Mexicowoods—An Expatriate Life

Food and Music at Xochimilco

Waterborne vendors on the canals of Xochimilco tempt weekend boaters with souvenirs, clothing, toys for the kids, and food. The network of waterways is a hub of commerce. This man offers candied apples.

Others sell pan dulce, empanadas, tacos, beer and soft drinks. Some cooking is done right on the water: here boiled or roasted corn—Mexican comfort food—over a wood fire.

Visitors hire musicians at every turn. A small, blue barca containing two marimba players pulls alongside a family boat, mesmerizing a young lady with soft music.

Norteño bands congregate at a canal-side restaurant, hoping for a gig.

Mariachis abound. They seem to spend more time poling up and down the canals waiting to be hired than actually performing. They have a lot of downtime, just like the mariachis at the Jardín in San Miguel de Allende.

 

Everyone enjoys singing along. What traditional tune so inspires this family? Quiereme Mucho? La Paloma? Guadalajara? 

No—they are singing I Did It My Way.

I love zither music, so when this salterio player came alongside and pitched me, I immediately asked him to play Cielito Lindo. Laura shot a clip of his performance. The fee for one tune? $20 pesos.

If you watch the clip to the very end, you can hear the bass player suggesting a couple more tunes and me responding No más!

On the canals, music complements every situation. Here mariachis set the mood for two lovers.

 

We drifted through the waterways for a couple of hours, sipping Pepsi Cola thoughtfully supplied by our boatman (for a price), listening to music and the laughter of families enjoying themselves on a warm afternoon. Our first visit to Xochimilco was just another of those tourist "must do" events. Someday we'll return again just to experience another relaxing afternoon among happy people.

Canal Living

Xochimilco is more than a tourist attraction: it is a community. Lucky people live in nice houses along the banks of the canals. The waterways serve as streets. Residents use simple scows to move around town.

A few use canoes for transport. Paddling is faster and easier than poling.

 

Hidden behind the houses, city streets provide access to the rest of Mexico City. But congestion, potholes, topes, and traficantes bent on extortion make canals an alternativo más tranquilo.

Some of the resources city dwellers expect exist along the canals: Restaurants, repair shops, tiendas.

 

There's city services too. The garbage scow makes its rounds, ringing a bell just like the guys in the trucks.

 

Here there are no stop signs or traffic lights: Xochimilco seems less regulated, but it's not entirely free of government. Underneath the graffiti, this wordy sign basically says, "No Fishing" in classic bureaucrat-ese.

People work as well as live here. Nurseries and flower growers line the water. They make some sales to passing boaters, but I suspect most of their crops go to wholesalers or retail customers who drive in from the rear.

Some residences are large, beautiful homes. I was more taken by this unpainted wooden shack, looking like something right out of a Lousiana bayou.

 

As we glided past these houses, I entertained myself with a romantic fantasy of living in one of them. Xochimilco seems a perfect environment for stress-free living. And I've always dreamed about living on water somewhere. I had the same thoughts when I visited Tigre near Buenos Aires two years ago.

Well, maybe some day...

Boating at Xochimilco

What could be a better way to spend Sunday afternoon than on a boat? Mexico City families know this and head for Xochimilco when time and weather are right.

Hundreds of colorful barcas line up, ready to float visitors through placid water. More than a hundred kilometers of canals are remnants of one of the lakes that existed in the Valley of Mexico before the Spanish invasion.

Motorless scows glide slowly along, poled by skilled boatmen. No engine noises disturb the tranquility. Children trail fingers in the water, as I did on childhood canoeing excursions.

A pair of tourists, we are the odd ones out. Nearly every boat carries family groups—abuelos, papas, niños. They show us how families can have a good time enjoying each others' company.

Of course, children lose stuffed animals and dolls, dropping them overboard. Boatmen find and collect them.

Large groups enjoy picnics on scows lashed into platforms of two or four. The aproned woman second from right caters food and drink for a floating fiesta.

Everyone relaxes free from weekday cares. Everyone except for this workaholic.

The gringo price for an hour of boating is $800 pesos, $1000 for an hour and a half. There are vastly more boats available than could possibly be rented, so reservations are not necessary.

La Capilla del Cerrito

Juan Diego was atop the Cerro de Tepeyac when Guadalupe appeared before him. When he ascended the hill in 1531, it was via a dusty path; today a lovely set of broad stairs carry visitors from the Guadalupe Basilica to Capilla del Cerrito, a church commemorating the site of this encounter.

Stationed along the stairway, colorful tableaux attract visitors. This one features Mary, Guadalupe, the Mexican flag, and a large photograph of Pope John Paul II.

 

The tableaux serve as backdrops for photographers. A dozen guys with cameras mill around on the stairway. For $60 pesos, they'll take your picture as a souvenir. Most of their customers are young mothers with children, their serious expressions consonant with the solemnity of the occasion.

 

The church that now stands on the site is small, a modest building. Scarcely a hundred people can fit inside. A series of murals along the central aisle tell the story of Juan Diego's meeting with Guadalupe—her appearing before him, his failure to convince the Bishop of Mexico that the encounter actually happened, his following meetings with Guadalupe, his final return to the Bishop with her image on his cloak.

(I always imagined Guadalupe's image as appearing on the inside of Juan Diego's cloak, but the murals show it on the outside for everyone to see it on his back as he walked.)

Just before reaching the small church, a sign greets visitors with information about points of interest on the hill. The arrow points away from the entrance to the capilla.

 

Bathrooms, drinks, religious articles and food: Mexicans get it right. Even at the holiest of places, nobody gets left hungry or thirsty, and as everywhere in Mexico, there's always a bathroom.

The Basilica of our Lady of Guadalupe

We see images of Guadalupe all over San Miguel de Allende and indeed, all over Mexico: molded onto medallions, printed on post cards, airbrushed on pickup trucks, silkscreened on tee shirts... Two figures have been painted onto stucco walls less than a block from our home. 

Today we go to see the original image that according to legend miraculously appeared on  the cape of the peasant Juan Diego in 1531. It is housed in the Basilica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City.

The image was originally housed in this building. But the number of people who come to view the image of Guadalupe continues to increase. Today millions come every year. Only Vatican City receives more visitors. The old church can't handle them all.

 

Moreover, the building is sinking into the soft soil and currently is undergoing restoration. Creaky columns get new stones held together by steel braces while mortar sets.

We walk through the church to the sound of hammering. Burly workmen in hard hats grunt as they haul a new altar rail into place. It's all most un-churchlike.

In 1974 the Church commissioned architect Pedro Ramírez Vázquez to design a larger basilica to handle the crowds of pilgrims and tourists. I think his design is brilliant.

 

In the photo above, the pilgrim wearing a red shirt walks to the basilica on his knees, a common practice among the devout. I marvel at the number of people who venerate Guadalupe and the depth of their devotion.

An arc of pews facing a high altar provides seating for about 10,000 people. For certain ceremonies, temporary seats increase the basilica's capacity to 40,000.

 

Juan Diego's original robe, the garment on which the famous image of Guadalupe appeared, now hangs above the altar, surrounded by a gilded sculpture.

Visitors get a close-up view of the her image by riding one of three people movers. The airport-style moving walkway seems to be a reasonable solution to handling the crowds, especially in December when more than two million people come to see her.

Visitors bring flowers for Guadalupe. An organized pilgrim group brought this large arrangement.

 

Individuals and families lay bouquets at the altar. They bring so many that an attendant has to haul them away every half hour or so.

The new basilica had been completed by the time Pope John Paul II stopped at the basilica during his tour of Mexico in 1979. No way he was going to miss it. A large brass statue commemorates the event. The metal for the sculpture came from many thousands of brass keys donated by the faithful and collected in parishes all over the country.

 

The popemobile was left behind, displayed for visitors to see. It looks like a modified Mexico City bus. The greenish windows in the sides of the vehicle are made of thick bulletproof glass. We live in violent times.

 

The circular building with an upward sweep of the conical roof draws all eyes to the sacred image. Everywhere lighting is dim except on the famous figure.

The design succeeds in creating space for bringing together the image of Guadalupe and the millions who visit her. Believers and nonbelievers alike cannot fail to be awed by the experience.

Engineering School

Sometimes I wonder about the capacity of Mexico to compete in a technological world. Monterrey Tech is the country's premier engineering school, but is it a match for the Swiss Institute of Technology? The Massachusetts Institute of Technology? The India Institute of Technology—a school that graduates hundreds of software and chip designers every year?

When I stumbled upon the Escuela Nacional de Ingenieros I was intrigued, particularly since the building was said to contain a museum.

 

Housed in an imposing Greek Revival building directly across the street from the National Art Museum, I imagined this would be a showcase for Mexico's technological accomplishments, an opportunity to demonstrate that the country could duke it out technology-wise with the rest of the developed world.

A banner hanging from the façade invites me to view the museum's current exhibit.

 

Sigh.

Had I more time, I would have toured the museum anyway, in the hope that other unadvertised exhibits would illustrate some of Mexico's major engineering accomplishments, like the Copper Canyon Railroad. One day when I have more time to spend in Mexico City I'll tour the museum. But if this is how the Escuela Nacional de Ingenieros is used, it doesn't look promising for this retired engineer—or for the country as a whole.

Produce Sellers at Mercado de Jamaica

Mercado de Jamaica, the big flower market in Mexico City sells fruits and vegetables as well as flowers, although vendors of these are far outnumbered by flower stalls. But to reach the flowers you have to walk down a corridor past all the fruit stands.

 

Sellers here seem to have more space than those in, for example, San Miguel's San Juan de Dios market. The Jamaica displays are larger, the foods offered are more varied.

 

I post so often about mercados that something has to be out of the ordinary to inspire me to write again. And Mercado de Jamaica is different: the attractiveness of the displays and the quality of the produce is superior to any I have seen elsewhere in Mexico, reminiscent of that in Barcelona's Mercado la Boqueria.

Look how big, beautiful, juicy, and perfectly ripe these fruits are. Not a single green, overripe, bruised or spoiled one in the lot. Soriana (a Mexican supermarket chain) could learn much from these sellers.

 

SInce Mercado de Jamaica sells flowers for use as gifts, it's natural that fruit vendors package gift arrangements as well.

 

Exquisitely prepared candied fruits catch my eye. Peaches, pears, figs, tunas (prickly pear fruits)—each sugary specimen looks perfect.

 

This candied fruit looks nothing like the crudely hacked stuff in our local mercados or supermarkets. Check out these calabazates—candied miniature pumpkins—each in its own little dish.

 

As in other Mexican mercados, the selection is larger than in U. S. supermarkets. Unfamiliar fruits and vegetables are abundant. An example, the yellow-orange tecojotes are an apple-like fruit that appears seasonally. I see them used to flavor poncha, a fruity drink served warm during the Christmas holidays. I wonder what other ways they're used.

The tecojotes are priced at 15 pesos per kilo, about 50¢ a pound. The apples in the background are priced the same—50¢ a pound. They are imported Washington State apples identical in quality to those sold for $2 per pound in Los Angeles. That says something about distribution and margins in the U. S. food distribution system ¿No?

 

The sign stuck in the pile of strawberries says "Who gives you more?" I wouldn't be surprised if they were imports from California—Watsonville or Oxnard. They look like the flavorless, case-hardened variety, bred to have a shelf life of four weeks. But at 70¢ a pound maybe they're a good deal anyway. A few fish genes spliced into strawberry DNA never hurt anybody. Who gives you more?

Which of these things is different? A solitary egg vendor squeezes in between two fruit stands. Consistent with Mercado de Jamaica standards, his display is arresting.

 

But the eggs along with the pineapples and melons, high as their quality may be, are nevertheless products of agribusiness. The pineapples—from Hawaii, the melons—from California's Imperial Valley maybe, the eggs—from Bocacho, a huge Mexican producer. The tecojotes may have been locally grown, but they're bucking the trend.

Mercado de Jamaica offers produce as good or better than what you can buy in Draeger's swanky market in Menlo Park, CA. And it does so at less than a quarter of Draeger's prices. The mercado's produce is the best of the best: that is, the best that agribusiness can produce. The appearance is gorgeous: the flavor and healthfulness may be something else.

I'm currently reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. I've always preferred food that is locally grown using organic methods, but I never really appreciated how big corporations have hijacked our food system, how good nutrition and palatability have been sacrificed for appearance, transportability, and shelf life.

I think I'll continue buying my food at tiny Via Organica or Natura. The selection is limited to what's in season locally and it doesn't always look as pretty as the stuff in Mercado de Jamaica. But it's always healthy and flavorful.

Mercado de Jamaica

A friend suggested I visit the Mercado de Jamaica, Mexico City's great flower market. I love mercados and I love flowers, so this off-the-tourist-track attraction is a natural for me.

At the entrance to the market, a surreal mural decorates the long corrugated iron façade.

A mural segment depicts a Xochimilco boatman poling his scow through the starry night, heaped with flowers.

 

Underneath the great steel roof, a hundred or more vendors line a labyrinth of passageways.

The sheer amount of color in the place—dazzling.

An arrangement of red roses and birds-of-paradise stood at least four feet high. I asked the vendor "How much?." His asking price: $600 pesos—about $45 USD.

For the cheapest flowers, shoppers bypass the fancy arrangements and go straight to the growers fresh in from the campo, their trucks heaped with field-grown flowers.

The Mercado de Jamaica is hazardous place for browsers and tourists. People bustle past hauling loads of flowers. I was forever being shooed out of the way.

I never before considered the words "hand truck" and "flowers" might be used in the same sentence. Nor had I thought of flowers as heavy.

 

Hauling all those flowers is hard work. Plenty of food sellers stand by to fuel the workers. This pan vendor gives me an opportunity to use "hand truck" and "bread" in the same sentence—another first.

Barbecued corn browns over portable wood-burning cookstoves. A huge clay cazuela bubbles with a stew of cut corn, herbs and other vegetables.

The seller, one of many offering this dish, told me it was called esquites. She gave Laura a sample served in a fresh corn husk.

I would like to say it was delicious, but this stuff is the doughy feed corn served throughout Mexico as street food. For my Mexican neighbors it's comfort food. But my gringo palate is conditioned to appreciate the tender sweet corn we get north of the border. To me, esquites taste like corn that was picked too late and left on the supermarket shelf too long.

But people visit Mercado de Jamaica not for the food, but the flowers.

For formal arrangements or simple bunches of roses, for decorating a home or a business, for quinceañeras, birthdays, weddings, or funerals, people scour the corridors, looking for just the right blossoms. I saw many customers, but I couldn't imagine that enough of them could pass through these narrow alleys to buy up the huge stock on offer. Mercado de Jamaica has been in business for many years though. Apparently enough flowers get sold to keep it a going concern.

Breakfast at Café Tecuba

When in Mexico City, we usually stay at the Gillow Hotel, located at the intersection of Cinco de Mayo and Isabel la Católica in the Centro Historico. A modest but comfortable hotel, suites go for $670 pesos. For that, you get a small sitting room, a king size bed, a large Jacuzzi tub, and a balcony overlooking the street where a saxophonist sometimes entertains you with a rendition of the theme from the Pink Panther.

At least once during each visit to Mexico City we walk three blocks from the Gillow to the Café Tecuba for breakfast.



The food at Café Tecuba is just okay, but the atmosphere and decór are the real draw. We arrived at opening time—8:00 AM—on Saturday morning. Being the only customers at that hour, the atmosphere seemed a little subdued. But lack of customers permitted clear sight lines for photography.  Above: the view toward the front with the beautiful stained glass windows. Below we see to the rear. Beyond the doorway the walls are covered with murals.



Eighteenth-century portraits of obscure nobility line the walls.



A painting of a little girl in court dress contains a written notation identifying her as Doña Anna Maria etc., etc., legitimate daughter of Manuel Porfirio etc. etc. Why, I wonder, was it necessary to make such a distinction on a formal portrait?

Breakfast dishes generally are uninspired, but the café con leche is a treat.



The waitress pours a half inch or so of intense coffee concentrate in the bottom of a tall glass—more or less depending on how strong you tell her you like your coffee. Then she adds hot milk from a pitcher. She pours from a great height, causing the drink to foam. The flavor is robust; the drama makes it more so.

Breakfast at the Tecuba—we do it every visit.

Parachutists

The floor of the Valley of Mexico has long been paved over: woods cut down, lakes drained and filled. Flat land is gone: room for new housing exists only on steep mountainsides.

No orderly plan exists for developing the hillsides. No official policy permits such construction. Instead the expansion of Mexico City is in the hands of paracaidistas—parachutistshes—savvy individuals who occupy and squat on marginal land. Using bribery they acquire proper titles and the necessary permits to cut in roads and to bring in water, sewers and power. As soon as houses are compete, they sell them and descend onto the next vacant land up the hillsides.

The history of Mexico City is of uncontrolled growth. The government has repeatedly proved it cannot rein in the developers. North of the border, unckecked suburban sprawl like that along I-15 in Nevada is the result of cozy relations between presumably respectable housing corporations and the government agencies who are supposed to control them. In Mexico City, it's done by individuals on a much smaller scale. But with enough paracaidistas busily working away, the effect is the same.