Abuelitos in Mexico!

My friend Pete, who is smarter than me, wrote me after my last blog to say, "Hey, this is good shit, but I wonder how many people manage to finish reading them when they are so long. Why not issue them in smaller installments." So, I'm going to try that this time. If I get more feedback from people saying this helped them read them and enjoy them, then I'll make it a new thing. If not, then Pete doesn't know shit. I wrote this blog while on a tour of Baja California Sur, a truly amazing place. Mexico is so diverse and incredible. Don't know if I'll squeeze in a blog about that trip, but I'll surely have pictures of it (as I already do of my parents visit) posted at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/miguelito2066/sets/72157622745419733/show/ Check 'em out!

My parents came to visit us last month. At the October/November Cusp. Day of the Dead/Halloween. All that. Not that this is why they came then. I needed to use the last three days of my “paternity” leave before November 1st. So, that’s when I told them to come on down. Of course, I’ve been telling them to “come on down” pretty much since I’ve been here. (You know, like for my wedding.) But, circumstances (read: global financial crisis and housing sales slump) and a longstanding provincial attitude about international travel kept them from responding to the invitations. Enter Miguel Alberto. The little guy had only been on the planet for a month and a half and he already had my parents buying plane tickets to Mexico. Well done, Son. I didn’t really care what had pushed them over the edge. I was simply ecstatic that my rents would finally be joining us in Mexico to get a first hand view of our lives. It’s weird that I care so much. At what age do you stop wanting your parents to be proud of you? I know I’m not an old man, but the signs indicate that I am getting “older”—the eyesight is failing, the libido is not as chipper as it once was, the recovery time after intense physical workouts is longer. (The recovery time after intense partying, however, seems to be lessening—this is probably a bad sign.) At any rate, at 43 years old I was totally stoked that Mike and Louanne would be visiting us and I counted the days down until their arrival.

Of course, looking back, it's clear that my enthusiasm got the better of me; I took them on a whirlwind tour that left my mother barely able to catch the flight home to NJ. Of course, she didn’t arrive in the best of shape either. My mother and some of her other siblings suffer from a rare condition that causes fainting at times. I can remember my uncle Patrick (the eighth of eight children, and thus only a year and a half older than me) sprinting away from the Fourth of July parades whenever the fire engines would approach, blaring their sirens. Apparently, for some reason, that would kick off his fainting spells. And I can also remember my aunt Margie being found passed out on the bathroom floor of my grandparents’ house when I was little. In recent years, my mother has developed additional physical quirks, like occasional migraines and something else that causes her to experience uncontrollable rapid heart beats. (I can’t remember the names for any of this stuff.) Not that any of it happens frequently as far as I understand it, just that it happens, sometimes. My mom is a sweet and fragile person, nothing terrible in that. So, when my parents confessed shortly after arriving in Mexico City on Tuesday night that my mom had passed out on the plane on the way to Mexico and given themselves, and everyone on the plane a good scare, it was not all that shocking of a surprise. But, I probably should have taken heed.

But, I didn’t. And the whirlwind tour commenced immediately after dropping their bags off at the apartment by walking them down the street to the Califa taco place. I’ve shared a lot with my family about the delights of Mexican food and wanted to introduce them right a way. This wasn’t the street tacos that I adore, but Califa is pretty tasty. So, we headed over there and had some tacos al pastor and some gringas shortly after they arrived at our apartment at 11pm. They seemed to enjoy them well enough before we went back home and finally put them to bed in Miguel’s yet occupied room at 1am after a long day of traveling. Oops, that was 3am their time. Sorry guys.

Still, the tour needed to continue (like the Milgram experiement), so the next day we got up and quickly started their personalized walking tour of my surrounding neighborhoods—Hipodromo, Condesa, Roma Norte, Juarez. We hit Buena Tierra for brunch, then Parque Espana and Parque Mexico, the Cibeles and Diana Fountains, Reforma, Little Korea. We did stop for a rest at Cafemania off of Parque Mexico. As we headed home after this long first day, I heard some mention of blisters emerging on their toes and “I haven’t walked this far in a long time.” Oops again. (Did I mention my parents are in their mid-sixties?) Sorry again guys. Well, not sorry enough to not schedule a dinner out at the Lebanese place we like so much with 12 of my closest friends. I really wanted my awesome friends to meet my awesome parents. Of course my folks were slightly subdued for the event, given the 3am bedtime the night before and the ten mile walking tour. Even so, we had a nice time, finishing off the evening by toking on the hooka. My friends got a glimpse of the two people responsible for making me me. Afterwards, I’m certain both my parents were asleep the moment their heads hit their pillows.

But, hey man, there is a lot to see in this great city of mine. So, the next day after breakfast we headed up to Chapultepec Castle, which I’d pointed out to them from my 9th floor apartment windows. After walking up the long steep hill that leads to the castle, we toured the residential portions of former emperors and presidents and headed into the museum portion for some more when my mom suddenly decided she needed some air. Too stuffy, she said. Gee, Mom, sorry about that. Ale went outside to sit with her. My dad and I hurried through the rest of the museum in order to catch up with the girls and Miguel outside.

Still, the day wasn’t over yet. Shoosh, it was only 3 o’clock or so. The show must go on and all that! We drove downtown, after a stop for some street quesadillas, to the Bellas Artes Palace to show them the El Greco exhibit that I’d heard so much about. Ale and I had been dying to see this and had waited specifically for my parents’ visit to finally go. When I heard my mom saying, “who exactly is El Greco again?” it dawned on me that Ale the art buff and me the history buff were perhaps not thinking straight when we set up this part of the itinerary. (Still, it was really cool, set up in the dark with highlight lights on the paintings. Better even than the normal showcase in Toledo, or so I’ve been told.) We left the museum and headed down toward the Zocalo, the huge central plaza of the city. (They assured me their feet were up for the mile walk or so through the old weathered buildings of El Centro.) After taking in the wonders of that mighty plaza, peeking inside the Catedral Metropolitana and taking a gander at the ruins of the original Aztec temples upon which the city is built, we headed over to the La Casa de las Sirenas restaurant and enjoyed some truly fine Mexican cuisine, garlic trout, chile enogada, and mole con pollo. It was on this satisfied note that we headed back to the apartment to put day two in the books. Way to hang in there you two!

Installment II to follow...

VIVA MEXICO!!

For those many gringo friends of mine who somehow still manage to think Cinco de Mayo, or the 5th of May, is the date of Mexican Independence, let me clue you that Mexican Independence Day is celebrated on the eve of September 15 and the following day, September 16th.

It all started 199 years ago in 1810. The world had witnessed the American Revolution transform British colonies into independent states, whose laws and institutions were firmly based in the ideas and values of the Enlightenment. The French soon followed with an attempted Enlightened Revolution of their own. Lacking the historical and cultural democratic experience of the Americans, the French Revolution spiraled into a bloodbath of beheadings and wars until a general named Napoleon assumed control, declared himself emperor, and effectively ended the first attempt at a true French republic. As Napoleon expanded his control and influence over much of continental Europe, he placed his brother Joseph on the throne of Spain. Consequently, Mexican authorities found themselves beholden to a crown they rightly rejected as illegitimate. Many upper class Spaniards migrated to Mexico, where they fomented anti-French and Mexican nationalist sentiments. One person caught up in this new movement was a creole (a Mexican of pure Spanish decent) priest who was both as popular with the mestizo (mixed race Mexicans) and natives as he was unpopular with the church (he was tried by the Inquisition) for his Enlightened ideals. He was working with other anti-French and Enlightenment influenced creoles on a plan for armed insurrection when the plot was prematurely discovered in the nearby town of Queretaro. Before the authorities could squash their plans, he quickly rang the bell of his church in Dolores, where he addressed his congregation in the town square (or zocalo) just before midnight.

No record of his apparently inspirational speech survives, but the reenactment of this call to arms (El Grito—“the shout or cry” in Spanish) is the centerpiece of the celebration that kicks-off Independence festivities every year in Mexico. Today's El Grito consists of some reconcrtucted version of the original cry being recited, followed by acknowledgement of the founders, "Viva Allende!" (crowd): "VIVA!" "Viva Morelos!" (crowd): "VIVA!" "Viva Hidalgo!" (crowd): "VIVA!" And it ends with,"Viva Mexico!" (crowd): VIVA! (repeated three times). These reenactments happen in zocalos big and small in cities and towns all over Mexico at 11 pm every September 15th. The reenactment of El Grito is followed by fireworks, dancing, singing and drinking into the night. This explains why the national day off from work for independence occurs on September 16th, not September 15!

Hidalgo and other early revolutionaries were summarily captured and executed, but the revolutionary genie could not be put back in the bottle and the war against the French illegitimacy raged on and was almost immediately turned into a war for complete independence from any foreign crown. Spain finally acknowledged the reality of an independent Mexico in 1821.

Ale and I celebrated our first Grito on our first weekend away together to Queretaro, and then to San Miguel de Allende, home of another early founding hero, Ignatio de Allende. On September 15, the quaint colonial square in San Miguel was awash in a festive atmosphere, filled with tourists, vendors of all sorts and Mariachis throughout the day. By evening it was completely packed with celebrants waiting for the mayor to appear and reenact the “Cry of Dolores.” After El Grito, when the fireworks went off on the huge towering carrousel built in the plaza, the people crammed underneath it began a mad dash in all directions away from the falling flames, burning gunpowder and choking smoke. This, of course, caused a ripple effect in the crowd which resulted in us almost being crushed. We were literally being lifted off our feet and moved feet at a time. It was quite scary for a moment, yet most around me were laughing. (If you are asking why authorities didn’t cordon off the area underneath the fireworks carousel, you obviously have not lived in Mexico.) It was exciting and crazy experience, and devolved into dancing and merriment in the streets; no harm no foul.

This year, a head cold had me feeling a bit under the weather so we invited some friends over for a few drinks and some “servicio a domicilio” or food delivery. My friends showed up, Ryan wearing a national futbol team jersey, and Tim sporting a giant Mexican mustache, sold along with Mexican Flags on the streets during this time of year. The mood was mellow, but enjoyable. We were hoping for sushi but discovered that us dopey gringos had waited too late on Independence Eve and had to settle for cheeseburgers and curly fries. THE Zocalo in El Centro here in Mexico City is ground zero for El Grito, where the president conducts the reenactment before tens of thousands in front of the National Palace and for millions on TV. It rained—hard—all evening, so those who stood there for hours were true patriots. By 11pm the rain had slowed enough for us to go up onto the roof of our apartment building and watch the fireworks from the Zocalo. The HUGE red, green and white bursts were impressive even from a few miles away in the rain. Simultaneously, there were visible displays from at least four other distinct launch sites, as well as various other wannabees launching the occasional missile from around the city. The sounds and sites of Mexican independence reigned down across the cityscape of 20+ million like the rain coming down from the heavens.

The next day we slept in (well I slept in, Ale was up early feeding the baby) and awoke to a beautiful sunny day in which the city appeared washed clean by the heavy rains. After I finish writing this blog, we are going to check out the Bellas Artes museum downtown where there is a visiting El Greco show. If that’s closed today, (the website makes no mention of being closed for the holiday) we’ll maybe head over to Chapultepec park, the giant forest filled with museums, a castle, lakes and an amusement park. It’s a great day to live in a great city, in a great country, in a wonderful world. Viva Mexico!

PS. If you’re still wondering what the hell Cinco de Mayo is all about, quite simply it is a celebration of the victory of a smaller Mexican Army over a much larger invading French Army at the battle of Puebla, on the plains outside the city of the same name that lie a few hours south east of the DF. The French, who had come ostensibly to force Mexican repayments of defaulted international loans, eventually ended up conquering Mexico and installing Austrian Prince Maximilian on the throne, until liberal forces, supported by the US, helped overthrow his French puppet government restoring Benito Juarez to the presidency. Still, the victory symbolizes Mexican pride and resistance to foreign influence and control. Why this day has become a significant holiday in the U.S. (it’s not big here) is likely because beer, chip and dip companies needed a spring holiday to push their products. May Day, the international socialist workers rights day, just doesn’t have the same festive ring to it.

Photo: President Felipe Calderone issuing El Grito in the Zocalo from the Palacio Nacional.

Little Miss Sunshine Tours Mexico City

As you know, I really love living in Mexico City. Sure, it’s got its quirks and hassles, but they are mostly outweighed by the museums, sculpture, restaurants, parks, nearby colonial towns and beaches, pristine nature, and the overall freshness of living in a new environment. I relish the opportunity to show my friends and family from home around my new city, and even put them up while they are here. Regretfully, I haven’t been able to extend that hospitality as much as I would like, the lone visitor to Mexico City so far being my very well traveled friend Nik. That’s why I was totally pumped when I learned that we would be hosting Bob and Yoonhee, and their beautiful daughter Sunshine, for the first part of my spring break week.

The first benefit of having visitors from back home is their impending visit lights a fire under your ass in terms of getting things in order. First, we went out shopping for a crib and stroller/car seat for Sunshine to use. Honestly, though I am going to have a baby of my own living with us in four short months, I have given little practical thought to how we will accommodate the little guy. This foray into the world of actual baby items brought me to a new level of “wow, this is really going to happen.” I also went out that week and bought Ale a desk to put in the unused quarter of the open area of our apartment. Staying up late putting it all together for her to wake up to made me also feel like I was preparing for fatherhood, as I will likely be doing similar late night preparations of Christmas gifts for Miguelito Jr., or “Beto” (short for Alberto) which we think we may call him. We have a second bedroom in the apartment, but it was mostly being used as an unceremonious storage closet for the many boxes we’ve accumulated over the past three moves. The night before they arrived I scrambled to sort and consolidate, locating many a lost article—“oh, so THAT’S where that’s been!” Having found as much as I did, I am now committed (no, really!) to spending all day some upcoming weekend to a more thorough and complete job. I also managed to do some last minute replacement of kitchen tiles, mount a shelf for the toaster oven and hang a large picture that had long been on my to-do list. Finally, after several days of preparation, we were ready to welcome our friends to our (relatively) new (to us) apartment.

Things got off to a scary start when the traffic down the main highway to the airport, Viaducto, was uncommonly jammed at 10 pm. Ale figured the construction of another east-west artery in the northern part of the city may have been the culprit. My anxiety grew as it took close to 45 minutes to reach the airport and we had not discussed a contingency plan of contact if we were not there to greet them. My worry was for naught, as Bob, Yoohnee and Little Miss Sunshine appeared out of customs about 30 seconds after our arrival! The ride home took less than 10 minutes, so they missed the opportunity to experience a staple of Mexico City life, stiffling traffic. As we drove home, Bob commented on the experience so many have when flying over the city at night—“It’s SO huge!”

My buddy Jim Weathers was leaving the next day for the Dominican Republic, so he stopped by to meet my friends. He arrived in a state common to those who know him: inebriated and elevated. Despite the presence of the baby, he carried on in his jovial manner, complete with “fuckin’ ‘ell” this and “mother-fuckin’” that. We all got a big laugh when Bob, miming for Sunshine seated on his lap, began moving her arms, pointing at Jim and saying, “Hey, who is that crazy mother-fucker over there?!” Jim’s girlfriend Laura soon dragged him away (I suspect) for some last chance lovin’ (she would not be joining him in the DR) and Bob and Co. headed for bed after a long day of traveling.

While I had managed to get the day off, Ale had to work, so I decided to take our guests on a general tour of the city. We began with a walk up Nuevo Leon where we soon encountered a Friday street market on Campeche. Yoonhee took advantage of the cheap fresh juice available and I shared with them the common Mexican treat of jicama, a sweet root covered in lime juice and chile pepper. As we meandered our way through the side streets of La Condesa, we discussed the perfect weather conditions, and how “surprisingly nice” the neighborhood was. La Condesa, named after a countess who once owned the original hacienda, was developed as a neighborhood beginning in the 1920’s and features an array of art deco architecture. It was home to the rich and famous of Mexico City until the big earthquake of 1985, when those who could, fled for newer (earthquake ready) upscale neighborhoods. This left Condesa in decline for a brief time, only to become the trendy revitalized area it is now that so impressed Bob and Yoonhee. Finally, we arrived at the nexus of this trendy little neighborhood, the intersection of Atlixco, Michoacan, Tamalipus and Vincente Suarez where we had a delightful brunch at café Buena Tierra. Bob ordered some Chilaquiles, a very traditional Mexican breakfast dish consisting of tortillas covered in a red or green sauce, cream, onions and your choice of chicken or fried eggs on top. Yoonhee ordered another Mexican staple, though I can’t remember what it was. Both loved their meals. (I specifically remember what Bob had because he asked me to repeat the name of it to him 50 times over the next few days: “CHEE-LAH-KEE-LEHS”)

After eating, we headed over a couple blocks to Parque Espana, the smaller of two fairly large parks in our part of town, where we made our way to a shady bench. Sunshine was too young to make use of the enormous jungle gym contraption that sits at the heart of the park, but she was very much entranced with the sights and sounds of the fountain near our bench in a small pond. Her excitement practicing her walking also garnered her smiles from the old man seated next to us, enjoying the shade and eating fresh oranges. Next, I walked them through Roma—my old neighborhood—where I showed them my old apartment building and introduced them to my old favorite street taco place. (Yes, it had only been about an hour and a half since brunch, but Bob doesn’t need much of an excuse to eat!) I ordered an Alambre, a mix of steak, pork, peppers and onion, which he and Yoonhee devoured. We then headed further north to the beautiful Diana fountain, where we turned right for a stroll down Paseo de la Reforma, the “Champs Elisee of Mexico City.” A flower market lined the wide pedestrian promenade, offering visual and olfactory stimulus to the already beautiful, tree-lined thoroughfare. When we stopped at the golden Angel of Independencia, the most famous landmark and de-facto symbol of the city glimmering under the blue sky, it was time for a few comments on Mexican History. I explained why, unlike in America, there is a difference between the war of “Independence” and the war of “Revolution” in Mexican history. Independence refers to the war against the Spanish Crown, between1810-1821, and Revolution refers to the civil wars and political upheaval against the ruling elite, and between competing political factions between1910-1921.

The boulevard on which we walked also draws its name from another major period of political transformation in Mexico’s tumultuous past. La Reforma occurred (for the most part) under the beloved indigenous president, Benito Juarez, between1854-1876. These liberal reforms stripped the Catholic Church and the military of their many privileges and undemocratic political influence. The reforms also provided further protections and considerations for the average Mexican citizen established during the revolution, including a “Mexican Bill of Rights.” Paseo de la Reforma, the boulevard now honoring these improvements, was ironically constructed by the “Emperor of Mexico” Maximilian I, as a gift for his wife, Empress Carlota. Maximilian I assumed the throne of the Mexican Empire in 1864 with the help of French Emperor Napoleon III, who was looking to expand his influence in the Americas. (His blue coated troops were the bad guys in the Zorro movies.) Rather than retaining the name of the Empress, the boulevard Reforma now honors the democratic changes of the man who deposed her interloper husband and had him executed. Ha! Take that PUNK! (Sadly, his last words were, “Viva Mexico!”)

Next we hopped in a cab and headed downtown to El Centro, another area teeming with history. We jumped out at the beautiful Bellas Artes, a palace built as a cultural arts center at the early 20th Century. It houses a theatre, concert hall, and galleries for exhibitions, such as the Frida Khalo exhibition I saw last year. As it was awfully bright out, we headed over to the adjoining Parque Alameda for some more shade, where Sunshine got some fresh mommy-milk and Yoonhee and I had some icy treats. We then strolled down Avenida Cinco de Mayo (which is not the date of Mexican Independence or Revolution) toward the imposing Zocalo, the enormous central plaza of the city. All Spanish founded cities have such an arrangement, and even small towns have a modest version, but there is none that I know of larger than this one. It is the site of many traveling exhibitions, such as the Nomad Museum’s photographic exhibit, Ashes and Snow last year, as well as the site of many types of demonstrations, celebrations and events. At one end of the square lies the Metropolitan Cathedral, the largest and oldest cathedral in Latin America. It took over two hundred years to complete and is an amalgam of styles, though mostly Baroque. On the other three sides of the Zocalo stand the massive colonial structures that once served as the Palace of the Spanish American Viceroy and the seat of the colonial government which ruled from this location on behalf of the Spanish Crown from 1535-1821. (The other New World viceroy was the Viceroyalty of Peru, seated in Lima, which governed from Panama to Tierra del Fuego before being broken up into smaller viceroyalties due to problems with communication and transportation.) Today the National Palace is a museum, housing the original legislative rooms of the young Mexican Republic, as well as the famous murals of Diego Rivera depicting the history of Mexico. The only actual governing body remaining on the Zocalo is the city government. Perhaps the most famous annual event that occurs here is “El Grito”, a ritual re-enactment of the original call (or “grito”) for independence by the mestizo-sympathetic priest, Miguel Hidalgo. Tens of thousands gather under the palace balcony on September 16 to hear the president proclaim, “Viva Mexico!!!” thus signaling a burst of fireworks, singing, dancing and general Mexican revelry. I haven’t attended it there. I felt nearly crushed among the crowds at The Grito in the relatively small town of San Miguel de Allende two years ago, so don’t think I would appreciate the hording masses attending the event in the Zocalo.

There was an event planned that day in the Zocalo, though nothing of any national historical significance; a mass Quincenanera of 300 young debutantes, celebrating their “Sweet 15,” as it were. As we enjoyed some more Mexican delights—“sopes y sopa” from a hotel restaurant overlooking the Zocalo (did I mention Bob loves to eat?) we looked down upon the dress rehearsal of these young girls on the stage and listened to the music bouncing off the colonial walls. To top off the day, and to offer my guests another authentic Mexican perspective, we took the metro home. The Mexico City subway line is one of the most dependable things in the city, though it can get sardine crowded at times on certain lines. Since this was my first time heading home from the Centro to my new apartment, I couldn’t guarantee the passenger volume would be baby friendly; however, the cars were only half full and there was no need to go look for a taxi. In fact, Sunshine’s unique beauty got her noticed quite a lot, earning her more smiles during the ride home. (People smiling at this kid would be a theme for the weekend.) That night we were visited by my buddy Will, who stopped by for some wine and a feast of Mexican sushi, filled with (a strangely DF tradition) Philly Cream Cheese. I was happy to have two very good friends, one old and one new, finally meet.

The next day it was up and at ‘em with a long list of other things to do and see. Or so I thought. I was learning that the morning routine we had experienced the day before was the norm: Sunshine waking up at the ass crack of dawn, hanging out for a few hours, then laying down for a midmorning nap before we could effectively get out of the house for the day. So, the Turibus ride I envisioned would not happen. Nor would we get to do more than take a drive around the outskirts of Bosque Chapultepec, the “central park” of the city. Here there are lakes, museums of modern art and the Museum of Anthropology, an amusement park, and Chapultepec Castle. This castle, now the national museum of Mexican history, has served as residence to both presidents and emperors, but mostly as a military academy. It was from the bluffs surrounding the castle that the famed “Los Ninos” wrapped themselves in the Mexican flag and hurled themselves to their deaths as the Americans took the city during the American invasion of Mexico, 1846-1848. As we drove along the iron fence surrounding the park, we saw an exhibit of Nordic photography, “Norway: Powered by Nature” that accompanied the recent visit of the Norwegian Prince and Princess last month. (Ale was a principal organizer of the PR campaign related to their visit!) I’m sorry Bob didn’t get to spend more time enjoying them, as he’s quite a good photographer himself. But, these wouldn’t be the only photos we would not have time for; we’d also have to shelve a tentative trip to an exhibit in the Centro by David La Chapelle, “The Delirium of Reason,” the following day in order to make time for a day trip out of town.

Before getting on the road to San Angel on Saturday, we stopped into Califa for some “tacos al pastor,” by far one of the tastiest types of tacos found only in Mexico City. They unique nature of these tacos is that they are filled with meat shaved from a rotisserie spit, in the same way as the Greek gyro or Turkish kabob. This technique of cooking was brought to Mexico City from Lebanese immigrants. (Carlos Slim, one of the top 3 richest men in the world, is a Lebanese Mexican.) Tacos al Pastor include juicy pork shaved from the spit, parsley, onion and a slice of pineapple, topped with lime juice and salsa. RIDICULOUS is how good they are. Just writing about them now is making my mouth water. Again, Bob and Yoonhee were having a fiesta of the taste buds. Afterwards, we finally made our way to San Angel for our Saturday afternoon. We meandered through the weekly arts and crafts market set up in the two little parks located in that old cobblestoned neighborhood. This neighborhood, like nearby Coyoacan, was originally a suburb far beyond the city center. Now, these quaint neighborhoods are more like a colonial oasis in the midst of the urban jungle. While there, Ale bought a blouse and Bob bought a couple of wall hangings from the locals. We headed back and had to select a restaurant again for dinner—not always an easy task in a city full of great offerings. We settled on Il Postino, a lovely little Italian place with and outdoor café seating on the Cibeles fountain at the Plaza Madrid. There Bob ordered some giant mutton on a bone. The pictures of him digging into this thing will crack you up. (Did I mention Bob is a confirmed eater?)

Our last full day consisted of a trip well outside the city limits to a little village called Tepoztlan, about an hour away. Since Mexico City lies in a basin in the middle of a mountain range, it’s necessary to do some windy mountain driving to get out of the city. Once up there, Bob and Yoonhee were a bit surprised, as I first was, at the beauty of the countryside outside the city. Giant pine trees lined the highway, reminiscent of the outer limits of Yosemite. Tepoztlan is also cradled in a small basin surrounded by a wall of sheer rock face. It is such a nifty and magical place that it was the site of native life as far back as 1,500 BCE. More recent inhabitants, from ca. 1,100 CE, constructed a temple pyramid on the top ledge of one of these nearby craggy mountains. The high perch kept it from being destroyed after Cortez and friends razed the town below to the ground when the inhabitants refused to submit adequately. Taking the hour hike up the mountain side to the pyramid is one of the premier attractions of the town, along with the many shops, restaurants, and local “spiritual” offerings—“want your aura read?” White-robed, beaded hippies can be seen wandering the streets, waiting for a message from the Great Spirit of the Mountain (or some such shit). The small temple park at the top features a glorious view of the surrounding rock formations and the town below. It’s a great place to have a picnic and read a book for the afternoon.

After parking, we visited the grounds of the old convent in town, built in the late 16th Century, then stopped for a coffee and snack, before strolling down the main road toward the pyramid. When they looked up and saw how high and steep the climb was, doubt began to set in. Though this is not excessively physically challenging hike for the healthy, the unfortunate fact was that by the time Sunday had rolled around, Bob had taken on the brunt of the cold virus that had been plaguing Sunshine and Yoonhee days earlier and he was feeling pretty darn lousy. After we got to the foot of the mountain under the trees, we decided the pyramid would have to wait another day. Instead we sat in the shade and ate our packed lunches, chatting and people watching, before heading back into town and back into the big city.

The best meal of all, if I must say, was our dinner that last night: Miguelito’s secret special NJ-Mexican pasta sauce with salad and garlic bread. Unfortunately, Bob was so stuffed-up he couldn’t taste a thing—though this did not prevent him from eating! He was coherent enough to help me organize my music collection onto a back up drive, which was much appreciated by a technical idiot like me. Sunshine didn’t have the easiest time getting to sleep that night and wailed for quite some time. At times during the visit, Little Miss Sunshine behaved more like Little Miss Crankypants, but I think she still enjoyed her tour of Mexico City. I’m sure her having a cold didn’t help. Still, her antics certainly gave Ale and I a wake-up call as to what we need to expect in the coming year. The joys of parenthood await!

The next day we parted, Ale and I for a week in Nicaragua, and Sunshine and her ‘rents back to Philly. Details of Nicaragua to follow…