Saturday 6th November - Polanco to Centro Historico

I awoke as a shipwreck this morning. The weekends are killing me.

After arriving here on Friday night, I was delighted to find myself in a wholly cosmopolitan neighbourhood of Mexico City – a leafy suburb not unlike west London in many ways (there are at least as many Starbucks, though possibly slightly fewer organic food delis’..)

My room has a splendid view from the 23rd floor, though it does make me feel slightly woosy on the last stretch of the elevator…like going over a bump in the road.

After a super breakfast of fresh fruit, waffles and French toast (my newfound love..), I carefully planned my day’s travels. Having lost of mobile phone on Friday, including all the numbers of people I know here, plus ‘safe’ taxis.. (don’t grimace Mother – it wasn’t my fault – and it’s only temporary I hope), I was most concerned about finding myself anywhere beyond walking distance of the hotel. However, not wanting to deny myself, I brought a whole new meaning to the concept of ‘wallking distance’ as I limped back yesterday evening, seven hours after leaving the hotel, and some 120km later. (I’m making that figure up, I really have no idea how far I walked…but judging by my blisters, numb thighs and headache, it really was quite far..)

Paseo de la reforma - bench madness..Out of the hotel and past the Chapultepec park, I ambled carefree for the first few kilometres, down the long ‘Paseo de la reforma’ which currently exhibits a photo collection of ‘Mexico by Mexicans’ as well as the permanent collection of well-known historical Mexican figures, odd public benches and a semi-permanent installation of ‘alebrijes’ – brightly coloured papier-mâché Mexican handicrafts that would not look out of place on the set of Harry Potter…

'AlebrijesFirst on my list of sights was the Mercado de Londres, in the Zona Rosa, and apparently known for its silver crafts. The only problem was, 174 calle de Londres seemed not to exist, and I found myself feeling somewhat vulnerable as I spotted the sign that read ‘Tourists, careful..” or something to that effect. I made a quick getaway, and gratefully found myself soon after outside a giant, gleaming shopping mall with Starbucks, Sanborns and Calvin Kleinnbeaming happily down at me.

I continued on a while longer, deviating this time towards the ‘Mercado Artisanal de Buenavista’, (you'd think I might have learned..) which was down the longest road in the city, and ensconced among a hoard of gothic, metal-head and skateboardy types, many of whom were negotiating skateboard wares in the midst of the crowds. It feel like being outside Wembly on match day. But I was wrong to think that they were queuing for the Mercado Artesanal…..The Mercado was full of….I guess typical stuff, which though much of it was very..typical, I couldn’t really find a sound reason to part with my persos, so wandered off back through the metal-heads and skaters.

By now I was famished and my head hurting, so I hunted down the nearest Sanborns with the skill of a bush-tracker, and found one huddled in between Paseo de la reforma and the Centro historico.

My belly now better, I muddled my way into the craziness of the Centro historico, took a few snaps of the beautiful art deco ‘Palacio de bella artes’, and headed towards the Zocalo or main plaza, past row after row of gold and silver jewellery shops. (Again, I tried – and nearly parted with some pesos for a small silver treasure chest and matching pennies, but it occurred to me that might not be so cute out of context, and I left it be).

In front of the Zocalo, I witnessed some aromatic witchcraft, as a queue of people lined up to have themselves wafted with native Indian incense (which was actually some kind of brush of leaves or herbs), while others had the Shaman blow at them with a conch shell. Fascinating.

The Zocale was unsurprisingly PACKED, including some poor French lad who kept moaning incessantly to his girlfriend that his feet were killing him and he was hungry. I miss JL.

Past the rows of portaloos and the streams of people eating dark green, stiff tortillas covered in spices, cottage cheese and other stuff, I decided that since I was here, I may as well try and visit the ‘Templo Mayor’ – the original site where the Aztecs set up Tenotchtitlàn (what is now Mexico City) and do at least one cultural activity today. However, fate was not on my side, and I managed to walk around the entire Zocale EXCEPT the bit with the bloody Templo Mayor in it (I got to thinking that it can’t be that bloody mayor if it was this hard to find..) and when I did eventually come upon it, was disappointed to see that it was just a hunk of old ruins.

“What do you like most about Mexico?”

“Oh, the history….definitely. Fascinating…”

The Zocalo area though, is fascinating, and history (and a trip to the Museo de la Anthropologica) tells us that the Aztecs set up the city here after their tribal God spotted an eagle fulfil a long-held prophecy by landing on a cactus and devouring a snake. As you do. Of course, the fact that the spot was in the middle of an island was no obstacle to the Aztecs, they simply invented the engineering and waterworks skills needed to work around that.

Exhausted by the crowds, I made one last stop at the ‘Dulaceria de celaya’ on Cinco de Mayo, before retracing my path back to the hotel, along the long, long, long, long Paseo de la Reforma.

As I skipped past the cactus trees that line the middle of the pavement along the Paseo, I reflected on just quite how bnkers the Centro historico is - and began thinking that if I was mayor of Mexico City, I would make an immediate improvement by taking car horns of all of my citizens, and ban traffic police officers from using their whistles. It would make the place a whole lot more pleasant, with only a few lives lost as diehard pedestrians would step out in front of the red and yellow taxis. A small price to pay.. And while I was at it – I might just put a curfew on girlfriends too (or any lovers for that matter), as Mexicans are just far too smugly amourous for my liking. Can’t they just pretend to bear each other like we do back home? Instead of walking arms in arm, chest-to-shoulder, in base of neck, or united as one, one clasped behind the other as they march in time together? Really..…there’s no need for it.

I guess I really do miss JL….