Hello, Mexico

Día de los Muertos

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 22:24:00 +0000

In Mexico and in Mexican expat communities, November 1st and 2nd mark "Día de Muertos," or Day of the Dead. The two days are a chance for families to remember their lost ones, combining ancient Aztec, Mayan, Náhuatl, Purépecha and Totonocao traditions with Spanish Christianity. In the days prior, many Mexicans put up an altar in their house. Usually adorned with flowers (cempasúchil, or marigolds), a candle for and photo of each loved one, sugar or chocolate skulls, fruits, the sugary "bread of the dead" (pan de muerto), pumpkins, candied squash, religious symbols and paper decorations, the altar is said to be an offering for the departed.

On the first day of celebrations, families that have lost children will go to the graves where they are buried, clean and paint the site, bring toys and spend the night telling anecdotes and stories. Their spirits are said to return and be with them on the visit.

The second day commemorates adults who have passed away and the tradition is similar to that of children, but it is common to take to the grave typical Mexican drinks such as tequila, mezcal, pulque or atole.

What´s uniquely Mexican about these days is the attitude. Ancient indigenous views took a more natural view toward death: the spirit of the departed was determined more by the way the person died rather than their behavior during their time on earth. Death was an accepted, not feared, part of life. These perspectives, with infusions of Christianiaty, are present today, not only on Día de Muertos but in Mexican culture in general.

Día de Muertos traditions, which coincide with All Saints' and All Souls' days and have similar variants in Latin America, are especially prominent in southern and central Mexico. Each region has its respective adaptations, and the customs can vary from town to town. Even in the sprawling Mexico City metropolis, the tradition is strong.

The city held a mega-offering in its humongous Zócalo, or main plaza, for 10 consecutive years, but this week's offering was cancelled as the country is hit by an economic crisis. However, nearly all of the capital's 16 boroughs feature their own altar, and the National Autonomous University of Mexico, or UNAM, is dedicating a mega-offering to poet Edgar Allen Poe.

Día de Muertos has evolved over the years. When celebrated during pre-Hispanic times, human skulls were used. Now, sugar and chocolate skulls, or calaveras, have come to symbolize the celebrations, and Aguascalientes-native José Guadalupe Posada mocked the Mexican upper-class society with his etchings of the famous La Catrina in the early 1900s. The portraits, often featuring dancing and partying skeletons, along with satirical poems and prose mocking the living and describing personality traits, have been taken in as part of the celebrations over the years.

To the dismay of traditionalists, inevitable culture clashes have made the Mexican custom increasingly popular in the United States, while Halloween's presence is growing in Mexico. Costume parties, horror-movie marathons on cable and children dressed as Chucky trick-or-treating are becoming more and more common.

Día de Muertos, a rich, colorful, spiritual, religious, complex, humorous, heart-filled, sad, bittersweet, evolving and very Mexican tradition, is a unique blend of cultures, with a growing presence wherever the "muerte es parte de la vida" (death is a part of life) attitude is present.

Expat advice #2

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 21:05:00 +0000

Crowded pink line on a Sunday.

A new series on tips I've learned by experience after having lived in Mexico 2 years...many of them are just common sense to Mexicans, but not always to the folly-prone foreigner...

Expat advice #2:

Take escalators one step at a time

I often take the Metro to work. It's more strenuous then you might think: go up and down dozens of stairs, dodge crowds of people, cover your ears when acoustic terrorists (vendors with backpacks equipped with speakers who hawk pirated CDs and DVDs at 10 pesos a pop) assault your ears, try to withstand the stuffy, ventilation-free trains and avoid catching whiffs of urine, body odor, drying paint or buffet of unpleasant odors. The Metro, though, has its benefits: you get to point B relativey rápido barring any stalled trains, you´re not bound to the whims of traffic and it's cheaper than chicle, at two pesos a ride (like, USD $0.15)

Before I get more off-topic, never try to take the escalator steps too fast. It seems about half of the time when using Metro you are faced with non-functioning automatic stairs, but they are trickier than they seem. Taking two at a time puts more pressure on the stairs, seemingly sinking under your weight and force. I´ve stumbled up and down escalator stairs several times, and at my last rapid attempt I tripped up, leaving black skid marks on my hands and wrists and suprising fellow Metro riders: "Be careful, young man !!!"

Even functioning escalator stairs can get tough. Estimating your stepping distance plus the speed of the movemen of the stairs times the number of people competing to get to the top first times the number of minutes you are late to work takes a lot of brain power. Just watch out, and if you´re desperate, it's better to take the good'ole fashioned marble Metro stairs.

Wet stairs are another story.

Monday morning pesero playlist

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 05:15:00 +0000

Who needs an iPod when you can hear fantastic songs on a pesero en route to work on a Monday morning?

After a 25-minute walk from my Insurgentes apartment to Chapultepec Ave. — the first half of my cross-colonia journey — I boarded a green micro and paid 3.50 pesos to take me to work and hear Bruce Springsteen, Barry White and Fine Young Cannibals. For reason, I hear more American classic, 80s and soft rock than new stuff...in tune with the shoes you see in the photo of my blog banner.

Expat advice #1

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 04:51:00 +0000

A new series on tips I've learned by experience after having lived in Mexico 2 years...many of them are just common sense to Mexicans, but not always to the folly-prone foreigner...

Expat advice #1:

Respect the puddles

This is why I would get a minivan: to show those pedestrian bitches who's boss.

During rainy season (June to November), don't walk too close to the street unless you want a late-afternoon acidic rain shower. Careless drivers will unwittingly rush through puddles, splashing you down the sides and dirtying your freshly washed pantalones. Some aggressive roadsters will even go out of their way to do the favor of bathing you, even though there are three traffic-free lanes at their disposal.

I've been victim in both instances and on many occasions, but now instinctively steer toward the side of the sidewalk furthest from streets. However, I can now proceed to passive aggressively laugh that as a pedestrian, I'm not the one caught in the never-ending bumper-to-bumper parking lot, as frustrated drivers honk away and wonder who is turning their two-hour commute into a four-hour marathon. *skips happily home in a poncho and umbrella*

Trash builds up

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 04:30:00 +0000

24 years after Mexico City's worst earthquake

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 01:05:00 +0000

Today marks 24 years since Mexico's worst recorded earthquake. They (the first and its aftershocks) destroyed major parts of Mexico City; the 8.1 magnitude disaster killed upwards of 10,000 people, depending on which source you ask. The government (at the time, the PRI, the political dinosaur that controlled Mexico for about 70 years) had more conservative estimates, but some groups put the number as much as 45,000. No one has an exact figure, but what we do know is that it instilled an awareness in defeños.

Yesterday I was walking near my office and I saw a few hundred people on the street taking part in an earthquake drill, which are obligatory in this sprawling metropolis. At my last job, the entire 31-floor Torre Mural had occasional drills where everyone had to quickly and orderly gather near the elevators and in single file go down the stairs to the ground level. I did two of these in my year at the law firm, one drill and one actual evacuation.

On May 22 of this year, I was at my desk on the 20th floor doing some work 30 minutes into my lunch break. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and disoriented and thought I was falling off my chair. As I shook my head to regain my sense of vision I looked behind me and could see the glass panels and steel structures swaying. Many of the 90-some employees had already left the office for lunch, but the remaining few stood up, bewildered, and asked "did you feel that?!" as the brigadista (the designated person who organizes office workers in such events) announced over the loudspeaker to gather near the elevators. We waited there a few minutes as the brigadista made sure everyone was ready to evacuate. Twenty sets of stairs quickly became tiring, but they weren't as crowded as I expected since most of the building was at ground level already.

My new job is much closer to the ground. I'm on the fifth floor of the building housing The News, a few quick leaps down the stairs.

While likely half of the city was destroyed, the Mexico City Valley seems to have a slight but growing case of amnesia. Many of the post-quake buildings in middle and upper class areas were constructed keeping in mind that mid-80s day, but many weren't. Some buildings seem to be poorly built -- even new ones -- while 85's survivors sit vacant and loom over us as a reminder that they are ready to come down to earth if disturbed by any strong movement...such as this one on Insurgentes Avenue:

Following the earthquake, residents moved further and further from the downtown area or out of the city altogether. Santa Fe, a former dump-turned posh business district laden with skyscrapers and pretentious apartment complexes, was built near the outskirts of the city to avoid the dangers of constructing over soft soil. Much of the city is a dried-out lake bed, with many neighborhoods poorly planned even after the earthquake. 1985's earthquake had its epicenter on the Pacific coast, hundreds of kilometers from the south-central megalopolis, but with its structure and crowdedness, the Federal District is sensitive to moving and shaking. Let's hope that we don't have to relearn the same lesson again.

Water rats

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 18:08:00 +0000

There's always a rat in pirate (siempre hay una rata en pirata):

Chiapas is reporting that fake companies are now selling "pirated" water in Mexico's southernmost state. Impostors pretending to be legit companies fill "garrafones," or 20-liter returnable water jugs, with supposedly purified water. The fraudsters have the same types of jugs and even rip off logos and labeling. While the agua pirata may be safe, authorities say not to buy it. Chiapas is Mexico's poorest and most marginalized state, and access to safe drinking water has long been a problem.

Some pix

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 19:58:00 +0000

Here's a slideshow of some recent photos in Mexico City.

Mexico Prity

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 29 May 2009 21:00:00 +0000

Unfortunately, Mexico City is often regarded as a dangerous, dirty place where kidnapping and violence are the norms. It's not. Just ask any of the tens of thousands of Americans living here, or any of the other hundreds of thousands who have come here for a higher standing of living. El DF is a great, beautiful city. Like any megalopolis it has its problems, but not on the level most foreigners think. Here's a good video -- purely PR -- that shows the great parts of a city with an unfair reputation.

(the first part of it is in the indigenous Nahuatl language, I think, but bear with it).

Guilty peaches, futbol and cement splatters

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 29 May 2009 01:26:00 +0000

Mercado Mixcoac (pronounced MIX-co-wok) is a bright, busy, cluttered place a few blocks from the subway station with the same name. The market sits in front of one of the city’s main streets, Revolución, where construction workers are tearing up the roads, widening them with fresh pavement and constructing overpasses, intersections and pedestrian walkways. With all the detours and blocked-off lanes, traffic is thick, adding even more noise to the lively neighborhood.

I went there yesterday after hunting for a new refrigerator. Ours failed last month, so we’ve been eating out a lot lately, but with the upcoming quincena it’s time to buy a new one. I went to a Famsa outlet store (furniture and appliances), where, just two weeks earlier, Ahmed and I had found a refri for 4,000 pesos –11 cubic feet, GE, a bargain in Mexico – but unfortunately, that was a mother’s day promo and we didn’t act fast enough.

No luck yesterday. Either too expensive or not the right size, nothing called my attention, and the pushy Famsa clerks didn’t bother barging in – everyone was absorbed (along with much of Mexico) in the Barcelona – Manchester soccer game. Most of the TVs on display were tuned into the nail biter.

I left, disappointed, and just to compare prices, went to the Elektra store right across the street. The chain has a reputation for making, for example, high-definition plasma TVs and washer-dryer combo units look affordable to poor people through 386 low monthly payments of 249 pesos, but once you hand over the down payment, then the interest charges, late fees and commission start adding up, and if you don’t make your payments promptly you get Elektra people harassing you on the phone and at your doorstep. So I’ve heard.

I got out of there quickly. Easily more expensive than elsewhere, I started heading back to the Mixcoac station, about 20 minutes from the office, but passing the market, scents of fresh strawberries and mole reminded me I had to eat, like now.

But more than half of the stalls in the market, with their 9 inch, fuzzy TVs tuned into the futbol game and the vendors hypnotized, I couldn’t let a perfect Kodak moment escape my so-far fruitless day. So I circled the market several times, passing every type of fruit and chili pepper you can imagine. I held my breath while passing the raw meat and fish section, where I saw a freshly skinned hog hide, little hairs still poking out of the white, gooey blanket of skin. Fried chicharrones with salt, lime and salsa, though, I’m down.

Unable to build the courage to ask one of the shopkeers’ permission to take a snap, I left the market, discouraged, and started heading back to the station. But with more than 40 minutes left for my lunch break, I decided to give it one more shot. I went in through a different entrance, this time passing and ignoring a vendor who asked, “What would you like young man?”. It was the second woman who caught me.

An old man was standing in the aisle, so as I was trying to pass the woman said, “What are you looking for young man?” (young man (in Spanish, joven)…that’s my name).

“Um…” I said,

“Here, try a peach,” she said, handing me a small, delicious, fuzzy one. I ate it, juicy, sweet and intoxicating. The small, short-haired woman showed me her neatly organized display of fruits, listing off all the types she had, and I said, “mangos”.

It seemed as if before I even told her she already had two fat, yellow manila ones on a tray, and asked,

“Do you want these ones?”

I asked her what other ones she had.

She showed me two different sizes, explaining that the bigger cost 25 pesos a kilo while the smaller ones cost 20 pesos. I hesitated, while 10-peso mangos flashed in my mind that I had seen at other stalls. I couldn’t refuse after she had given me the peach of guilt.

“How many do you want?” she asked.

“Two.”

“Two kilos?”

"No, just two…for lunch."

“Which ones?”

“Uh…which one tastes better?”

“The quality’s the same, joven, the only difference is the size.”

“Well, give me the smaller ones then.”

"Only two?”

“Yes please,” so she weighed them, bagged them and charged me 9 pesos.

“Gracias!” I said,

“Que le vaya bien” (literally, “may it go well for you”, but more accurately, “Take care and have a good day”).

D’oh, I thought…she didn’t even have her own TV, and my plan was to first buy something and then ask the vendor to take a photo of customers watching the game. Ni modo. So I continued, still without the huevos to ask someone for a photo and left the market once more. As I was walking out, amid the blaring car horns, road construction and hot, piercing sun, I noticed a concrete mixer and men up to their waists smoothing out the quickly drying stuff. This would make a great photo, I thought. I looked down, ready to remove my camera from the messenger bag, and saw that I was being spackled with wet cement drops. Oops.

I walked along the sidewalk, the street blocked off with plastic mesh fencing, and decided I'd passive aggressively take a photo from the distance:

Done. Enough confidence now, I walked back into the market. This time I will find my target, I thought -- and did: a middle-aged woman with a fruit stall near the entrance.

I bought more mangos (my favorite fruit, which happens to be in season now) for half the price as the other stand and then asked her, in the most polite manner, if I could take a photo of her stand.

“I’m a photographer,” I told her.

“Yes, ok,” she said indifferently.

I framed the shot of the TV near a pineapple and banana display, in the top left corner, with another TV in the background, customers’ necks craned up and watching the game. Two guys my age – maybe the woman’s sons – were standing next to me, out of the frame, watching attentively but unenthusiastic about the setup.

I took a dozen photos, thanked the woman and headed out excitedly. I got what I wanted, finally.

Last stop: something to eat. I ordered two quesadillas, one fish and one shrimp, and removed the tooth picks that held their form together. The greasy paper on which they were served almost turned transparent, and I squeezed the juice from three bits of lime on them just to be safe...a highly effective bacteria killer.

They were delicious: the shrimp tasted fresh, spiced with cilantro and tomato and something else that left me even hungrier. The fish, equally. But I had to get moving and hurried on to the station.

Not without a juice, though. The sidewalk, with vendors selling mostly pirated CDs, movies, clothing or whathaveyou, was clogged faster than my arteries were at that point, but I found a juice stand. The juice guy -- who was watching the game -- gave an insolent look after I told him I wanted the arbitrarily named Conga mix (OJ, pineapple, papaya, mango and honey) and charged me 15 pesos for a 12 oz. He probably overcharged me for my accent, but I was thirsty.

I sipped the Conga, a strange-tasting but quenching drink, and dodged more traffic, people, street vendors and road construction to get to the station, where I boarded the poorly ventilated train and got back to work, sweaty and satisfied.

Taking off the mascara sagrada

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 08 May 2009 14:42:00 +0000

Honey, just stay back...they're infected. (I took this photo at a plaza on Insurgentes Avenue yesterday, where some fear mongers had masked even these poor statues).

Life has gotten back to normal in Chilangoland, as schools, offices, museums, cinemas and just about everything else reopened starting on Wednesday. The air is still a little nervous -- many still wear their masks, but not nearly to the extent as last week. I'm going to share with you the best post-epidemic-awkward greeting moments I've seen these past few days (names excluded):

1. A lady comes over, and as she is leaving shakes my friend's hand, quickly regrets it and mentions the government-issued warning not to greet people physically (some people have found other ways to saludarse, like bumping elbows). She gives me a struggled, "I'm so sorry" look, and she and I only say goodbye.

2. A friend meets another friend for the first time, and unsure how to greet each other, they kind of do a half fist bump, then say "umm..." (but thinking -- "SWINE FLU!!!"), are about to do a hand-shake-half-hug but quickly recede and then finally just decide to shake hands (dead-fish style, as I've seen and done many times recently).

3. I was in the subway, without a mask, during rush hour, and didn't put my hand over my mouth when I sneezed, ejecting a million little droplets of terror across the crowded wagon, as babies and old ladies carrying their shopping bags cried and screamed, and the men gave me dirty looks, some ready to ring my neck ... just kidding... if this would've happened, I wouldn't be here anymore.

Why it's ok to be fat.

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 09:38:00 +0000

Panic! At the Distrito

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 21:43:00 +0000

In about two days, Mexico City and the State of Mexico have gone into a mild state of panic -- a flu virus derived from genetic makeup of pigs, birds and humans has caused at least two dozen deaths and sickened at least a thousand people in the country, and all classes – from pre-school to university – were canceled in MexC and the State of Mexico today.

Last night, Mexico’s Secretary of Health José Ángel Córdova Villalobos interrupted national TV channels and warned people to take common-sense precautions against the virus – wash your hands frequently, sneeze in a tissue or on your arm, go to the doctor if you feel sick and avoid crowded places – which is just about impossible in this city. Since then, the media has been warning us nonstop to take preventive measures.

Many offices have put out more alcohol-soap dispensers and handed out thin, paper-cotton face masks (or cobrebocas) to employees, including mine. In the morning, only a few were wearing the blue doctor’s masks, but by the afternoon the office looked more like a hospital than a law firm.

I noticed it, too, on the bus. I saw only one or two people with masks when I was coming to work this morning, but when I went home for lunch, I saw dozens. I went to the market to get some stuff, and almost all of the vendors were wearing them. Coming back from lunch, just two hours later and again on the bus, I saw even more with them – clusters of oficinistas going back to work, their blue or pink or white or turquoise facemasks hanging on their necks. It's quite impressive to see how fast people can mobilize and all do the same thing -- too bad this weren't the case for other worthy causes.

I’m not sure if this virus, which first broke out in California and Texas, is going to be severe. I'm not clear whether there is a vaccine, but the strain is so new that I doubt it.

By the way, I'm wearing one of these masks. I realize how bad my breath is. I'm going to rinse my mouth out.

Happy Earth Day, World!

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 17:11:00 +0000

The Bermuda-Triangle bookstore: I found you, sucka!

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 02:25:00 +0000

Last August, wandering aimlessly around Colonia Roma, I found a cute, hole-in-the-wall bookstore. About as big as a rich person's walk-in closet, it had shelves and piles stacked with used books, some ordered by subject, some by author, and some just a complete desmadre. Books in Mexico are expensive, even used ones, but the prices in this little jewel are so low that you get the urge to hurriedly grab every book with a pretty-looking cover or by an author you vaguely remember from literature class waybackwhen. I carried only 100 pesos that day, but left with a few English books (for my English classes) and a book by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Soon after that serendipitous encounter, I moved out of Roma neighborhood, and into the centrally located Juarez, and the bookstore became lost into the nowheres of my mind...

...until yesterday.

Well, I didn't -forget- about the bookstore itself, I just forgot -where- it was. You can't forget something like that. With the near-coma-inducing excitement, I didn't pay attention to which street it was on. Then in December I moved back to the Condesa neighborhood (next to the Roma) and looked for the bookstore several times, with no luck. I often get lost, even in my own neighborhood, among the labyrinth of streets – some of them changing names suddenly, some curving and merging and splitting and poorly labeled.

Yesterday, as I was on the bus back from work, I got the ganas to rediscover my precious. This time I was determined to find it. So I started on Aguascalientes street, walked down a few blocks, turned down the next street, then Actopan, Piedras Negras, Manzanillo, Nautla, Champotón, Tepic, Taxco…

Nope, I thought. Either I’m looking too late (8 p.m.) or the bookstore closed up shop, or it shrunk even more and has disappeared like the new iPod shuffle.

Exasperated, I decided to give it one more shot. I headed toward the Chilpancingo metro station, right on Baja California, assured that the bookstore wasn’t beyond that point. And, surprise, there it was, on a little side street that is sucked into Baja California.

I don’t have to explain how I felt, but this time there seemed to be double the amount of books packed in – with no room left on the shelves, they were now stacked high in perilous mountains, all of the knowledge ready to crush you if you breathed on it wrong.

I left the store with no books, only with the pure excitement that I had found this sucka, that it hadn’t become lost, like so many Mexican small businesses do, in the Bermuda Triangle.

Bizarre Mexican brands, II

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 18:30:00 +0000

EDIT: Sorry for the broken link. I've posted a new photo.

I've accumulated at least 10 bizarrely named Mexican brands, and many offenders seem to be products with a lot of sugar. Chokis, a brand of chocolate-chip cookies, is pronounced "Chokies", but the cookies themselves aren't quite small enough to choke on (but perhaps after the second bite). Anyway, Latin America's Semana Santa (Holy Week) is this week, so I'm off to Veracruz tonight! Hooray for Saints!

Too much

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 21:11:00 +0000

This is just too much. I subscribe to a bunch of airline newsletters and promotions and Spirit Airlines sent its "Threesome" special this morning. Risque advertising can be effective, but when it's this desperate it falls on its three-sided face. (besides, I see too many asteriks here, and there was a bunch more fine print in the e-mail.)

+++

here's a sneak peak at future blog posts:

We're going on 6 days without water. A detail of our desperation and dehydration.
Mexico City banned free plastic bags yesterday.
Hillary AND Obama are coming to Mexico.
AND...RADIOHEAD was in Mexico last Sunday and Monday. I went to their spectacular, sold-out concert at Foro Sol on Monday, and I'll recount the amazing and must-do-before-you-die experience.

Homeless

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 15:39:00 +0000

This is a shock, especially for gringos -- and even gringos who have been living in Mexico City for 8 months -- seeing people with missing limbs or serious injuries. You see them in tourist areas, on busy streets and especially in the metro. I've seen blind people board the train and sell pirated CDs, a homeless person with exposed wounds and bloody, un-bandaged stumps panhandling with a dirty styrofoam cup and a paralyzed man pulling himself along on a hodgepodge skateboard functioning as a bed on wheels in the crowded Zocalo.

Poverty and homelessness are heartbreaking, uncomfortable and ugly, but they exist everywhere. You seem to see more of it in Mexico City than in other places. According to Ahmed, for a long time, Mexico City was the only hope for the country's poorest and most desperate. The U.S. as well, but with the capital being the most viable, millions flooded into the Valle de Mexico. Wikipedia says Greater MxC grew intensely until the 1980s, and population growth stabilized. With all of those people coming in, many were left with nothing.

Below is a photo of a woman I saw last week at the Chabacano metro station -- on the blue line, the most comfortable line of the metro system, and also the one that passes through many tourist areas -- who was walking on the platform. I don't know what she was doing, but I took her photo from the other side

Bizarre Mexican brands, I

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 20:48:00 +0000

I'm starting up a new series on bizarre Mexican brand names. Now having lived in Mexico more than a year and a half, I've seen many oddly named products. Some of the brand names I'm going to write about are just nonsensical words; some share the name with a different brand; and some are words in other languages that mean something completely different -- often sexual, goofy or ironic.

Take, for example, Kranky, a brand of chocolate-covered corn flakes made by Ricolino. Delicious, sweet, cheap, sold everywhere and addictive, the smile on the cartoon's face below and the brand name seem to disagree.

The only thing that made me Kranky about this candy is that they don't sell it by the kilo, 'cos I finished this baggie off in about twenty seconds.

Xochimilco

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 15:49:00 +0000

Trajinera jam in Xochimilco.

Yesterday, Ahmed, John, Allen and me went to Xochimilco (Zoe-chee-milk-oh), a system of canals Mexico City’s southern borough by the same name. You rent a trajinera (tra-he-nair-uh), or a large, flat canoe, and a trajinero weaves you through the shallow canals, pushing you along with a 15-foot wood pole. Sundays it’s always packed, with hundreds of trajineras filled with families, beers, music and food. Vendors on their own mini-trajineras abound, selling everything from (imitation Chinese) Mexican artisans, corn on the cob, micheladas, flower bouquets, and every imaginable type of antojito (snacks, like tacos, empanadas or quesadillas). And there are plenty of mariachi, norteño, marimba and banda groups who will hop aboard your trajinera and play you a few songs.

We got to Xochimilco late and ended up going on the floating-party “Paseo turistico” (tourist route), which most people go on. Last time we went on the more relaxed “Paseo ecológico” (ecological route), which takes you through the tourist route, but then you go through a beautiful reserve. Toward the end is a kitschy but cool “Isla de las muñecas” (Island of the Dolls), where dolls and parts of dolls are nailed to trees. The island has a creepy history, definitely worth the 10 pesos.

I recommend Xochi’s ecological route to anyone visiting Mexico City. It’s a little far from the main tourist areas, but it’s a relaxing escape from the smoggy, noisy city. You need about five hours for that route, and make sure you don’t get ripped off !!

Bowl-shaped Mexico City used to be a large lake, but after Spanish colonization most of it was drained out. Xochi is what survived, and it's a good way to see what Mexico City was like, más o menos.

The highlight of our day, though, was buying plants at one of Xochi's many nurseries. They grow easily on Xochimilco’s chinampas (“floating gardens”), and we took home a pine tree, gardenias, ferns, geraniums, and a bunch of others whose names I forget.

Living on traffic-heavy Insurgentes Avenue, having plants is a must. They create much-needed humidity, provide oxygen where car exhaust abounds, filter the air and make your place more pleasant to look at. And with plenty of sun (at least for half the year) in MxC, they thrive.

photos from yesterday (paseo turístico); photos from last June (paseo ecologico)

Height horrors

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 19:43:00 +0000

The economic crisis is the last of their worries.

Lowering and then locking himself in place.

About every month, five or six men creep downward, startling half the office as they clean the windows of Arochi, Marroquin & Lindner. Supported by nothing but a twice-looped, inch-thick rope and sitting harnessed on a piece of narrow wood, these brave guys clean the windows of the entire 31-floor Torre Mural (Mural Tower). They glide freely on their giant swings, quickly and efficiently swiping the glass with a soapy sponge and then wiping it clean with a squeegee.

On the west-facing side of the office, where I'm at, they cleaned the 20th-floor windows in less than two minutes today. But once they get to ground level (in one piece, hopefully), they'll start over, cleaning the tower's many sides.

For these guys, AM&L's twentieth floor probably isn't so bad; Mexico City's tallest skyscraper, Torre Mayor, stands 55 floors above Reforma Avenue.

Peso blues

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 20:59:00 +0000

Eek! (from www.xe.com)

The Mexican peso has been at record lows against the dollar recently, according to the News. Many factors, such as the world economic crisis, unemployment, imports and exports to the U.S. and inflation affect the exchange rate.

“The Mexican currency has weakened 32 percent over the past six months, the biggest decline among the world's major currencies,” the News says.

I’m working and getting paid in pesos, but I pay my credit cards, student loans and car in dollars, so I cringe a little whenever I see the peso becoming worth less and less. Almost every bank posts the exchange rate in big, arbitrary digits on their windows, and since I came here in June those numbers have gotten higher and higher. Back in August you could buy a dollar with 9.5 pesos, but now it takes about 15.5. In other words, I’d have to work 88 hours more per month to earn what I made back in August. Ouch.

Water-saving tip of the month

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 16:47:00 +0000

One of the most common-sense ways you can save water is to put a bucket in the shower stall or tub when you bathe. Use the bucket to catch water while you rinse, lather and wash off. Then, when you use the toilet, instead of pulling the flush lever, dump the water down the bowl, and the pressure the falling water creates pushes all the waste down the drain…use the whole bucket if there are solid things…

You can also reused boiled water after you cook things like pasta. If you collect pure water, you can also use it to feed your plants, throw it at street vendors who block sidewalks and subway station entrances or put the bucket in your room to create humidity, which has been lacking in Mexico City these months.

We've started collecting water in January, after the city announced it would cut water off three days per month to about half of residents until the rainy season. Luckily, we haven’t been affected, but in water-scarce D.F. you never know when te lo van a cortar.

Giant, black water tanks sit on roofs of most houses and buildings here, aka Rotoplas, and the super-noisy bomba pumps water into the tanks, so even if the city cuts you off, you still probably have a few litros waiting in the Rotoplas.

Magic meds

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 16:12:00 +0000

Two weeks are enough. I woke up with a sore throat, and two days later it became a fever and headache, whole-body aches, chills and shivers, coughing and runny nose. Sunday was the worst, but I stayed in bed the whole day, took a cocktail of non-prescriptions, called in sick on Monday, went back to work on Tuesday, 75 percent better. I started getting better, taking various types of medications and going through dozens of Kleenex. By Friday I was 100 percent. Most of the time it was just sniffling and weak coughing, but I relapsed last Monday, and each day it got a little worse, until yesterday during lunch, when my friend John said,

“Ok, I can’t handle watching you like this anymore. Just looking at you makes me sick.”

With about three pesos in my pocket, on the desperate day before payday, we went to the pharmacy and he picked me up some azitromicina, an effective, three-day antibiotic that helps with nasal and respiratory infections. The label says, “Sale of this medication requires a doctor’s prescription.” Pharmacists and clerks will sometimes give you a prescription med if you tell them your symptoms and say, “This is what I had last time and the doctor prescribed me those pills and they worked.”

Even if they won’t sell you meds, you can see a doctor; most pharmacies have a doctor on hand, and you make an appointment for 20 pesos ($1.50 usd) and he or she will give you a prescription. It’s a great system if you’re a little ill, and it beats having to pay $50 in the US just to walk into the hospital. On the other hand, it’s better to go more upscale if it’s serious, ‘cos Dr. Simi ain’t gonna do it for ya.

As for these antibiotics…so far, they're working. I took the first yesterday afternoon, so that means no drinking this weekend.

Even if you don’t have insurance in Mexico, medical treatment is reasonable. My three pills cost 110 pesos ($7.50 usd). A good deal, since they also treat other things (that I'm not worried about), like gonorrhea AND the clap.

Last names

noreply@blogger.com (Bronson) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 18:44:00 +0000

Nearly all Mexicans keep both their mom’s and their dad’s surnames and drops the parents' maternal names. If Guadalupe Reyes Santiago and Jorge Perez Martin have a kid, he might be called Juan Perez Reyes. The kid takes the first last name of the father and the first last name of the mother, in that order. Nowadays, many people prefer to unofficially use just their paternal surname – Juan Perez.

For a North American living in Mexico, this causes all sorts of problems. I, like most Americans, have only one surname, but opening a bank account in December they –required- a maternal surname. The only place that name appears on any document of mine is my birth certificate, next to my mom’s name in parenthesis. And the other day I had to get a CURV, (like a social security number), but they didn’t include my maternal surname in the lettering…which won’t coincide with my RFC, another bureaucratic number. Let’s hope this doesn’t cause any problems and another 2.5 hour wait at the CURV office downtown.