Enjoying the view

The jet plane signals the start of its descent into Mexico City, or D.F. As Districto Federal is often abbreviated, with a change of the pitch at which its engines are humming. A very considerate gesture, because if you failed to pay attention you could miss a fly-over view that is, in one word, spectacular.

I have no way of knowing what you, dear reader, have experienced, but as a lifelong Dutchie my first-hand experience with cities caps out at Amsterdam's roughly one million inhabitants (800,000 in 2011, according to a UN census). In the Netherlands, Amsterdam is considered a 'big city', and living there can give one a feeling of relative anonimity when compared to smaller cities. I remember when I lived in Utrecht, and could not venture into the city center without seeing at least 3 familiar faces.

This is definitely not the case in Amsterdam, where having an unplanned run-in with someone familiar is a legitimate reason  to spend half an hour on a street corner or in a café, extensively catching up with one another. Mexico City houses an estimated 8.8 million inhabitants. Imagine a city of this size, in which the time people spend catching up is proportionate to the likelihood of running into one another. No wonder people in D. F., and other large cities, confine their social life to their neighbourhoods - without such confines people would have 3 day parties to celebrate catching up!

Meanwhile, on the plane, the guy seated between me and the window is feverishly snapping pictures of an unbelievable panorama. The city spans so much space it is hard to comprehend- for 20 minutes the plane ride offers passengers a continuous stream of vistas on the full range of the city's scale. The amount of detail that can be seen is stupefying. It is difficult to compare a bird's eye view of a city of this size to anything, but perhaps toying with the scale of the universe (http://htwins.net/scale2/) can  offer a (poor) impression of what makes staring out of the window so awesome.

As my neighbour snaps away, I resign myself to a second row view of the action. Discussing the experience with a friend later that night, we find ourselves drawing an excellent conclusion: The next time I fly in, I will have to bring a camera and book that window seat. Most importantly, though: I will have to arrive at night.

A passageway to Mexico City's main plaza, filled up with commercial life, Madero is a crowded street on any hour.

Yesterday I talked to an artist who worked on a collective portrait of this street's crowd.

Hundreds of overly familiar faces welcome the upcoming Dutch guy to the ultra complex and diverse system of Mexico City.

(Let's see how many of their faces you can hold on to.)

http://vimeo.com/68353811

Live and learn

It's 1:30 PM. High up in the clear, blue sky, the sun looks down onto Eindhoven. Birds chirp in the large tree behind the house, and a soft breeze ripples through the gardens below the roof terrace. With the temperature in the twenties of degrees Celcius, it is warm for the beginning of May. The only noticeably abnormal thing about an otherwise ordinary day.

A table stands atop the roof terrace. Next to a cup of freshly made tea, Jasmin Green tea by the smell of it, sits an iPad. Four empty chairs look like they have gathered to guard the table. The way they have been grouped to surround the table makes them seem vigilant, even though the only access to the terrace is a door to the apartment beyond.

A painter is working on one of the adjacent houses that face the roof terrace in a row. Lulled half to sleep by the sun on this warm afternoon, even his radio has not been able to keep him fully awake. he is startled by loud swearing which can be heard through the half-opened terrace door. Alarmed, the painter looks up to see what the fuss is about. After a minute of straining his neck to catch a glimpse of the source of the ever more profane cursing he shrugs, accepts that he does not have the superhuman X-ray vision of his favorite comic hero, and turns up the volume of his radio to drown out the noise.

The ranting finally subsides. A tall guy steps out onto the platform, and walks toward the table. The droping corners of his red moustache are turned down, his angry face implicating him as the source of now-subsided profanities. He picks up the iPad and fiddles with the buttons. Although the screen reads 'Listen and type in Spanish', the chitter of the bird and the painter's radio are the only sounds to be heard. 'How the hell am I supposed to practice my Spanish if you turn the in-app sound off, you fucking pice of shit?!' the guy shouts, and throws the iPad to the table.

Seconds later, the sound of an incoming mail message resounds across the terrace: 'DuoLingo daily reminder: Keep the owl Happy!'


(Not sure if anyone has a solution for sound difficulties with an iPad which does not involve resetting the device, but if so I would love to learn about it. In any event, I commend Apple for introducing the added difficulty of a variable reinforcement scheme to DuoLingo's language app)

A rabies shot

There I stood, snarling street dogs surrounding me, and nothing in my hands but a Lonely Planet. 'Such a help you are to me now' I remember thinking, as I looked down at the travel-scarred manual to Mexico. Truth is it had served me well, but mainly as an excuse to behave like a tourist and have something to talk about when meeting other tourists. There's something about the world's most popular series of travel guides which sparks the flame of tourist-to-tourist conversation in even the most weathered travelers.

A sudden movement of one of the dogs brings me back to reality. I try frantically to remember the tips for dealing with stray dogs the travel doctor gave me, the teachings of Cesár the Discovery Channel dog trainer, or the birthday party conversations with my aunt who is a certified dog trainer. Yet all I can think of, while the dogs slowly close in, is that one hauting question which the doctor's assistent asked me when I was getting my shots: 'Do you want the rabies shot?'

Being a healthy guy and an incredible cheapskate, of course I said 'no'. All it would do is prolong the onset of rabies with some time. Yet now, surrounded by a hunt of baying and growling dogs with foam on the jaw, wondering how near the closest hospital is, I am beginning to regret my decision. I can't help but think that like Supertramp in 'Into the wild', I may have found my Alaska in the Mexican territories.

With a sigh and a last glance at the travel guide in my hand, I let out a primal scream, and jump forward. The travel guide, launched in a fluent motion that I find somewhat surprising, strikes the biggest of the dogs right on the nose. The adrenaline rush is intense, and begins to recede as I see the pack of dogs turn to leave. Seeing starts and hearing something that sounds like static, I faint from exhaustion. The last thing to go through my mind before I lose consciousness is a bewildered sense of awesomeness at my scream beating the travel doctors' advice.







Some time later, I come to to see my good Mexican friend María José staring at me. As I regain composure, I begin to tell her about everything that happened. My pace steadily increases, until I am telling her about my grand, powerful ur-scream with eyes shining of excitement. She looks at me quizically, raises one eyebrow, and says, as she raises a still smoking shot-gun: 'Don't worry, I won't tell a soul why the dogs really ran. But I told you, when you travel around Mexico with me, you don't need a rabies shot'.