I - GETTING THERE
During the laborious process of sketching out a route, I had become well aware of the fact that the city centre was a very long way from my home in Tizapán. What I had not anticipated was that most of my good work would be in vain anyway, as I would be doomed to get lost and have absolutely no clue where the hell I was. It is amazing how easy something looks on paper, and how ridiculously difficult it becomes once translated to the streets.
I had decided to get to the city centre using the Metro, which is an extensive underground train system that can take you to various hot spots in the Distrito Federal. It took me no less than an hour to get to the nearest metro station, Viveros, a trip I had expected to make in half that time. I ended up on the wrong main street (there are two), and after my phone repeatedly failed to make Google Maps happen, much less the GPS function, I decided to enlist the help of a couple of Mexican shopkeepers to direct me to the station.
Once I finally arrived, I had my first encounter with the Mexico City metro system. This was something I was actually very impressed by. Basically, you pay 5 pesos (around NZ 40 cents), and you can go anywhere in the city. Someone will correct me on that, so I'll hedge my claim and say almost anywhere in the city. Whether you're traveling one station or ten, switching lines or going straight, you pay the same 5 pesos. Insanely cheap? Yes, and apparently the price was recently put up...from 3 pesos. New Zealand readers will realise that this makes the system over ten times cheaper than our own.
It is also far more efficient. You pay beforehand, which means you don't get a boisterous conductor shoving his way down the train during the trip, knocking over anyone fatter than a sheet of paper. In fact, in the Mexican metro, 99 per cent of the time it would be physically impossible for said conductor to complete his little corridor journey, since the metro is almost always jam packed to the windows. You don't get a seat unless you're pregnant with triplets, ninety-six years old, or you got on the train when it was built. Sometimes you won't even be able to get on the train; every time a train gets in, which is luckily about every three minutes, hitherto friendly, polite people turn into violent bumper cars, shoving centenarians out of the way just to nab an area of unoccupied space that is half a centimetre squared larger than they are.
There is more. People try to sell you things in the train station. Oh boy do they try to sell you things. You can't descend a staircase without being screamed at by a fifty-something woman selling windmills made out of congealed cow's blood. And don't think you're off the hook once you get on the train - wizened vendors pay five pesos to board the metro purely in order to try and sell wheat biscuits to you. Now I've been hungry. I've been very, very hungry. But hungry enough to buy oat cookies from a solemn octogenarian, underground, in Mexico City? I hope I never experience that level of hunger.
II - ZÓCALO & FRIENDS
At last, at midday, I arrived at the Zócalo, which is what the Mexicans call the city centre. It is a giant square - a bit like that one girl at high school who did knitting - and it is very impressive to behold.
After wandering around for a little bit, I went to my first destination: Templo Mayor.
The Templo Mayor was one of the most important temples for the Aztecs, built in reverence of their gods. It wasn't all fun and games at the Templo Mayor though - numerous blood sacrifices were made, largely prisoners of war. As if being a prisoner of war didn't suck enough already.
Building commenced in the 1300s, but thanks to the good old Spaniards, the whole thing was largely destroyed in 1521.
After obliterating the Aztec temple, conquistador Hernán Cortés and his cronies then had a Catholic Church erected nearby.
Speaking of churches, my next stop was the Mexican City Metropolitan Cathedral. It is hailed as the largest cathedral in the Americas, which is quite impressive, since there is undoubtedly some stiff competition for the title in Catholic South America.
I could bore you with large descriptive paragraphs full of architecture jargon - I could wax lyrical about portals, facades, columns and naves - but I'd be ripping off Wikipedia, and not really have any idea what I was talking about. It's best to let the pictures speak for themselves on this one.
The full name of the cathedral is Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven, which sounds less like the name of a church, and more like the name of a fake Yu-gi-oh card you'd end up with after buying from a three star dealer on eBay. But I digress.
After my sightseeing, I had developed something of an appetite. In my hunt for food, I dived headfirst into a crazy street full of vendors selling all sorts of schlock. I'd show you some pictures of the schlock if I dared take my camera out in that river of people.
My search was not fruitless - I soon located a woman who was selling hotdogs and hamburgers. Well, actually just hotdogs, since when I asked for a hamburger she said she had none. And I thought corporate advertising was misleading. Nonetheless, the deal was three hotdogs for 20 pesos, less than $2 NZ. The sausages were pink as hell, but tasty.
After demolishing the lunch, it was time to move on.
III - LONELY PLANET WALK
For the first time since arriving in Mexico, I took out my Lonely Planet guide in public. Who cares if I looked like a tourist, the book had a nice walking tour route sketched out. I knew there was enough stuff to do in the Centro Histórico to demand several day trips, so I decided my best use of time would be to wander around the key streets and become acquainted with the area.
Lonely Planet first directed me to the Torre Latinoamerica, which sounds awe-inspiring in Spanish, whereas the English translation 'Latin-American Tower' is more like the auditory equivalent of an acting performance by Keanu Reeves.
The tower is 188 metres tall, and predictably it's used for white collar stuff. Several floors are used by firms controlled by fat cat Carlos Slim, one of the richest men in the world.
The street I walked along to get to the tower is called Avenida Madero, and as you can see from the first picture, it is a bustling street. Yes, I took the adjective 'bustling' straight out of my Lonely Planet book. Fine, it's animated. Anyway, all along the street, for whatever reason, there were people advertising spectacles. I don't mean spectacles in the sense of interesting events, I mean eyeglasses. The Spanish word is lentes, and by the time I got to the end of Avenida Madero, I would have taken a sentence in a Mexican prison over hearing that damned word one more time. The vendors don't just say their advertising slogans, they sing them. It is truly something else. Some of them actually have quite tuneful voices, which would be better put to use in a choir, rather than in producing the same soul-destroying eye mantra all day long. But I survived the ordeal.
Next I walked by Palacio de Bellas Artes, an iconic palace at the heart of Mexico City. There I go again, using travel writer buzzwords.
The palace doubles as a museum, supposedly the first true art museum in Mexico, established in 1934. I went inside briefly, but seeing the long queue, I left. It was mid-afternoon already and I wanted to do the place justice.
The next thing was Alameda Central, an awesome park in downtown Mexico. Palacio de Bellas Artes is right next to it, so I didn't have to cover much distance to see the next attraction.
The stroll through the park was nice enough, but the highlight was encountering a group of Mexican teenagers having a rap battle. While a couple of guys jacked up the beats, around six of them rapped, taking turns to insult each other. My Spanish wasn't good enough to get everything they said, but I heard some decent punchlines. One of them said to another that he was dressed like his dog.
After that my walk continued. I was surprised to come across a Church of Scientology right next to the park. Talk about a wildcard.
There were fewer obvious attractions in the latter section of my walk, as I made my way back toward the Zócalo, though my route did take me through a small Chinatown. Tucked away in a not-very-obvious place, it was a lonely bastion of Asian restaurants in a city of taco joints.
I didn't dither around much - my legs were unsurprisingly complaining after six hours of walking, and I wanted to get home before nightfall. I eventually made it back to the Zócalo, though I resorted to a bag of sour Skittles and a bottle of juice for the energy. My first trip to the city centre may have afforded me only a cursory impression of the area, but it was enough to get an idea of what an exciting place it is, and the kind of craziness I can expect on subsequent visits. Tired but stimulated, I boarded the metro and headed home.
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