Mexico City Adventure I

I'd only been in border towns in northern Mexico, like Tijuana across the border from San Diego, California,  and Nogales just south of Tombstone, Arizona. Now, here I am, far down into Mexico in one of the largest cities in the world - Mexico City, FD. Mario drove us to our lodging in the district of Chapultepec. We would reside there with (Tia) Marta, a matronly looking Mexican woman with black hair piled up on top of her head held by combs. It was a nice flat with two bedrooms and a bathroom off the main room. In the main room was an open area for the cooking and dining areas, and a sitting room or parlor. The main room had French doors leading out onto a large balcony overlooking the quiet street below and a park across the way. It is here that Maximilian and his wife Carlotta built their palace out in the forested hills. Maximilian's castle is presently a museum of the French occupation and various Mexican antiquities.

Now Marta was an excellent cook. For breakfast she made sweet and hot tamales, sliced papaya, eggs, fresh homemade tortillas and milk. Now, the milk (leche) and eggs (huevos) were home delivered. The milk came in those quart size glass bottles with a paper cap stopper, and best of all, the cream rose to the top so the first one to pour received the thick silky cream in their cup to drink. I think Marta wanted her "huero" (light skinned Mexican or white boy) to have it. Lunches was usually soup like menudo or tripe-soup especially beans served with flour tortillas. For dinner Marta made chicken mole. It's chicken thighs and legs broiled in chocolate with hot red peppers. I was introduced to lotus, corn on the cob rolled in butter and dry cheddar cheese. One thing you must get used to is tequila. Marta had little earthenware clay shot glasses to pour tequila for breakfast, lunch, and after dinner. I preferred some semi-sweet red wine because tequila "will get to you."

I'll never forget going shopping at the mercado in Mexico City! It was a huge open market with small cafés inside. I almost got ran over by a wheel barrel full of hog heads zooming down through the market aisle. The market had a mixed odor of decaying meat, over ripening fruit, wilting vegetables,
aging cheeses, and aging herbs.

Now, if anyone has had the opportunity of sleeping in a feather-filled mattress will understand what I'm about to say here. The ropes zigzagging back and forth on the side boards don't do much for the mattress deeply sinking in the middle. The problem is when you find gravity pulling you into the center of a deep, feathery and suffocating abyss. One thing Paco and I discovered was that if you start at the edges, "scoop and scoot" towards the center you can build up a pile of feathers in the center. Then if you hold on tight to the side rail of the bed, you can actually have a rather decent nights sleep.

Palace of French Maximilian I

The Old Treasure Chest

Each of us have an old treasure chest filled with stories, tales, secrets, memories, and experiences we've collected over the years. This blog is just that - stories of my travels, the people and the places. It's also stories about a boy and a son, a man and then a husband, a father and later on a grandfather.
As you can see in the picture I posted of an old treasure chest, I'm going to be taking out souvenirs and treasures and telling you the story behind them.

The Old Treasure Chest

                           

Imagine the old treasure chest made of planks of oak and walnut trees, covered with leather hides fastened down by grommeted brass corners and edges. This weathered chest by gusting winds, pelting rain and salt water, grating sand, dense humidity, and faded by the rays of the glaring sun. With the "key" we begin our journey by unlocking and removing the rusted iron lock, lifting the gritty latch; and as we lift the creaking lid the scent of cedar wood and dusty musk fill our senses.

Now, let the adventure begin . . . by the way, that reminds me of a story . . .

Mexico, The Arrival

In Septmber of 1977, Jose Francisco Reyes (nick name Paco) and I planned a trek to Mexico to visit some of the archaeological sites.  Paco had a degree in anthropology and archaeology like me, and family in and around Mexico City. From 1970 to 1973, I studied Cultural Anthropology and Archaeology at Fairleigh Dickenson University at the Madison/Florham Campus in New Jersey. So, we booked round trip flights from Chicago O'Hare International with United Airlines to Mexico City, Federal District, Mexico. Money exchange was in our favor, 22 pesos to the U.S. dollar. Our flight tickets were about $300 round trip. We had planned being there for four weeks to see everything we had studied ahead of time. We were interested in experiencing the city beneath the city, Tenochtitlan; San Juan Teotihuacan in the state of Mexico; Tula (de Allende) in Hildago state; and a long journey to Chichen Itza down in the Yucatan state to see the Aztec ball courts. Besides, Paco had family living in Mexico City, FD; Penjamo and San Miguel de Allende in Guanajuato; and Taxco (del Alarcon) in the state of Guerrero. Not only were we going to see ancient pyramids and sites, we were going to experience the genuine culture of contemporary everyday life, that is, non-touristo in Mexico.

We chose to go in September because the weather would be nice and we would be able to celebrate Mexico's Independence Day on September 16th. Besides, Paco and I would be able to pack away some more bucks before the trip during the Summer of '77. I wanted to take about $5,000 with me; gold in the U.S.A. was $700 or more an ounce, but in Mexico it was less than $150 U.S. Dollars an ounce. I didn't want to come up short to take advantage of every opportunity as it presented itself. I'd turned 25 in 1976 when our country celebrated its bicentennial, so Paco and I were young men in their mid-twenties and prime when we embarked on this adventure. In those days I had dark brown bushy hair that could be brushed into an Afro, but would return to wild billowing sails blowing around my face. Some thought maybe I might have a little African blood in me.  Most of the Mexican people I met thought I was either one of them because of my olive complexion (and pigmentation) 
that turned very dark from the Mexican sun, or of European Spanish origin with my hazel eyes. Ifhey only knew that my ancestors were Eastern European (semitic) with a jig of a tartar clan.

The last Thursday in August of 1977, we took off to Mexico. We wouldn't return until the first Tuesday in October. We both packed our bags with hiking, backpacking, and camping gear. We also packed both everyday and some dress clothes for when weren't exploring. We packed several cartons of Marlboro cigarettes as gifts and bribery tokens. At that time you could buy a carton of cigarettes 

for under $8. I remember when we landed I noticed that the bus terminal was larger than the airport. It was still very warm weather when stepped down out of the airplane onto the tarmac. We found our bags and walked over to the bus concourse.

The name of the bus company was Amarillo Estretcha, or the Yellow Arrow, like we have Greyhound and Trailways. The manufacturer was called Dana, like we have Bluebird and Peterbuilt. Now, did I take a ribbing having the same name as a bus-maker. Now, I thought about using my middle name, George, but in Spanish it's Jorge (pronounced Horhay) and the sound of it made me feel like a gigolo. So, I stayed with my first name they pronounced "Donya." Some of my acquaintances called me Daniel which was fine with me just as long I could remember all of my aka names. We boarded and arrived in Mexico City proper at the bus depot. Mario, one of Paco's cousins, met us there in his taxi cab. He helped us with our baggage and loaded them in the taxi cab.

Skyline of Modern Mexico City