro, the digging led to the discovery of ruins of a great pyramid. This was a reward for the awesome work in the face of sub-soil water problem. The Metro Project was successfully completed and had diluted transport problem to some extent. The Pyramid was well-preserved and could only be reached and seen through a series of catwalks ending at the door of a museum, which showcases the relics of gold, silver and jade found on the site.
Once Zocalo had a palace of Montezuma who was last Aztec emperor in Mexico. He was overthrown by the Spanish and his palace razed to the ground. Though it was long time back in 1520, Montezuma continued taking his revenge. A dreadful stomach disorder is known as 'Montezuma's Revenge' and is caused by use of tap water, ice cubes, raw vegetables or raw fruit.
We were now feeling hungry and looked for a place to eat. There were plenty of restaurants, fondas and stalls. We selected a café only because it appeared clean and tidy. For myself, I asked for a low-fat “enchiladas” made with chicken, tomato sauce and with very little cheese. Sylvia ordered Quesadillas (fried tortilla with a lot of cheese). (Tortilla is a soft thin patty, made from corn or flour. The Mexican food is often hot and can be tongue-blistering. It can bring tears to eyes and sweat to forehead. The best antidote is a dairy product such as milk or cream.)
By the evening we were in Zona Rosa (the pink zone). It has been designed for pedestrians. Wide brick paths wove through well-pruned shrubs and statues. All streets were closed to auto traffic. Pedestrians leisurely strolled past the restaurants, bars, night spots, boutiques, art galleries, bistros, and road-side cafes.
It was getting late for us though the night-life had just begun. We hurried towards our hotel via Paseo de la Reforma, the city's main thoroughfare. This elegant boulevard was lined with dozens of magnificent monuments, modern high-rise office buildings, embassies, luxury hotels, colonial mansions and shaded pedestrian promenades. It reminded me of Manhattan in New York while boulevard was a copy of Champs Elysees in Paris.
At about 10 pm, we were back to the hotel and headed straight for the dining hall. I ordered garlic soup since the temperature had dropped down and it became a little chilly. While we were slurping the soup, a gentleman came towards us. Sylvia got up greeting him and introduced him as her ex-husband. I could not believe my ears; in my country a divorcee would vow not to see the ex- in this lifetime. She went back with him as he was incidentally in the city and more than willing to give her a ride back home. Maybe they patched it up on the way. I returned to my room and slept like a log.
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A day trip around Mexico City
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Being short of time and a long way to go, I thought of an ambitious plan: First, I would check out and leaving my carryon with the hotel would go to Teotihuacán (‘ruin’ north of the city). Second, I would get down, on return, at the gate of Anthropological Museum. Third, I would take a long walk back to the hotel via “Champs Elysees” of Mexico. Fourth, I would collect my carry-on, rush to North Terminal and take a night-bus to Oaxaca. That appeared “feasible” and I booked a half-day trip for US$20 for the first phase. While awaiting the tour-van, I realized that I was in for a 12-hour of sight-seeing and another 8-hour of bus-ride. If it turned to be “backbreaking”, I thought, I would be less enthusiastic in my next odyssey.
Soon the tour bus arrived. There were 3 trippers already in the van: an Italian gay couple huddled together and a lonely girl from Colombia. I looked forward for a pleasant day. The van driver-cum-guide, Ernesto, knew his job well and kept us in good humour all the time.
The Cathedral
First stop was at “La Villa,” with two Basilicas of the Virgin of Guadalupe. There was a large gathering of believers and curious tourists. The new Basilica had a circular floor-plan giving easy access to almost 10,000 people flocking on ceremonial days. |
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