I.I.I.I – Mexico City: Day One
MEXICO CITY
I.I.I.I – DAY ONE
04/08/22
It took nearly a day of flying, and despite all my drama and whining, I had finally made it. I was in Mexico City (CDMX) – in friggin Mexico, in friggin Latin America! Whilst I could hardly believe it, I brushed off the impending wave of exhilaration without a second thought – I had a full day ahead of me and I couldn’t afford to waste any time at the airport.
I had promised myself I would do this backpacker style. That I wouldn’t take too many shortcuts. That I’d rough it up a little and forego my usual comforts. It didn’t take too long for me to cave. The first thing I did as soon as I got out of the airport was getting a taxi. I was meant to be walking or using public transport on most occasions, but, as I figured, why not bathe in some luxury for the last time in the foreseeable future?
And what’s more luxurious than an old, beaten down Ford? The driver, Juan, gave me a warm welcome to his car and home country, with Bad Bunny blasting in the background. I felt right at home, like I had finally come back after a long, long time – even though I had never been here. I guess that’s the power of Latam for you, huh?!
He told me he had been living there since he was born and that he’s married with two kids. When I asked him about the tiny shoes he had on his dashboard, he said it’s customary for Mexicans to keep one of their children’s first ever pair of shoes as a keepsake. Throughout the ride, I noticed he didn’t have his seatbelt on and he kept on texting the entire time – something which, in hindsight, is an almost universal practice in Latin America. He also mentioned he’s an English teacher and that he does this part time. He told me he either wanted to go or that he’s already been to Europe, but I’m not exactly sure what it was.
My Spanish had improved quite a lot during the years, but I was by far nowhere near fluent and felt much like the reversed version of Sofía Vergara. I had never really learnt it – it just happened. It was me breaking and modifying Italian in a way that sounded quite Spanish-like only to be corrected by native speakers and subsequently remembering the new rules. It was mostly memory work for me – not ideal when trying to learn a language with eighteen tenses! “Eight months of this oughtta do it!” I thought to myself.
Riding Around
The thinking was getting in the way of my admiring the roads and the beautiful, colourful buildings and murals, so I told my brain to cut it out. No more thinking for now. But I couldn’t help it.
I remembered looking at very similar roads back in Colombia – the first country I had ever visited in Latin America. I would stare at every building and every piece of street art with pure awe and wonder, taking thousands of photos as I’d stand there in disbelief. Now I just looked at them with this sense of nostalgic familiarity. I took a deep breath as my eyes started tearing up. It felt like I was back home after a really, really long time. It had been four long years since I visited Peru and not a day had gone by that I didn’t think back on my adventures there and looked forward to more. And finally there’d be the long awaited more. For the first time since I had run out my job contract to start my trip, I could feel excitement brimming!
Juan pointed towards a couple of buildings and parks here and there as we made way to my hotel – the first of the many I’d be staying in. Back in Malta, I started booking the cheapest and most convenient places I could find. The only thing I’d want would be a single room with a private bathroom, that’s it. I didn’t even look at the photos or at the décor, meaning any one of these hotels could either be a paradise or a murder house.
Luckily for me, my first hotel turned out to be a pretty decent one. Quite a small room, but it had everything I needed – a bed, an electrical outlet, a toilet and a shower. That’s it. That was all I’d be needing from my accommodation for the upcoming eight months. Nothing more, nothing less. I’d be spending little time in my room so what would have been the point of me paying more? I mean, yeah, sure, there’d be days where I’d just wanna hang out and rest a bit, but I could do that in my bed with my laptop or Kindle. I wouldn’t really need fancy furniture or a mega sized TV, would I? So anyways, this hotel would do just nicely.
Back At It
It was too early for check-in, so I left my ginormous backpack at the desk and headed out. What a feeling it is… To be out and about the world again! The refreshing breeze only seemed to intensify the feeling of liberty and freedom. I started walking aimlessly at first, getting lost in the roads and admiring all the graffiti and the street art on the buildings, the street vendors preparing food on their stalls by the pavement, all emanating the most heavenly of aromas, the kiosks selling everything from magazines and chicles (chewing gum) to candy and souvenirs. Out of all these things, there was one that struck me in particular – the cleanliness of the roads. I don’t think I’d ever been to such a clean city before then.
Pretty soon, I started to realise that I was reaching the Zócalo, or rather, the city centre. The roads started to get busier, both in terms of human and auto traffic. But what really gave it away was the sound of the organilleros. These are uniform clad organ-players that play their barrel organ in the middle of the street. Drawn towards the music, I approached one of the many crowding the street corners. It was enchanting at first. So enchanting I couldn’t help myself from tipping himway more than I probably should have – especially since it was enchanting for about a hot damn minute. It quickly turned into one of the most annoying sounds I have ever had the displeasure to listen to – reminding me of the light and fun amusement park music that goes all flat and wonky the second the murderous clown appears.
The City
Mexico City’s Zócalo is kinda hard not to admire; boasting a huge plaza that is usually the site of the city centre market or various exhibitions during the year when not empty, and, the pièce de résistance, Mexico City’s very own Metropolitan Cathedral – a gothic masterpiece whose history is not entirely as beautiful as it is.
You see, this church was built over the remains of a temple in the middle of Tenochtitlan; the Aztec Empire’s capital city in the 15th century. After the infamous conquistador Hernán Cortés razed the city to the ground in 1521, including its main place of worship; Templo Mayor, it was decided to consolidate their power and absolute control by building their own temple – one that took around 250 years to build and was dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin Mary.
Templo Mayor, once a symbol of Aztec power, consisted of a series of seven four-angled pyramidal temples, one built over the other with every passing ruler. On top of the last pyramid, used to be two shrines, one dedicated to Tlaloc; god of rain, and another one to Huitzilopchtii; god of war. As magnificent as the cathedral might be, I couldn’t help but feel that the greatness of what once stood there would, by far, outdo the that of the present.
I spent what time little I had left before check-in going around the city – chilling at Alameda Park; the Americas’ oldest park, and just roaming the streets. As I was roaming around, quite out of the blue, it started to rain. Little did I know, despite all my meticulous planning, that the months between May and October constitute Mexico’s rainy season. My trusty umbrella served its purpose mightily for the first few minutes, pathetically attempting to shield me from a torrential downpour that lasted a couple of hours. It was right there and then that I started to expect the unexpectable from the country’s weather – something that came in very useful the more time I spent there.
As soon as I could check in, I made my way back to the hotel to get some much-needed, and by then, some much-deserved rest. Only after I had settled in and took a long, long shower, did I realise how tired I had been. Also jet lagged. In all my travels thus far, I had never felt jet lagged before. In fact, I thought it might have been something kin to a conspiracy theory.
Stay wild,
Marius
Post Scriptum
I can now testify that jet lag is indeed a thing. A thing which would take me over four days to get over. I felt as if I were constantly tired and drained throughout, always yawning and wondering what’s up with this old body of mine. And the waking up at 4AM! So, so annoying! Especially knowing I’d have a long day ahead of me and being unable to go back to sleep. On most days, I’d be going back to my hotel by around 5PM only cause I wouldn’t be able to take the exhaustion any longer! But I kinda powered through and, in hindsight, I don’t feel as if I had missed out on anything.