Mexico City - Day 4 In Which My Wife Deploys a Full-Proof Anti-Thief Strategy

I'm used to the hustle and bustle of Mexico City.  The hordes of people in the Metro like this: 

No big deal.  I survived Metallica at the Oakland Coliseum for Day On The Green which looked a lot like this:

STOP!  A METALLICA-RELATED DIVERSION:

A quick diversion for a rant about my Metallica experience.  Note the picture above which is representative of the "mosh pit".  My Metallica experience was like this but worse.  If you replace the small girl behind the guy at center with a similarly sized small girl wearing these leather thingies with sharp steel studs on them on her forearms, and if you imagine those forearm thingies digging into my back for two hours, then you have some small sense of the Metallica experience.  If you also imagine the other girl reaching down to sexually assault this guy (representing me but with hair), then now you have my Metallica experience in a nutshell.  I think this combination of sex and violence was more recently encapsulated in a movie called "50 Shades of Grey".  It is probably a bit like the mosh pit, but with sexy Swedish vampires or some such.  I don't care.

I'll return to the Metro in a bit, but I would first like to make a sociological observation about Mexico City.  This is something we observed at the Zocalo, El Palacio Nationale, Chapultepec, Templo Mayor or just about anywhere else in Mexico City where 20's something men and women are found together (which is everywhere). 

The subject of this "Grumpy Guy Diatribe" is the Public Display of Affection common in Mexico City.  I never did learn the phrases "Get a frickin room!" or "Her tonsils are operable!" in Spanish, but I will learn these before I venture again to Mexico City.  I think these are a vernacular must, and Senora Sloan should have taught them to me in high school.

On behalf of the grumpy old men of Mexico City, I can only state that this new generation of Mexicans has the collective sex drive similar to that of ... I don't know ... a rabbit?  What gives?  You get away from your conservative Catholic parents and grandparents, and feel a collective need to get it on in public?  Are there no drive-ins in Mexico City for this kind of activity?

Every sociological problem has a sociological solution.  Mine is this ... Mexican Attack Squirrels are plentiful and can readily address this problem.  I hypothesize that squirrel teeth will have a negative effect on the libido.  Conservative Catholic parents and grandparents of Mexico City, you are welcome.

For the first twenty or so times I witnessed this kind of public coochie going on, I'd nudge my wife and say "Check it out."  I'm just trying to point out this odd sociological drama playing out about us.  My wife was a sociology major after all.  She should show interest or at least feign interest for my sake.  I'm sure she is thinking that this is one of my many ways to suggest that we should do the same.  Not so.  I just really, really don't want her to miss out on an opportunity to put that degree to use.  You believe that, right?

My wife pays no heed to Professor Cultural Anthropologist's observation of the human condition in Mexico City.  She is too busy deploying her foolproof anti-theft methodology.  Women of the world, take note!  This strategy is so full proof and simple that no thief would think of snatching your purse from you.  Curious?  Here we have a picture of my wife demonstrating said technique:

Notice how the purse is slung across the neck?  That's it.  This ensures that no thief can readily come up from behind and simply tug it off of her shoulder.  Instead of slipping it off the arm and shoulder, the thief will either have to dislocate her neck or kindly ask for her purse.  If the latter approach is taken, my wife would then confuse and astound the thief by deploying either of her two stock Spanish gibberish phrases.  "No Que Pesos!" or, if she is particularly surly "No comprendes!"  Truly fool proof verbal judo. 

Between my near constant reminders to her that there are people getting rather amorous all over the place, I'm pointing out to her that her security system is somewhat flawed.  As I think back on this, I was probably annoying as hell during this trip.  My wife reads a lot, but I don't think she is aware of this most modern thieving invention.  I think they are called "scissors" or something like that.

In the last couple of months, I also understand that some redneck in American named "Buck" created something he calls a "knife".

I recently read in Modern Thief magazine that thieves are deploying these new technologies for the sole purpose of defeating what my wife has copyrighted as the "You Can't Touch This!" security system.  Look for a purchasing opportunity coming your way on one of those paid advertisement channels that the cable company makes you pay for.  These thieves even call themselves "cutpurses".  Mark my words, some day this new word will be common to our language.

Every large city has some version of Beverly Hills, and the Polanco serves that function nicely for Mexico City.  I'll admit that I like to haggle.  I'm as shrewd as an Arab camel trader.  Nevertheless, I left off in the swanky shops of Polanco.  No need to embarrass my family with the whole nickel and dime thing.  I'll save that particular form of combat for the itinerant vendors.  Polanco is very nice.  In thinking of something "snarky" (I invented this word, by the way) to say about Polanco, I'm at a loss.  I'll only comment to state that it is rather bland in an American way.  Nice place, clean, etc.  America.

The Metro ride back was entertaining.  We hit rush hour.  Avoid that at all costs unless you enjoy pushing and shoving.  I kind of enjoy that on an individual basis.  But when you are trying to make sure that you are getting all four of you onto the Metro, it can be a bit harrowing.  Nonetheless, I will share the strategy with you.  First off, recognize that the person behind you is likely to put his forearm across the small of your back and push like crazy.  This has the salutary effect of getting you on the train.  However, not all people push the same.  It is simple physics.  A small woman is not likely to push me far, but a larger man is likely to push one of my boys a bit further.  Don't like physics?  I'll dumb it down and approach this another way by reference to an old fashioned carnival game:

If the squirt gun is moving the white horsey way out in front, the white horsey is going to leave behind the lazy black horsey.  That is not good.  As the white horsey, Dominic got too far ahead and the lazy black horsey (me) had to grab onto his shoulder and yank him back.  And, by the way, the doors don't pop open really easily like an elevator door.  You really have to push ... hard.  Absent fierce resistance to the doors, you will get stuck.

My wife and Alex demonstrated a rather ineffective technique with these doors.  Both got caught midway onto the train, and both started pushing on the door in earnest.  Problem solved, the doors grudgingly stayed open.  However, neither had the capacity to let go first.  You first.  No, no.  I insist you go first.  The result is that neither of you get on, and I'm left yelling something stupid like "One of you pull the trigger!" or some other nonsensical redneck phrase.

Nonetheless, we ultimately were able to time getting shoved in the back correctly, and we all got on the same train.  As you might guess, this pushing and shoving can sometimes lead to conflict of a near-Metallica like proportion.  One teenager pushed an old man so hard that the old man put his hands up in front of his face as if the kid was going to hit him.  This causes me to undertake what I call my "Two Second Mexican Jail Analysis."

If the teen tries to hit the old man, do I (in turn) use my God-given ape arms to reach over two other people and clip that kid on the jaw?  If so, how long will I be spending in a Mexican jail?  I imagine weeks before I even get arraigned, and I don't know "get yourself out of jail" Spanish.  This is also something that would have been handy to learn in high school.  Recognizing my inherent inability to navigate the Mexican judicial system, I just kind of stood there thinking.  Fortunately, the teen just smirked and left it alone.

Tragi-comedy avoided, and we move on in search of what must be the last Dr. Pepper left in Mexico City.  After stops at two 7-11's and one Circle K, we locate the elusive Dr. Pepper.  Total nonsense, but Alex's addiction must be fed.  Oh, and the Starbucks addiction must be fed.  Oh, and the Krispy Kreme donut addiction must be fed.  Oh, and the milkshake addiction must be fed.

Serving these addictions takes time, and we are left with the end of Day 4 (which was really just a shopping day).  To recap:

1.  Metallica concert - bad.
2.  Polanco - good but kind of bland in the way that good can sometimes be.
3.  Anti-Theft System - yeah, right!
4.  White Horsey/Black Horsey Metro Entry Technique - proper when timed correctly.
5.  Various and several American confection addictions - dumb.

End of Day 4 mis amigos!

Mexico City - Spanish Gibberish

It's July 1, 2016, in Mexico City, and I'm thinking that I need to hit another historical site.  On our first day, I had to beat away a couple of the self-proclaimed tour guides for hire that lurk about the entrances to these historical sites just so I could peak over the barrier at the ruins of the Templo Mayor.  On this day we would run that gauntlet once again, but this time I shall enter.  There will be no tour guide.  It is well worth going, and will only cost you a few dollars.

At this juncture in the blog I can take one of two routes.  I can tell you interesting facts about the place, OR I can charm you with pictures of me located at the Templo Mayor which could resemble something like this:

In the hopes of not causing you alarm and encouraging you to keep reading, I'm going with the historical route.

For those of you who don't know, the Aztecs founded their empire on an island in the middle of a very, very large lake.  Lake Texcoco was large enough and deep enough to play host to one of Cortez's ships during the Conquest.  He had the moxie to dismantle a ship on the gulf coast and have it hauled hundreds of miles inland and assembled once again at Lake Texcoco.  I guess he had a knack for making dramatic entrances.  Probably something a bit like this:

In the sense in which rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper and so on, Cortez was at least clever enough to know that canon ball beats everything.  And if you want to really make an impact, send those cannonballs from a ship.  In any event, here is a pictorial of what the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City) looked like at the time of the Conquest.

And, yeah, I know this is a terrible picture.  Borders, borders.  Why am I so bad at this?

The Templo Mayor was the religious center for the Aztecs in Tenochtitlan.  It looked a bit like this mock up.

The Templo Mayor is the pyramid in the center with the two temples on the top.  The temples were dedicated to the rain god, Tlaloc, and the chief deity in the Aztec pantheon, Huitzilopochtli.  As you might expect a lot of this happened at the Templo Mayor.

The heart flying up to the heavens is intended to represent the sacrificial victim's assent into the heavenly realms.

You already knew this was coming, but the Spaniards tore down the Templo Mayor nearly to its base.  In the sense of "You used to worship your god here, and now you can worship our God here", the Spaniards would construct a church where the native temples were formerly located.  As if nobody would notice the difference?

Aztec:  What happened to my temple?  Where is our orderly skull rack?

Friar Juan:  Uhhh.  We have cookies and juice.

Perhaps the conquistadors forgot their tradition, which I sometimes refer to as the "holy place switcheroo", but they mistakenly built the Catedral Metropolitan right next to what remained of the Templo Mayor.  Here you can see the Cathedral in the background.  In the foreground is all that remains of the Templo Mayor.

Instead of a church, the Spaniards ultimately used the Templo Mayor premises as a trash dump.  Never fear.  Archeologists love to dig through trash and they found what remains as follows:

Notwithstanding, we lost a lot of history when the Templo Mayor was razed to the ground.  Lake Texcoco was shared by two other empires who, with Tenochtitlan, formed the Triple Alliance.  Netzahualcoyotl, the ruler of one of the other members of the Triple Alliance (Texcoco) just before the Conquest, had these sage words about the transience of life:

I, Netzahualcoyotl, ask this:
Is it true one really lives on the earth?
Not forever on earth,
only a little while here.
Though it be jade it falls apart,
though it be gold it wears away,
though it be quetzal plumage it is torn asunder.
Not forever on earth,
only a little while here.

It isn't my intention to get preachy, but I mention Netzahualcoyotl because I admire him as a sage and just ruler.  We need only apply his same logic to temples, palaces and everything else that the Aztecs built.  Most of it is gone now and proved itself to be as transient as human life.

Well, I digress.  That serpent in the foreground is a representation of the Aztec god, Quetzalcoatl.  I'm rather confused by why the conquistadors wouldn't finish the job by leaving Quetzalcoatl.  Maybe all of that killing wore them out?  Maybe they just like snakes and didn't realize that it was a representation of an Aztec deity?  Either way, I'm glad they missed it.  There are two of these images, and they both are located at the base of the Templo Mayor.

And if we can "excuse" Cortez for not smashing these images of Quaetzalcoatl to pieces, what about the few other images that were left?  Here we have a chacmool that was found at the steps of the remains of the Templo Mayor still in its place. 

The chacmool are rather common features, and that is because they served a rather common purpose.  Notice that bowl the chacmool is holding?  The purpose of that bowl would be to hold sacrificial offerings.  It could be herbs, and it could be human hearts.  Just depends on whatever the occasion called for I suppose.  Perhaps the priests would just wake up one morning feeling kind of stabby?

And here are some of those stabby things.  I learned a lot about the Aztec at UCLA, but I have no rational explanation for why the sacrificial knives looked like smiling fishies.

True fact:  The popular cracker marketed to children as "Goldfish" was modeled after these sacrificial knives.  Don't believe me?  I see a strong resemblance.

Granted, the knives don't have sunglasses, but that is clearly an embellishment added by Pepperidge Farms to hide the origin story of Finn, its sinister mascot.  I know better.

Right next door to the Templo Mayor is what remains of the meeting hall for the Eagle Knights.  This warrior class was limited to the elite.  As the lowly son of a mill worker, I would not have been permitted to apply or to even enter.  As the Eagle Knights approached this august meeting area, they would be met with this image of the god of death, Mictlantecuhtli.

I'm guessing this image would cause each Eagle Knight to ponder death - a suitable subject for a warrior.  In the Aztec religion, warriors killed in battle or sacrificed after capture went directly to Aztec heaven.  People who died of old age and all women, except those who died in childbirth, didn't fare nearly as well.  Sorry ladies.  But if the Eagle Knight had a better shot at heaven than the average fella and a heck of a lot better shot at heaven than a woman, I'm not sure this image gives one a warm and comfy feeling of well being.  Would you really want to meet him?  His liver is hanging out of his body for God's sake! 

As you know, the Christian faith promises eternal life in a welcoming heaven.  Mictlantecuhtli makes no such promises.  As for me, I would have preferred to not die and just hang on tooth and nail to my frail human existence for as long as possible just to avoid those over-sized hands and the dangly liver flopping about.

After the Temlo Mayor we went next door to the Catedral Metropolitan.  I love to walk about these old churches, especially ones when construction was commenced at the time of Cortez.  One thing that you have to prepare yourself for when you enter a "Spanish" church is that they are dark and the crucifix will be bloody in its realism.  Crucifixion is a very bloody business, and the Spanish really emphasize the point.  Frankly, its hard to look at probably because it hits close to home.  It is my faith after all.

Now, each of these churches have little "do's" and "dont's" about priceless things your aren't supposed to touch or some such.  Those rules aren't for me.  I call it my "Catholic privilege".  I'm in the club, so I can bend these little rules.  I was taking a picture of a crucifix in which the body of Jesus is painted black (or perhaps it was made out of ebony) and some docent sternly advised me to not take that picture.  Everything else was fair game for my weak brand of photo taking, but this particular crucifix is inexplicably off limits?  I wanted to explain the finer points of "Catholic privilege" to him, but you know we have a bit of a language barrier so I left off.  I also didn't want to make a scene getting pulled out of the Catedral by my ankles while screaming "Catholic privilege" in English.  Shameful.

Having toured the Catedral, we decided it was time to walk back to the hotel.  In Mexico City, you will occasionally get asked for money.  It is going to happen every time you go out, but it is never aggressive.  My wife happened upon a strategy that will get you out of these situations (if you so desire).  Simply blurt out some gibberish Spanish.  It will confuse and alarm your foe.  Upon being asked for pesos, my wife blurts out "No Que Pesos" which literally means "No, What, Pesos?"  I have often wondered why anyone would waste years in high school taking French.  Now I have the answer.  It is so you can claim ignorance of Spanish and get out of passing out pesos right and left.

Another charming miscommunication that my wife used was to respond to the Spanish speaker "No comprendes" which DOES NOT mean "I don't understand" but does mean "You don't understand."  I tried to get her to lay off on this one, but she was persistent.  Telling people they don't understand their own language is not the way to make friends and will eventually get you slapped.  I must, however, give her praise for attempting to communicate in Spanish.  When we went to Quebec, I think she spoke French about three times in total and then only to say "hello" or "thank you".  How is it she feels more comfortable with the Spanish speakers?  Easy answer - her other option is French.  If you have read the previous entries on my travel blog, I think you know how I feel about the French.  Yuck.

And with that bit of story-telling, which will surely mean that I will not be served dinner tonight, I want to make it up to my wife with this post of her "dabbing".  Apparently, that is a thing and despite my boys' protestations that she is doing it all wrong (like we care), I think she looks pretty good in the soft glow of a museum alcove with this cute little guy peaking over her shoulder.

Enjoy the remainder of your day.  I will still be going hungry.