Another great thing about Mexico City - tons of wonderful tourism opportunities are always waiting just around the corner! For example, if you wanted to see a 5-block radius of medical schools, clinics, research institutes and laboratories, all you have to do is get off at the metro stop Colegio Militar and wander around. Don't forget your camera!
[Rolls eyes].
It all started with an innocent trip to get vaccinated for yellow fever. Matt and I are heading to Peru and Bolivia (and paying the $100 visa, calm down Madre) this Monday and need the proper shots to enter the country. Monday night I headed to a free clinic nearby, which pointed me to the Tropical Illness Institute. So that's where I went today, only to find out that the institute had changed its name and stopped providing vaccines...like 20 years ago. They directed me to a pharmaceutical lab, who directed me to a university biological sciences school, who directed me back to the defunct institute, who directed me to Tlapan (didn't go there, it's 1.5 hours towards the south). Eventually I walked into a small family health clinic and asked the lady at the front desk. She told me the ONLY place to get these types of vaccines is in a clinic in Condesa, the borough directly next to mine.
Three hours later, the rest went surprisingly smooth. After traveling across the city to Condesa and accidentally walking into an AIDS clinic and asking for my vaccine, I arrived at the public health clinic Dr. Angel Brioso Vasconselos, on Calle Benjamin Hill 14. I forked over a copy of my passport and some 200-odd pesos and walked into the doctor's office. She first asked me to leave the clinic, walk around the corner to a street vendor and buy a bottle of water. When I came back, she pricked me in the arm with some yellow fever goodness and popped an Alka Seltzer-type tablet into a cup with my bottled water...cuz I don't want no cholera. She didn't giggle when I praised the tablet's strawberry flavor, but she did promise I might get some intestinal "discomfort" as a result of the pill.
To wrap this up, sometimes I hate Mexico because no one knows where anything is and it isn't necessarily on the Internet. Other times I love it, because at least the last leg of the Tour de Vaccine was quick and, most importantly, cheap. I don't think the Tour is in any Frommer's or Lonely Planet guidebook, so you might just have to wander around aimlessly near Colegio Militar to get the full experience.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Guadalajara in 32 hours (or less)
Another weekend has come and gone, an all too short reprieve from "The Hokey Pokey" and "I'm a Little Teapot." I've often wondered what would happen if I got sick or lost my voice, as most of my 5-hour day involves singing and yelling at children. Well, I found out. For some undetermined reason, I lost my voice this weekend and am slowly gaining it back. If you spoke to me on the phone, it might evoke images of a 90-year-old woman puffing on a long cigarette and swilling her whisky tumbler with decrepit hands as she screams at a soap opera. That's what I sound like.
In other news, after an article-writing marathon on Thursday and Friday, I hopped on a 7-hour sleeper bus to Guadalajara at 12:20 Saturday morning. To my Mexico readers (i.e. Laura), I highly recommend the ETN bus. It was about twice as expensive as a regular coach bus, but with half as many seats and twice as much room. I popped in an Ambien, tied a scarf around my eyes and passed out for the ride.
After stumbling off the bus with a prescription drug hangover, I caught a small bus then metro ride to my hostel, where I met up with Karra. The genius at the front desk had no idea that I'd reserved our room online the night before, so we got in a sassfest that was eventually resolved after I checked my bank statement online and saw I hadn't been charged. He did fun things like play 50 Cent all day and forget to stock the bathroom with toilet paper or, you know, man the front desk. Either we both hated each other, or I hated him and he was unsure how to handle it.
My main reason for traveling to Guadalajara was to interview with the English-language community newspaper there, Guadalajara Reporter. We're still in talks regarding me starting in July, which essentially just depends on a "yes" from me and good timing on the part of the reporter I'd replace, as I can't start until school's out.
Before I met up with the editors, Karra and I explored the city's historic center, which is absolutely beautiful. Lots of old churches and buildings, tall arches, open plazas, lavender trees and a sunny sky. Before my trip I'd heard various times that Guadalajara is a much more "Mexican" city than the rest, having been the birthplace of mariachi and tequila; however, my 1.5-day research suggests otherwise.
The city seemed kind of empty of these qualities I expected from it, and it had a much more suburban feel than Mexico City, with its less-condensed stretch of newly constructed restaurants and office buildings. With a tiny two-line metro and buses reaching fewer areas, my first impression is that it's much more driving oriented as well. The lack of 1960-make VW bugs was also disconcerting, and the sheer invisibility of street vendors left me disoriented and woozy.
At night, Karra and I met up with a few of her Aussie friends for pizza and to sample caustic cocktails at a cantina. Through the white saloon doors awaited a table of friends and plates of snacks - complimentary with your booze - including peanuts, boiled potatoes, sketchy orange corn puffs and styrofoam-esque jícama fruit.
Sunday was a slow day, as we mostly just walked around the historic center again and enjoyed the art galleries and music stages that had been set up for the day. We walked along the main thoroughfare, which each Sunday is closed to cars and open to bikers and pedestrians, just like D.F.'s Paseo de la Reforma. Short on time, we ate lunch in the bus station, a surprisingly delicious cheese torta.
Dinner came halfway through the return trip, when our bus pulled over to the side of the road. Hungry passengers filed down the bus steps as we surrounded a man selling tamales (tasty corn mush with a cous cous-like texture) from his steaming vat, mine served on a bun and mixed with bell peppers. Most of my dinner ended up in the bus seat/all over my lap as it missed its way to my mouth.
It's hard to say if I actually like Guadalajara as a city, because I love Mexico City so much and feel that leaving is the equivalent to my parents making me transfer schools halfway through high school. As for now, I'll be putting off decision-making and eating another bowl of Corn Flakes.
In other news, after an article-writing marathon on Thursday and Friday, I hopped on a 7-hour sleeper bus to Guadalajara at 12:20 Saturday morning. To my Mexico readers (i.e. Laura), I highly recommend the ETN bus. It was about twice as expensive as a regular coach bus, but with half as many seats and twice as much room. I popped in an Ambien, tied a scarf around my eyes and passed out for the ride.
After stumbling off the bus with a prescription drug hangover, I caught a small bus then metro ride to my hostel, where I met up with Karra. The genius at the front desk had no idea that I'd reserved our room online the night before, so we got in a sassfest that was eventually resolved after I checked my bank statement online and saw I hadn't been charged. He did fun things like play 50 Cent all day and forget to stock the bathroom with toilet paper or, you know, man the front desk. Either we both hated each other, or I hated him and he was unsure how to handle it.
My main reason for traveling to Guadalajara was to interview with the English-language community newspaper there, Guadalajara Reporter. We're still in talks regarding me starting in July, which essentially just depends on a "yes" from me and good timing on the part of the reporter I'd replace, as I can't start until school's out.
Before I met up with the editors, Karra and I explored the city's historic center, which is absolutely beautiful. Lots of old churches and buildings, tall arches, open plazas, lavender trees and a sunny sky. Before my trip I'd heard various times that Guadalajara is a much more "Mexican" city than the rest, having been the birthplace of mariachi and tequila; however, my 1.5-day research suggests otherwise.
The city seemed kind of empty of these qualities I expected from it, and it had a much more suburban feel than Mexico City, with its less-condensed stretch of newly constructed restaurants and office buildings. With a tiny two-line metro and buses reaching fewer areas, my first impression is that it's much more driving oriented as well. The lack of 1960-make VW bugs was also disconcerting, and the sheer invisibility of street vendors left me disoriented and woozy.At night, Karra and I met up with a few of her Aussie friends for pizza and to sample caustic cocktails at a cantina. Through the white saloon doors awaited a table of friends and plates of snacks - complimentary with your booze - including peanuts, boiled potatoes, sketchy orange corn puffs and styrofoam-esque jícama fruit.
Sunday was a slow day, as we mostly just walked around the historic center again and enjoyed the art galleries and music stages that had been set up for the day. We walked along the main thoroughfare, which each Sunday is closed to cars and open to bikers and pedestrians, just like D.F.'s Paseo de la Reforma. Short on time, we ate lunch in the bus station, a surprisingly delicious cheese torta.
Dinner came halfway through the return trip, when our bus pulled over to the side of the road. Hungry passengers filed down the bus steps as we surrounded a man selling tamales (tasty corn mush with a cous cous-like texture) from his steaming vat, mine served on a bun and mixed with bell peppers. Most of my dinner ended up in the bus seat/all over my lap as it missed its way to my mouth.
It's hard to say if I actually like Guadalajara as a city, because I love Mexico City so much and feel that leaving is the equivalent to my parents making me transfer schools halfway through high school. As for now, I'll be putting off decision-making and eating another bowl of Corn Flakes.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Taxco Takeover
Saturday was a perfect example of why I love living in Mexico City: something new and exciting is always just a 2.5-hour bus ride away.
As is usually the case during Mexican day trips, noone in our travel threesome got enough sleep the night before. I went to sleep at 3:30 a.m. and woke up at 6:45. Mano the Frenchie and I met up at Enzué la mexicana's house and set off at 8. Unfortunately, I've never been able to sleep well on cross-country buses, so the nearly 3 hour jaunt did little more than shake me around and force me to watch a dubbed version of Santa Clause 3. My Spanish is lamentably not as strong as I'd like it to be, and this bout of tiredness probably made it sound like half of my tongue was cut off. However, I spent the entire day speaking in Spanish, which hasn't happened since my study abroad in Spain in 2006.
First stop: Las Grutas, a series of huuuuuge caves standing more than 30 stories high (that's not a fact, that's I guess I made whilst staring up into the abyss). Most people go in groups of 20 or more, led around by the nails-on-chalkboard voice of a tour guide. The three of us, however, walked through the labyrinth by ourselves, so most of the 2 hour walk in the caves was very, very peaceful and calm. The entire path is smooth concrete and abuelo accessible, so there was no trolling through mud or bat feces for us.
Mano and Enzué also taught me how to change the ISO function on my camera. Despite the button labeled "ISO" on my camera controls, I'd never heard of it before. It allowed me to take majestic pictures like this -->
We emerged into the glaring white sunlight and hopped in a taxi to Taxco, a city mostly known for its impressive silver markets and beautiful, Tuscan-esque houses built into the side of a mountain. The cab ride was a 30 minute, twisty-turvy rollercoaster ride that made me fearful I might have the Gallucci vertigo strain in my DNA. Or it could be the fact that I was insanely tired...let's hope for that one.
Taxco is a gorgeous city, and I'm sad we only had a couple hours to give to it. All the narrow streets run up a hill, and the city is under some ordinance to keep the original colonial flavor to its architecture, so everything has simple, smooth white walls and terra cota roof shingles. We were nearly crippled with hunger by 4:30, as we hadn't eaten since our hurried bowl of cereal before take-off. We got lunch/dinner in the restaurant of a nice boutique hotel in the town's center square; I ordered chile poblano (green pepper, not too hot) stuffed with creamy white cheese and served with a side of refried beans and rice. A vanity photoshoot ensued soon after, which seems to be the theme of all of my weekend adventures here.
After such a day, one might think we'd be content to relax and possibly sleep. But no. We made it into our respective homes at 11, showered, I scarfed reheated black beans and met up again at Enzué's. Last night was La Noche de Primavera, kicking off three months' worth of concerts, art shows and other events in the Centro Histórico. Despite arriving downtown at midnight, we still made it in time to see the singer of Putamayo shake her booty on the stage. But seriously, the jumbotron zoomed in on her butt as she swished it quickly back and forth.
The line for the dance party at Centro Cultural de España was way too long for our short attention spans, so we walked a couple doors over to a youth hostel, whose restaurant/bar is open to the public. We ordered a couple "cuahuamas" (40 ounces, but not a King Cobra "40"), squeezed in a few limes and added some salt: homemade micheladas. The other two danced while I worked on my knee bend, a move to show that I can hear the music, but that I'm also not going to dance to it. I finally made it back into bed by 3:30 a.m., bringing the Mexican hoedown full circle.
As is usually the case during Mexican day trips, noone in our travel threesome got enough sleep the night before. I went to sleep at 3:30 a.m. and woke up at 6:45. Mano the Frenchie and I met up at Enzué la mexicana's house and set off at 8. Unfortunately, I've never been able to sleep well on cross-country buses, so the nearly 3 hour jaunt did little more than shake me around and force me to watch a dubbed version of Santa Clause 3. My Spanish is lamentably not as strong as I'd like it to be, and this bout of tiredness probably made it sound like half of my tongue was cut off. However, I spent the entire day speaking in Spanish, which hasn't happened since my study abroad in Spain in 2006.
First stop: Las Grutas, a series of huuuuuge caves standing more than 30 stories high (that's not a fact, that's I guess I made whilst staring up into the abyss). Most people go in groups of 20 or more, led around by the nails-on-chalkboard voice of a tour guide. The three of us, however, walked through the labyrinth by ourselves, so most of the 2 hour walk in the caves was very, very peaceful and calm. The entire path is smooth concrete and abuelo accessible, so there was no trolling through mud or bat feces for us.
Mano and Enzué also taught me how to change the ISO function on my camera. Despite the button labeled "ISO" on my camera controls, I'd never heard of it before. It allowed me to take majestic pictures like this -->
We emerged into the glaring white sunlight and hopped in a taxi to Taxco, a city mostly known for its impressive silver markets and beautiful, Tuscan-esque houses built into the side of a mountain. The cab ride was a 30 minute, twisty-turvy rollercoaster ride that made me fearful I might have the Gallucci vertigo strain in my DNA. Or it could be the fact that I was insanely tired...let's hope for that one.
Taxco is a gorgeous city, and I'm sad we only had a couple hours to give to it. All the narrow streets run up a hill, and the city is under some ordinance to keep the original colonial flavor to its architecture, so everything has simple, smooth white walls and terra cota roof shingles. We were nearly crippled with hunger by 4:30, as we hadn't eaten since our hurried bowl of cereal before take-off. We got lunch/dinner in the restaurant of a nice boutique hotel in the town's center square; I ordered chile poblano (green pepper, not too hot) stuffed with creamy white cheese and served with a side of refried beans and rice. A vanity photoshoot ensued soon after, which seems to be the theme of all of my weekend adventures here.
Concert in Taxco's central square.
We strolled up and down the town for a little while before stumbling on a woman selling pastries from giant, woven baskets. We settled on deliciously moist cheese pies (or pay, en español), had a proper photoshoot and took them into a nearby café to enjoy them with some caffeine. Our bus boarded at 8 p.m., so we hopped on and settled in for another horrible movie and the first 20 minutes of Dreamgirls.After such a day, one might think we'd be content to relax and possibly sleep. But no. We made it into our respective homes at 11, showered, I scarfed reheated black beans and met up again at Enzué's. Last night was La Noche de Primavera, kicking off three months' worth of concerts, art shows and other events in the Centro Histórico. Despite arriving downtown at midnight, we still made it in time to see the singer of Putamayo shake her booty on the stage. But seriously, the jumbotron zoomed in on her butt as she swished it quickly back and forth.
The line for the dance party at Centro Cultural de España was way too long for our short attention spans, so we walked a couple doors over to a youth hostel, whose restaurant/bar is open to the public. We ordered a couple "cuahuamas" (40 ounces, but not a King Cobra "40"), squeezed in a few limes and added some salt: homemade micheladas. The other two danced while I worked on my knee bend, a move to show that I can hear the music, but that I'm also not going to dance to it. I finally made it back into bed by 3:30 a.m., bringing the Mexican hoedown full circle.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Caffé au Stank
It's a brilliant, sunny day in Mexico City, a light breeze blowing through the 70-degree air. Lavender buds on trees lining a walkway sway gently back and forth as the sun twinkles down on the city. What a perfect day to work on my story outside at a café near Parque España, it seems.
But I can't smell the lavender buds. I can only smell exhaust fumes and stinky trash cans. I can't hear the rustle of the leaves, just the rushing of cars whizzing around the park and the piercing shriek of car alarms. Within the first two minutes I was approached by a man peddling piggy banks and a window washer, and I suspect they won't be the last. Maybe I should just stick to the refuge of my 9th floor balcony and enjoy some soluble coffee from my microwave instead.
But I can't smell the lavender buds. I can only smell exhaust fumes and stinky trash cans. I can't hear the rustle of the leaves, just the rushing of cars whizzing around the park and the piercing shriek of car alarms. Within the first two minutes I was approached by a man peddling piggy banks and a window washer, and I suspect they won't be the last. Maybe I should just stick to the refuge of my 9th floor balcony and enjoy some soluble coffee from my microwave instead.
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