On Friday, May 31st, I moved to Roma Norte. It’s a more central neighborhood in the city, very walkable, with tree-lined avenues, miniature park squares, art installations every other block, and a wide variety of cuisine. My hostel had excellent wifi, good water pressure, and a rooftop terrace.
On Saturday, I went out with Itzel again, this time to my first Mexican house party. Not just any house party, though – through mutual classes and projects at UNAM, Itzel was friends with a guy named Diego, who happened to be the grandson of Diego Rivera, and who lived in a house designed by the famous artist.
The house was striking – it was designed in the same style as the Anahuacalli, and made from the same volcanic stones that gave that museum such a unique feel. It wasn’t huge, but it was filled with art and people. We slowly got to know everyone, and topics drifted from the viking-style martial arts club some of the guys were part of, to one guy’s experience living in a small college town in West Virginia for 2 years1Apparently, it was every stereotype you would expect, though he was welcomed in the community due to his fluent english and work ethic., to the concept of Spanish as “God’s Language” – the most beautiful of the romance languages2I’m sure the French would take issue with this sentiment, but in Mexico it plays great.
There’s something wonderful about walking into a new place full of strangers and then slowly opening up to them, building rapport through drinking games and storytelling and empathy. Around 3am, we wanted to leave, and our new friends were begging us to stay.
On Tuesday, I switched hostels. The new hostel was musty and cramped – to go to the bathroom, I had to hike my knees up as if the fetal position. Still, the wifi was excellent and the maid, Luisa, made a point to introduce me to everyone in the hostel. The pros outweighed the cons, especially at $9/night.
After a relaxed day, I met Joe and Harry. Both were British. Joe was in town for a week to complete some visa requirements – he was a digital nomad living in Montreal. Harry had been traveling around the Gringo Trail3This is the route between Mexico to Panama, and even down to Peru, that many backpackers travel, going either north or south. The trail is well-worn and well-defined, particularly in Central America, because it is such a thin strip of land. Because the route is well-defined, there is established infrastructure, and it is very easy to encounter travelers who have just been where you are going next. You can learn a lot about a place from those who have just visited and have the most up-to-date information. for the past couple months. Neither knew much Spanish, but they were both trying their best to learn. Joe had a habit of asking thought-provoking questions; Harry loved diving in to new situations4Within 5 minutes of sitting down in our hostel dorm, Harry noticed a small baggie of white powder on top of one of the lockers. It couldn’t be cocaine, could it? Surely no one would be so cavalier with that. Harry sprinkled a bit onto his thumb to test it. Nope, it was baking soda.. We went out to a jazz bar and met up with another set of friends from my previous hostel.
On Wednesday, I went to the Museo Nacional de Antropología5Sometimes called “the Louvre of Latin America.” It’s an enormous structure, with architecture noticeably influenced by its subject matter, and contains artifacts from most major pre-hispanic civilizations from around Mexico. I spent 4 hours there and only got through the Maya, Incas and Teotihuacanos, less than half of the exhibits the museum offered..
By Thursday, Joe and Harry had left the hostel, the wifi had died, and I was running out of touristy things to do. I tried out the city’s bike rental program, called Ecobici. Signing up was challenging – I had to make an online account, and answer a quiz of Mexico City bike traffic laws, for which I relied on the help of two amicable students.
Biking was the way to see Chapultepec Park, but there were thunderclouds on the horizon, and I got soaked on the way back. Since I was already drenched, I decided to get a workout in6Parks in Mexico City have lots of machines, where you can lift some percentage of your bodyweight while working out different muscle groups. It isn’t the same as lifting heavy with proper weights, but gets the job done. I usually end up doing a circuit with very little rest and high reps. Working out while traveling can be very tricky, so I employ the “24 Hour Ghetto Workout” method, inspired by this youtube classic.. I ran in to Joe, and we made plans to meet at the hostel before getting dinner.
Around 7:30, both Joe and Harry stopped by the hostel. This turned out to be a mistake.
Luisa, who was usually gone for the day, saw them. She marched up the stairs and demanded us to tell her who let them in. The accusatory tone of voice, and her absolute certainty she was right, transported me back to the 5th grade. I accepted the blame, and she said she would tell the owner (apparently, having guests over, even for a minute, was against hostel rules) who would then “decide my punishment.” I was stunned, because she’d been so nice before. Meh, it was time for dinner.
We passed the rest of the night with another guy from the hostel, Christian, who’d grown up in Mexico City, but lived in Oregon the past 10 years. We ate, drank and chatted about his memories of the city. One that stood out: as a kid, he described himself as “addicted to spice.” He’d rush out of school with his friends to the closest stand, demand the hottest peppers, and chow down for the adrenaline rush of capsaicin overload.
On Friday, I talked with the owner of the hostel, and didn’t get in any trouble. This seemed to make Luisa even more angry. After that, we weren’t on speaking terms, and she would avoid my gaze whenever I passed by. Eh, I had friends in town.
Joe was visiting the city for his birthday weekend along with 23 other Americans, including one of my oldest friends, Nipun7We became proper friends in 9th grade geometry, the day we had a substitute teacher. We decided to switch names for attendance. She wasn’t thrown off by an Indian dude named Kyle, but when a white guy answered to Nipun, her curiosity piqued and I had to invent a meaning for his name on the spot. High school shenanigans are the best..
Friday night was a melding of friend groups. I, Itzel, Harry and Joe (British Joe), Nipun and 5 of the Americans made it out for Lucha Libre.
I didn’t have much context for the event – I’d never seen WWE, even on TV. Harry, who was a big fan, assured me this was far more technical and impressive. The fights were ridiculous, often 3 on 3, with theatrical walkouts, flips, and flying takedowns outside of the ring. But the crowd interaction made it special.
A group of middle aged guys and girls behind me were shouting some of the most creative curses I’d heard. Once they realized our row was mostly gringos and foreigners, they encouraged us to join in, and taught us some of the material. Hearing foreigners shout out “Fuck your whore mother, you slap like you’re still in the womb” never ceased to make them laugh, and for good reason8I had this conversation with Harry the day before. As a foreigner, you tend to be worried about your accent, or about embarrassing yourself saying the wrong thing. But from the opposite perspective, it’s often hilarious. If an Asian granddad with a thick accent came up to you in the states and said “just fuck my shit up,” you wouldn’t correct his grammar or concern yourself with a mispronunciation. You’d die laughing. It’s the same way the other way around. I’ve consistently found that I’m funniest here when I’m using some of the local slang – Chilangos just aren’t expecting it..
After the Lucha, we went back to American Joe’s Airbnb to start the pregame. The contrast between his accommodation and my own was stark.
I was paying $9/night for a bed in a hostel without wifi, where the only maid hated me, with bathrooms so cramped I sat at an angle when I had to use the toilet. Joe and crew were paying $200 each for the weekend, and staying in 7 apartments, each with air conditioning, Pacificos in the fridge, and ample bathroom space. The main spot was a 2 story penthouse, with floor to ceiling windows, sweeping views of Condesa, and a massive terrace on the second floor.
I reflected a bit on the contrast – this was the life I’d left behind, after all. Management Consulting came with many perks, from hotel suites and swanky lounges to breakfasts and first class upgrades, and it was easy to enjoy lavish weekends.
And yet, I didn’t have regrets. I haven’t been so content in a long time – I don’t have the same luxuries I once did, but I have more control over my time than ever before. There have been some ups and downs, but nothing like the existential dread that comes from working long hours, knowing I’d prefer to focus on something else. Nothing is worse than wasting heartbeats.
The first time I did a big solo trip, I was wracked with homesickness. I’m nearly a month into this one, and I haven’t felt that way at all. I’m improving at Spanish, I’m learning about the culture, and I’m making the most of each day. I’m satisfied and gratified.
Miscellaneous Notes:
- Doggo notes: Los Angeles is the land of tiny dogs, but Mexico City seems to have the full range of dog sizes. In particular, I’ve probably seen the most massive dogs of my life here. And I haven’t seen any stray animals like the other parts of Latin America I visited – namely Peru and Bolivia.
- At some point in here, I also went to see the Museo Soumaya, a free art museum and one of the only tourist attractions open on Mondays. The outside is reminiscent of the Broad in Los Angeles, just… bigger. After the museum, I walked back on Avenida Presidente Masaryk, which is reminiscent of Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, just… bigger.
- The next day after Lucha Libre (Saturday) I went on a taco tour with Nipun and 15 others in the crew. We devoured dank tacos, and ended up at Bodeguita del Medio, the Havana bar Hemingway famously frequented for mojitos. Apparently, they’re a chain now. At the end of the tour, I got the number of one of the tour guides, and she invited us out to a block party the following day – the sort of event where we’d surely be the only foreigners. On Sunday, we were too tired to make it.
- Travel is very coincidental, and in Latin America, where everyone invites you into their lives, it can be a bit overwhelming. I’ve never had to deal with much FOMO – usually if I’m missing something, I’m not aware of it – but it’s a good problem to have. I’m very much an optimizer, and I try to make the most of each day, but the volume of people and connections is simply too high to see it all. Going to the all-local block party would have objectively been the best use of my Sunday afternoon – it would support my goals to learn Spanish and learn latin dances – but sometimes I need to relax. Instead, I got Domino’s in Joe’s Airbnb, and had a nice life chat with Nipun while looking out over Condesa. Still a great afternoon.
