like sands through the hourglass

Yesterday I met up with Abraham, the couchsurfing guy who contacted me after I already had said yes to my current host. I caught the metro all the way out to where he studies at the University city, which is exactly that: a city. With a student population of over 250,000, a supermarket (which doesn't sell booze on Fridays), a internal bus service (9 different routes), an extinct lava pit (man I wish I had my camera), a library which is covered in the world's largest mosaic, a fire station and an ex-Olympic stadium all to it's own, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México is a behemoth of a campus. Abraham took me for a drive around it. The drive took a good 20 minutes, and there were a couple of traffic snarls along the way. We hung out at the campus for a while with a few of his friends, and then headed back to his girlfriend's place for a while. We had some beers, mingled with a few more of his friends, ate tacos and left for a party for his friend who had just finished his masters. We got a bit lost on the way, but it turned out that the party was a 10 minute walk from where I'm staying. I dropped some stuff off and grabbed a jumper. A great party, I met plenty of interesting people there and learned about student culture in Mexico City.

You know that time of the year when it's daylight savings and you have to move all of your clocks forward by an hour? And that one clock you forget to change will be the one you'll be relying on on that morning you have an important meeting at work? Birthdays are kind of like this. Your brain goes through the motions of changing every age register inside you head to a new number, so that when the question "how old are you?" is asked, the new updated number comes out. However, after a couple of beers at the masters party last night, my thoughts must have been mingling in the lounge room inside my head, where the time on the VCR had yet to be flicked forward to 28. During a conversation I was asked how old I was, and casually I answered "27", and continued on with the conversation. About a minute later I realised my mistake and then thought I would sound stupid correcting myself on how old I am, so I kept quiet. Like a chump. Now I feel like I've covered over my true age through some desperate act of clinging on to youth rather than the true reason, the onset of dementia thanks to old age.

For what it's worth, I had a pretty good birthday this year. Maria and her folks took me out to a fancy seafood restaurant and treated me to some Mexican / Central American dishes. There was plenty of corn related food type things, and surprisingly a dish with raw fish, which didn't taste anything like Japanese food. Compared to the previous two birthday (2006 I was in the middle of giving away everything I owned to go travelling, 2005 everything seemed to be falling apart around me), it was a fairly good day. After a party nap, Maria took me out to meet some more of her friends at a little house party which continued until the wee hours of the morning. Dancing occured, chatting photos transpired and a shoe was thrown out a window, supposedly never to be returned. While I miss my mates back home, I was treated as if I had been in Maria's inner circle of friends for years - which for someone I only met only two days earlier is pretty cool.

Today I go to the MX Beat concert. Tomorrow I go to Tijuana.

i walk the line

Mexico City is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly hugely mindboggingly big it is. I mean you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist, but that's just peanuts to Mexico City.

Ok.. Mexico City is big, but thanks to it being wedged between a few mountains, it doesn’t feel as infinite as Tokyo or Shanghai. The smog also keeps things in check, becasue once you get up high enough to get an overview of the city, the chances of seeing any further than about 10km is pretty slim. I’m really loving it though, but it’s weird not having my camera to record stuff. There is so much to see and do here, and the people I’ve been staying with have been awesome. I continually find myself staying with females with this couchsurfing thing, but I assure you, I am asking an equal number of guys as I am girls. Girls just seem to reply more often. Must be my charming photo on my profile.

The first day in Mexico City was a blur.

Having caught the plane from Havana at 6am (with a 3am checking and an 11pm mugging beforehand), I made my way to the Australian Embassy to fix up the lost passport issue with only a 20 minute nap on the plane powering me through. I had some help from a British guy and his Austrian girlfriend who had caught the same flight as me. They had a map of where I wanted to go and about 8 times more brain power than I was able to muster, so I followed them into the centre of town assuming the embassy was there. Sure enough, it was in a satellite centre about 6 metro stops and a transfer from where I thought it was. We swapped email addresses and I floated my way to the embassy through the city’s vast metro network. I arrived at the station, got out my compass and headed west. I heard that life was peaceful there. I trudged through a few food markets, walked across a rather nice park and briefly shared directions with a really attractive Mexican girl. I fall in love really easily.

The guys at the Embassy noted that I looked a little strung out and took pity on my updated situation. “So let’s get this straight, you lost your passport 2 weeks ago and were mugged last night? Right. Cuba wasn’t so good on you then?”. I assured them that I had been travelling for almost a year with no issues and that Cuba seemed to be where my number was up. While waiting for the paperwork to be processed, I found my way to a Starbucks for coffee and internet. Oh my. What a difference a day makes. 24 hours earlier I had drank an espresso (one of three things on the menu), in a central Havana restaurant where the phrase “you want flies with that?” wouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary. Now I was in Chai Latte with skim soy milk land, where 5 types of chocolate cookies are for sale and the girl behind the counter smiles as she gives me my change (correct). I called my sister. I tried to call my mum. I sent some emails. I read lots of news. It’s weird to describe the most polluted city in the world as a place that feels like a breath of fresh air. I’m totally convinced now that communism doesn’t work and never will. Self interest, nepotism and greed will always be its downfall, where as these things drive capitalism. Sure, some people miss out, but they should stop being homeless, disabled and dumb and stuff. Unless we have robots and computers organising society and telling us what to do, communism will never work. And I don’t care what Red Evan says, even if he does agree to watch the Matrix with me.

I returned to the Australian embassy and found myself waiting a little bit longer. I flicked through their copies of The Australian and cringed at the tourism video playing in the corner featuring our fearless leader spurting off some bullshit about how Australia celebrates its multicultural way of life. Just as long as you don’t look too foreign. I tune out and amuse myself by making an impromptu “DUNNY” sign for the toilets. Got to make fellow Aussies feel at home when they go to lay some cable. Paper work gets sorted, I need to return in a couple of days to pick up my Emergency Passport and I go hunt down some food. I then call Violeta and organise where to meet up with her. Other side of town. Great.

I arrive at the Metro station and walk out into the middle of a pirate dvd and taco circus. Fuck. I’m so not ready for this. Ducking in and out of first person and recollective tenses, I find my way to a clear bit of footpath and look for the Telmex sign Violeta said would be the first thing I see as I left the station. Nope. Not there. Two girls, one with curly blonde hair and another with straight dark hair approach me. “Hi. How are you?” I assume this is Violeta and her friend and ask “how did you know it was me?”. “umm.. We didn’t”. It wasn’t them. I ask a few people where the Telmex place is and the point across a road which is 4 lanes wide in each direction with a 100 metre strip of grass and trees between. Sort of like a big version of Port Road back in Adelaide, but with the chaos of 1,000 Japanese butterflies fluttering their wings. Someone is waving to me. Yep.. There is certainly someone waving at me. Ha.. So that’s what a Mexican Wave looks like. I get back to Violeta’s place. Conversation consists mostly of me recollecting the previous night’s events and me expressing my interest in showering and passing out somewhere dark and quite.

Today I head to Coyoacán. I went there last week with French Sarah for some funny looking interpretive dance and yucky tasting drink. I was stopped in the street by a bunch of men dressed like mosquitoes, who then interviewed me in Spanish. I think I minced my words and said "penis" rather than "I'm having a lovely day, thanks for asking". This got a laugh and was considered ridiculous from a bunch of guys standing around in full body lycra suits, with tea strainers for eyes. There was a camera involved and according to the people I'm staying with, the likelihood of me popping up on some random Mexican cable channel is quite high. Frida Kahlo's place is out that way, so is Trotsky's. There are also some cool clothing stores where I'm hoping to refresh my wardrobe.

PS - is this not one of the best festival line ups you've ever seen?

we're all the same underneath

Yesterday, I went for a stroll through Chapultepec, the massive park near the financial and diplomatic area of Mexico City. On the recommendation of my sister, I was headed to the Museum of Anthropology and Natural History. The walk through the park past all the stalls selling the contents of an upended showbags, wrestling masks and funny looking corn chips is worth the visit alone. After flirting with the idea of buying some 10 Peso sunnies, I got a little hungry and scouted for a place to eat. I spied some food stalls off the main path and headed towards them. Half way down the path, a guy brandishing a menu came running up behind to direct me to his stall. As I had my headphones in I only heard him when he was right next to me, and he scared the shit out of me. I guess I’m still a bit jumpy with that personal space thing. No way was I eating at his dog’s bowl taco stand now. After finding a place that looked ok, at the same moment I decided to buy something without meat I forgot the Spanish word for beans. While hunting my phrase book for the word, a young blonde hair gent, dressed in a white shirt and a black tie, with a black name badge came up and asked me if I needed help. Sure. I was hungry, a little tired and totally up for this Mormon to process my order for me. A cheese beanie taco. It has a different name than the taco, which I've totally forgotten, but for argument sake is a big taco.

With my order finalised, I ask the nearby table of Mormons if I can join them. I figure it can’t hurt to sit down and chat with these guys, as they are sure to speak English if anything. Just don’t get talking about Jesus and all that other nonsense as that always ends badly when this little ape gets talking about that fairy tale shit. We talk about travelling, the logistics involved in being a missionary in a devoutly catholic country, bikes (and not riding them in Mexico City because you will die), and growing up in other countries on account of parents being missionaries. I’m fascinated with people who grow up under these conditions. No matter what their political leanings, religious beliefs or musical tastes, I always find their stories interesting. Maybe this is because I love travel or grew up in sleepy little Semaphore, but I dig chatting to these people. I tell them about my random Mormon meeting in Hungary and they laugh. I work out that it’s March 6, one year since I left Australia and there’s a few nods of approval from the Mormons. We’ve kept the conversation polite (ie all about me), and the subject of god and his magic powers hasn’t come up. Then one of the older, more well trained door salesman pops the question: “so do you believe in god?”

Great. There goes a nice, normal conversation about bikes, Mexico and travelling. I know it’s something that occupies most of your life, but once I said “no” to the god question, you could have worked it out that I didn’t want to visit your temple or watch your Spanish videos about why I’ve had it so wrong for so long. But no, this isn’t a normal conversation. This is a sales pitch. The biggest problem I have with Mormons, Jehovahs, Resistance, Unionists and any other membership dependent organisation is that it’s just a fucking pyramid scheme. Like friends lost to Herblife and Amway, you can’t have a normal conversation with them. They are always looking for an in to get you hooked onto their idea, to help you understand that the answer to you’re every woe is somehow found in the magic 9 step program, previewed in the brocure they’re leaving with you. I had this a few years ago when I ran into a friend at a pub I hadn’t seen in ages. As I was about to leave, I gave her my mobile number and we said we’d catch up in a few days. We caught up, and within about 5 minutes she was on the play about this amazing new system she’s discovered. This thoroughly pissed me off, as she had only been keen to catch up with me to snare me in her sticky web of sales pitch. Nonce. I saw her a couple of years later. She said that the whole thing had fallen in a heap about 4 months later and that she ended up spending more money than she made on whatever the snake oil she was peddling.

“Well, our lord Jesus Christ has many answers for you.”

“Funny, I didn’t have any questions. Look, religion is great for building community and giving people hope when there is none. When you guys travel overseas it must be great to be able to find people with a similar way of thinking and hang out with them. Sort of like an instant community. But sorry guys, it’s just not my thing.”

He then goes into a diatribe of how his sister had cancer and how he prayed for her and then magically two weeks later it left her body. I then told him about how a friend of mine’s parents, who were devoutly religious and had spent the younger years as missionaries, had a bad car accident thanks to a drunk driver hitting them. My friend’s mum was killed (after a rather painful, drawn out death), and her dad had lost one of his legs and his best friend. My friend, a girl who believed in god, first got angry at god and then lost her faith. The Mormon said that god sometimes does things to test our faith and that his faith had been tested on a few occasions. I decided not to get into my old anti-religion routine where I give converting the bible basher into an atheist a go, but I resent them having a 5 minute conversation with me and then trying to devalue everything I believe in. No point acting hypocritical and doing the same thing. I did think afterwards that riding a bike through Mexico City would be a good way of testing one's faith and wish I had challenged them to some kind of duel. Extreme Mormons maybe?

I finished eating and as if to convince me of his ideas, the team leader tells me about the magic healing powers which had been handed down to him from some old guy who touched him as a kid. Hmm.. I get given a little card inviting me to the temple where there are plenty of videos and material for me to see. Me: “it’s in Spanish right?” Mormon: “errr, yeah. But I’m sure someone there could explain it to you”. I decide to play their game and invite them to come to the Natural History Museum with me. “It’s very informative and I’ve been told it’s really good.” The sales pitch guy looks at me uncomfortably. I think he worked out what just transpired. We say our goodbyes and leave it at that.

The Museum was interesting. Enough English to keep me off the street for a few hours. I ran into the Danish guys I had met in Cuba and again on the top of the pyramids last week. Their group had now been reduced to 2, with one of them going to Brazil and the other one doing her own thing in Mexico. We all decide the world is a small place and casually say goodbye, with the idea of randomly bumping into each other somewhere else. I laid outside on the wall of the pond warming myself up in the sun, drifting off into dusk like sleep for about 4 minutes while listening to music. Afterwards, I walked through the park, bought a cup of fruit, which I ate with the help of a squirrel and an old lady asking for money.

One weird thing I noticed when I started to use the internet again here in Mexico, was discovering I’m being stalked. Well, not really. Back in September I signed up for this thing called Last FM and then completely forgot about it. Ever since then, every song I’ve listened to on my computer has been logged and then uploaded to this website for all to see. I only discovered this when I did a search for a friend of mines band on Google, which then brought up my profile on Last FM. I’ve now added a link to it in the side menu of this page.

Bugs

I have written good stuff about Cuba, but right now it’s in my bad books and I will continue to represent it as a backward hole devoid of culture and full of criminals until Fidel gives me a phone call to personally apologise for the misadventures I met with while in his horrid little country.

Mexican adventures soon.

And here's the reason why I'm not in California now:

Marlboro MX Beat - March 10 - 75 Peso ($10 AUD)
Architecture in Helsinki, Spoon, Tapes 'n Tapes, Cansei de Ser Sexy, Diplo, ADULT, Datarock, bonde do role, Los Super Elegantes, Chetes, La Gusana Ciega and los superelegantes