Trotsky 0, Mexican Muralists 1: Game point!

No manches... I am in Mexico City. It's weird, you wake up at dawn in the Tiki Hut in the Domes garden, crawl into this transportational glory hole and come gasping out the other side and you're bombing through the city on the metro or a pesero and murals and traffic and people trying to sell you Michael Jackson compilations are all there reminding you that you are indeed a living human being. Bienvenidos al centro del Universo.

I stayed the last two nights in an apartment quite close to the UNAM campus. This is the view from the big window in the living room. Jafet invited me to stay at his place, and extraordinarily generously, as he had never met me. Greta met him at some kind of geography symposium, and, being Greta, proceeded immediately to explain to him that I was going to be in his city going to his university, and isn't that so cool?! So he said, yeah, sure, have her give me a call. Sho nuff, here I am. Jafet happens to be awesome. Last night we went on an adventure in search of groceries: it had started to rain...and lightning and thunder...but when there's groceries to be gotten, by god, we'll sally forth! We dashed in the dark to the corner where the pesero stops, which, I must emphasize, entails a frogger-like travail across a four-lane (each way) major road. The pesero deposits us and we scramble up and around this megalith of a mall and squish through it (sneakers squeaking all the way). This makes me laugh, of course, because warm rain is so novel, and the moon is all hazy and full... the city is crowded with concrete, human bodies, trees, cars, noises... and all of it is trying to outgrow its britches.

This leads me to another thought I had, which is a thought for Darach, and it goes like this: on the metro it occurred to me that every moment here is an incredible audio collage. The metro example: the sound of the rails, the blind man selling pens, the little kids running around, the smacking of teenage boys trash talking... on the pesero it's the radio, the wind from the open door, the laughing driver, the windshield wiper, the groan of the motor, coughs and sneezes... Everywhere all this noise is making something, is what I'm saying. And that's why Mexico City makes me think of you: symphonic cacaphony, just your cup of tea.

I wandered around Coyoacan today, which is a beautiful neighborhood which Irak aptly referred to as being very "fresa," or bougie. While there, I visited the Trotsky museum, so now that I am properly educated on the topic, I can give you the rundown on Trotsky in Mexico: Stalin decides he's had it with Trotsky. Stalin exiles Trotsky. Trotsky runs to Mexico to live with Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. Trotsky gets it on with Frida? Frida and Diego decide they've had it with Trotsky. Frida and Diego evict Trotsky. Trotsky moves, like, 6 blocks away. David Siqueiros decides he's had it with Trotsky, and sends a bunch of guys in through Trotsky's window with guns and incendiary bombs in the middle of the night. No one dies, but soon after his bodyguard is found dead in the boondocks someplace. Trotsky builds bigger walls and hires more trustworthy, and possibly burlier, people to protect him. Someone else tries to kill Trotsky and succeeds. The end. Now his house is a museum. Trotsky fun facts: he loved cactus and raised bunnies.

I also visited the arboretum, or Viveros, which is a great place to just hang out , and somewhere I'll hopefully take up running until I find a bicycle. The plantings are decidedly un-wild-looking, with long rows of trees and lots of straight paths, but regardless it's nice to have that many plants in one place. Here are the fun things I saw: huge piles of soil, compost heaps and a bee-swarm trap in a tree. That's for Jordan and Ben. There are more pictures, but Blogger is being slow and doesn't want to upload my pretty pictures, so you'll all have to wait till I have some more patience...

Basically my thesis is that this is an awesome town and no, I'm not dead, and yes, I'm happy as a clam..