Mexico City Day 5 - Don't Ya Need A Hug?

Day 5 in Mexico City, and I'm going running.

I like to run in other countries.  So far, I've run in Canada, Ireland, St. Maarten, and now Mexico.  Sunday mornings are good for running.  Less traffic ... less people ... less hassle.  And so, I figured I would simply step outside and pick a direction in which I hadn't already run.  I needed a direction where I wouldn't have to stop every block.  I point in the direction of Chapultepec Park and get those Nike's choppin.  I knew I wouldn't get as far as the Park.  I didn't want to get to the Park.  Chapultepec is full of Mexican Attack Squirrels.  A man in shorty shorts, Oakleys and a ball cap is not prepared to give a reckoning to something as fierce as an Attack Squirrel.

Stop!  Gratuitous Monty Python Diversion!  (I get to do this because I'm a guy): 

Upon approaching Chapultepec Park during this run (that's me in the gold armor), I was warned by an enchanter named "Tim?" about the sharp pointy teeth of the Mexican Attack Squirrel. 

As much as I appreciated the dramatic presentation where Tim's fingers jut forth in representation of varmint teeth, I had to move on so I instructed my lackey to clack those coconuts at jogging pace, and I moved on.

End of Diversion:  Yes, I realize I've lost a full half (the female half) of my readers.  I say this a lot as a married man, so no biggie to offer it once more ... I'm sorry.

As I weaved through all of the people and nodded politely to some odd fifty or so cops in full riot gear (the whole storm trooper thing is 24/7 in this part of Mexico City ... Why?)  I arrived at the Palacio de las Bellas Artes and noticed something odd.  There were people running on the street.  Yes, good friends, Mexico City shuts down its most busy and iconic avenue for runners, moms with baby strollers, kids on bikes and those weird, lanky, spandex wearing yoga people.  There are crossing guards to keep you from meeting the business end of any car in cross-traffic.  Oh, yeah.  As always, cops ... lots of cops. 

Being fully aware that my lung burn is due to the 7,400 foot elevation and not to my level of fitness (cough!), I decide four to five miles is more than sufficient.  And so, my turn around point just happened to match up with the gold statute of the Angel of Independence.  Here it is in all of its splendor. 

As an aside, I think it might look a little bit better with a good ole American ball cap perched on the top of the angel's golden brow.  Just saying.  As an American, I'm rather dogmatic about this, but everything looks better with a ball cap.  I look better with a ball cap, girls look better with a ball cap and so on.  I just last night put a ball cap on my Great Dane and, yep, he looked better.

By the way, I didn't take the above picture.  For one, there were no cars when I occupied that space.  Also, not a chance in hell I'm stopping to take a picture.  If I were to actually stop and take a picture there is a good chance that I would be unable to will my body to start up again.  Did I mention that Mexico City is at 7,400 elevation?

Instead of cars, what I found were happy people directing the joggers and bike riders.  I found that just on the right there were about two hundred aspiring yogis wallowing about like skinny walruses on their yoga mats while some equally skinny people on a covered pavilion (specifically set up on this roundabout for this purpose) hectored the sad participants into greater feats of stretchiness.  Giving loud direction by means of a bull horn seems to cut against the serenity of the practice of yoga.  Also, it seemed out of place for Mexico.  Unlike in the U.S.A., people are less inclined here to turn everything into an athletic endeavor or a competition.  In any event, I'm not following the herd of runners around the circle.  I sprint up the steps, turn myself about, raise my arms in triumph and look back on my newly conquered domain.  It was something like this but I think I was dressed better:

I'm a bit angry about this picture, actually.  I was eight years old in 1976, and I had popularized this position in my infancy.  That gave me several years of prancing, posing and preening long before Mr. Sylvester Stallone found himself on this copyright-infringing day in what looks like rags picked up off the killing floor at a slaughter house.  I originated the "arms raised in triumph" pose long before Mr. Stallone.  I'm pretty sure that by age eight I had raised my arms at least once.  Probably to reach up to Mom to get a bottle of formula or something.  I hadn't even triumphed over anything yet.  Anyway, I will be accepting a public apology from Mr. Stallone any day now.

Having chased the kids on bikes and all of those other types all the way back to my step-off point at the Palacio de las Bellas Artes, I made it back to the hotel in a rather jubilant mood.  If you are a runner, a walker, or whatever do this on Sunday morning when you are in Mexico City.  It is worth it.

I'm in a good mood, and so I'm going to church.  Ever tried going to church in a bad mood?  What I really mean is have you every been so angry with your ne'er do well children as you are bundling the whiny complainers off to church that you just don't have it in you to smile, pray and shake hands?  I have.  This is not one of those days.  Not having received a single complaint about going to church from my boys, I'm taking in the rare joy of being happy while entering a church.

There are churches on just about every other block in Mexico City, but we are taking the opportunity to "go big" and return to the Catedral Metropolitan.  Of course, we launch out on foot because the Catedral is only about three blocks away.

A couple of curious things happened on the way.  First, there were groups of teens holding signs which said "abrazos".  I'm thinking is this perhaps a new confection.  Something perhaps a bit better than the Krispy Kreme donuts that I've been sliding down my gullet?  I observe and quickly realize that I'm about to get hugged.  I've learned a new Spanish word by observing human action.  You don't get that in Spanish class!  Hugs ... no food.  I'm disappointed.

Hold out hand for the free donut, and instead get hugged by a friendly teen.  More public display of affection.  At least this is rather G-rated.  At first, my expectation was to skirt around these friendly teens.  There are hundreds of people on the street.  I could hide  But there are groups of teens, and they fan out to offer their friendly welcome to I'm not sure what.  Avoidance of the hug gauntlet will simply not be possible, and they will not be denied.

At first, I kind of thought my reaction to this kind of unsolicited hugging would be like:

But, if you can't hide from them join them.  So bring it on.  I think I racked up about six hugs in two blocks.  Ah yes, Mexico City you are truly friendly.  Abrazos received and my good mood retained in all respects, we trudge forward.  I see the steeples and bell towers of the Catedral peaking above the buildings lining the street.  And, then, in full glory appears the Catedral.

Nothing could alter my mood, right?  Wrong.  My kids point out some jackwagon dressed as the Pope flipping off all of the people approaching the Zocalo and the Catedral.  Obviously, this guy had a negative experience with the Church or perhaps even the Pope himself.  I have to say that my Pope experiences have been pretty positive.

What's not to like about this guy, right? 

Here is John Paul II shaking the hand of the man who he had just forgiven for putting bullets into his chest.  In his younger days, Pope John Paul II picked up a Jewish girl fleeing the gestapo and secured her safety.  That woman lived through the holocaust.  In these short days of my life (I guess that's a joke), that is my image of a Pope.  And, yet, here we have the angry Pope.  Whatever the reason that he is so angry, it makes me sad.  For him and all of it, whatever it might be.  It is a curious thing with some people that they feel that causing offense to great numbers of people will make them feel better.  I think that is looking outward.  Better to look inward I think.

Ah, well, I'm not a trained psychiatrist, and I'm starting to sound like a dad.  I'll just leave it be and move on.

Anyway, it is truly something to go to high mass at the Catedral Metropolitan.  We just happened to catch Cardinal Noriega celebrating his 50th year as a priest.  To the chagrin of my two boys, it means that this mass was very long by Catholic standards.  By that, I mean that it lasted about an hour and forty minutes ... about 1/2 of any given Sunday's church time at the non-denominational church I attended as a kid.  Catholic mass is almost always over in an hour.  My kids are soft.

This being a day in which we just kind of hung out in the immediate vicinity of our hotel, there really isn't much to do but get out and mix around with the hordes of people.  And, thus, I introduce you to the Mexican Beatles:

Ah, wait, I mean these guys:

These guys were just hanging out in the street and were spot on perfect in covering Beatles tunes ... right down to the British accents.  I've got to say it is a bit odd to hear music sung in English followed by discussion between the band members in Spanish as to which Beatles song to play next.  Regardless, the music translates across language barriers.  That is a very good thing.

They weren't quite as good as Los Beatles but close.  Very close. 

I hear Juan once claimed that Los Beatles are bigger than Jesus and that Dingo wasn't even the best drummer in the band.  Seems like Juan had a bit of a chip on his shoulder.  In any event, Los Beatles aren't as friendly as the real Beatles and the Mexican Beatles.

I'm not going to go to some other part of the world and just get fat in a hotel room.  I excel at that at home.  So, I ditched the family and came back for a second listen to the Mexican Beatles a couple of hours later.  Something strange happened, they looked the same but they became the Mexican Black Sabbath and then the Mexican Doors.  It didn't sell as well because none of them appeared to under the influence of drugs or alcohol.  Something of the authenticity was lost.

We ended this day by going to the Ballet Folklorico in the Palacio de las Bellas Artes.  If you enjoy dance and artsy stuff (I do) I highly recommend going.  There is something about art that makes me have confidence in the human race.  Well, except for the boys.  Despite the fact that my mother was a painter, they don't get it.

I'm going to tell you right now to not take teenage boys to this.  You WILL lose them as soon as the dude comes out wearing nothing but antlers and deer skin on his loins.  I don't care how well that guy sells the notion that he is a buck running from a hunter, the boys are just not getting past the loin cloth.  That happened in the first ten minutes of the program.  From then on, the guys were just putting in their time until they could bounce out of there.  Well, its family travel and good art will be wasted on the wrong people.

With that we close out Day 5, 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.

Mexico City: Day 1 (When the Best Thing is a Mexican Cat)

In an effort to give some travel advice and to ramble a bit about some very non-serious matters, I bring you Mexico City!!!  Attendees on this trip were my lovely wife and our two oldest boys, Alex and Dominic.  Our vacation would commence in the evening of June 28, 2016, and we would return on July 6, 2016.

I've been asked several times why I would want to go to Mexico City.  It is crowded, right?  Twenty-one million people, right?  If Mexico, why not just go to the beach?  Easy answer and brace yourself - beaches are dull.  Just come clean and admit it.  Salt water and sand.  That's about it.  Add beer and it becomes tolerable.  Except for those who delight in being hot and bored, you must admit that I'm correct on this issue.  I need beer goggles to lighten the day when I'm on beach duty.  With beer served by the bucketful, my five of a beach vacation can be oh so gently nudged up to a seven.  If not, well then its a five and I'm just sitting on a bunch of rocks crushed so tiny that it doesn't hurt when you walk on it.

I don't want a five in anything, and you don't either.  Do you want to be loved by someone with the effort and consistency of a five on a scale of ten?  No.  Do you want to eat food that tastes like a five?  No.  And if beer can nudge a beach day to a seven, that still isn't great.  That is C- work, my friends, and you don't get very far in life if your highest aspiration is to get to a C-.  I aim high, so no beach!  Go with culture and history!  Mexico City is loaded with both.  There's your answer for "Why Mexico City?".

Our adventure begins with a trip to Sacramento International Airport.  That drive is bland, bland, bland.  I mean if you like smoggy air and dead weeds, then God bless ya.  We spice it up with a listen to the hit Broadway musical "Hamilton".  If you've read my travel blogs before, you know that I like to detour.  So .... Stop!!! 

A quick detour to talk artsy stuff brought to you by a fellow who thinks he knows about artsy stuff but doesn't really know stuff.  Here we go ...

What do we have in this picture?  On the right in green is, in my opinion, a genius by the name of Lin-Manuel Miranda.  He wrote the lyrics, music and handles the role of Alexander Hamilton like a champ.  If the name of Alexander Hamilton sounds familiar but you can't quite put a face to the name, I understand that Hamilton appears on the ten dollar bill.  I'm not allowed to have money in my wallet, so I pulled up a picture of a $10 bill.  I think the $10 looks something like this.

PS:  I imagine Hamilton as a bit of a dandy, so I took the liberty of giving him a very fashionable moustache that doesn't look at all like a certain dead German???  You can only be so accurate in coloring a moustache by the movement of a computer mouse.  Despite this obvious drawback, Hamilton is now made into one rather charming fellow

Back to theatre ... the guy on the left is playing Thomas Jefferson.  Hamilton and Jefferson hated one another on both a personal and professional level.  And you thought partisan politics and personal attacks by politicians were a new thing?  Now that you are up to speed on the relationship, you are witnessing a still photograph of a "rap battle" for the heart and mind of President George Washington (the guy in blue).  I'm going off memory, but I think it went something like this:

Jefferson:  Hamilton, I abjure you sir!

Hamilton:  Abju....

Jefferson: Look the word up, you Princeton educated dolt!

Hamilton:  (Crosses arms and looks smug ... the only true defense when in the presence of a superior intellect).

These kinds of personal attacks figure well in our current political discourse, so it is an easy theme to write around.  All Lin-Manuel Miranda would have to do is throw in some window dressing around this conflict to craft a winner.  How about an interesting historical figure like the Marquis de Lafayette? History buffs, you know him as the French guy who gave us an assist against the British.  I have a quote of his assigned to my memory, and it is a warning to us all.  He said, "America is great because America is good.  If She ceases to be good, She will cease to be great."  True, true.

Having judged Hamilton as top notch art, I would like to take a moment to judge the combat prowess of our oldest allies ... the French.  Here goes ...

Unlike most of the other Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys, Lafayette was an exceptional combat officer. 

That is about as complimentary I can be, so I'm moving on now.  Wait, let me throw this in:

And I can't tell if that guy is sad or if he got a bad taste of brie cheese.  Now I will move on.

You can fly direct to Mexico City from Sacramento.  What took Junipero Serra many months to accomplish barefoot will take you a mere five hours.  Have you ever heard stories about cabbies driving the unknowing in circles in order to run the meter up?  That doesn't happen at the airport in Mexico City.  The city is carved up into zones, and you pay to get a voucher to travel to that zone.  Simple stuff.

We only had half of a day, so I took the opportunity to speak some bad Spanish to some folks who wanted to be our personal tour guides, walk to the Templo Mayor, observe about 1,500 hundred cops on the street, and annoy a Mexican cat.  Charming little fellow.  I learned in Spanish class in high school that Mexican cats will fail to great you kindly and make complaining noises at you.  Just like the American cat that tolerates you at home, the Mexican cat likewise disdains you.  I gave the little complainer that I found at El Palacio Nationale a scrub on the head because I knew he was going to hate it.

The Palacio Nationale is located on the East side of the main square, the Zocalo.  I'd like to introduce a certain villain to you.  If you know anything about the Mexica (Aztecs), you know that they were rather brutal conquerors.  So much so that many of their enemies joined Hernan Cortez in his conquest of the Aztecs.  Alas, they traded one cruel master for another (plus small pox).  Here he is ... Hernan Cortez.

Oh, wait.  That is Disney villain, Jafar.  Here is Cortez.

Striking resemblance don't you think?  Anyway, in the way that all conquerors do, Cortes leveled Montezuma's palace and built the Palacio Nationale.  My encounter with the Mexican cat occurred just feet away from this striking fellow.   

I shared this photo elsewhere.  Rather than receiving commentary relating to the artistic beauty of this sculpture or perhaps wondering why this guy is sporting with two metal balls (balance?), I got a bunch of crass commentary about his anatomy.  No need for alarm, folks.  This man is playing with cylindrical objects.  There is no threat to his masculinity posed by this sporting endeavor.

The Palacio Nationale is gilded with the art of Diego Rivera.  I must say that his striking use of color is phenomenal.  And it is all for free!  All you have to do is show the guards with automatic weapons your passport, and off you go!  Most of the art at the Palacio Nationale depicts native imagery from the time of the Conquest.  Here is a fine example (and, yeah, I know that the edges are off, but I had to look up!):

These murals face an open courtyard.  That means they are exposed to the elements!  In the interior of the Palacio Nationale, we were dumbfounded by this bit of Diego's macabre sense of art:

So, another art moment ... The female protagonist in this mural is obviously threatened by an image of Death.  Yeah, there's the goat head fella and the pointy paper nose guy, but Death is our main antagonist.  Metaphorically, Death hovers about all of us just as in this mural.  On a lighter note, it would appear that Death also should engage in sporting games requiring only cylindrical objects.  Just saying ...  and now I'm no better than those who sent me snarky comments about the two fisted bocce ball player.

After having been "exposed" for the first time to Diego Rivera's artwork (which I found to be stunning), it was time to wash away my alarm with some beer.  We were accosted by a guy outside of the Catedral Metropolitan who shepherded us up to a restaurant called Lucky's.  It is situated directly across the Zocalo from the Palacio Nationale and right next door to the Cathedral.  I tried to get Alex to have a beer with me because the drinking age in Mexico is only eighteen, but he didn't want to play.  I will now have to wait an additional three years for that pleasure.

Our view of the Cathedral from Lucky's was just ... like ... this ...

Not a lot of places you can get this view at lunch for less than $10 a person.  Ah, Mexico you and I have both been called cheap, but you for all of the right reasons!  And with this photo, I conclude my recap of June 29, 2016.  Stay tuned for Day 2 in which I will introduce you to some rather alarming animals.