Ode to D.F.
MEXICO | Wednesday, 19 December 2007 | Views [1164] | Comments [2]
Ode to Mexico City, D.F. (day-efay)I am no longer afraid.
This
urban beast, the capital of my beloved Mexico, the virtually
unavoidable axis used to intimidate me. It is enormous, dirty and
dangerous.
But now, it is mine.
Mexico City is a cacophony of contradictions.
It is the capital of corruption and culture.
A city where education and ingenuity mirror a poverty of wealth, where Mexican affection rubs a rough urban edge.
D.F., the mega-complex, where EVERYTHING, ANYTHING and NOTHING happen all in the same momento, en una vez.
It has been called a parasite; sucking water, resources, clean air and people from far and wide.
It is the haven, they say, of crime, kidnapping and piracy. It is dirty, smelly and raw.
At the same time, it is a relic, a living museum, a defining piece of world history over 700 years old.
Mexico City, the center of two once great, prospering empires built one atop of another.
The Spanish smothering the Aztec.
Zocálo atop Plaza Mayor.
Cathedral atop temple.
Palacio atop palace.
Beautiful
buildings built from bloodshed now sit sinking on their uneven
foundations as the new Mexican market, the new Mexican empire struggles
as it flourishes.
D.F. is a literal, metaphorical and physical feast for the senses and it is all about la venta, the sale.
The
grey, smog-stained structures erupt with color at street-level: red,
blue, yellow, green, a rainbow of tarps, umbrellas and make-shift
markets.
You can buy anything in this city in a store or on the street, en la calle.
The
street is usually quicker, cheaper and more crowded than the stores,
anything you can think of and a couple of things you never imagined are
pesos away and around every corner.
Silence is the only elusive commodity. Between car horns, whistles, cat-calls, sirens and sing-songy street vendors, "¡Apesoapesoapeso! ¡Barabarabara! ¡Paselepaselepasele!" hawking their wares.
One
may think to escape to a church or cathedral to find a reverent
noiselessness, but here in Mexico, faith and prayer have a permeating
whisper all their own.
D.F. is fumes, food and sewer.
It is a place for the tolerant and the forgiving.
Mexico City must be forgiven for its filth and feo-ness, so it may be awed and admired for its pride and grace.
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