Movin' on up...

On Sunday morning, I woke up really really early. (Yes really!) And drove to Mexico City from Guadalajara. It’s not a bad drive, really. It took about six hours, and most of it was toll roads. Nice and smooth, but expensive. I think I spent almost $80 U.S. on that drive, plus gas. But I arrived at the school without incident (unless stomach-churning nervousness is an incident). I parked the car o’ stuff, and grabbed a taxi to the hotel. You see, the school puts the new teachers up in a hotel until they find a suitable apartment. The hotel was just off the traffic circle where the Angel stands, probably the most recognizable symbol of Mexico City. I forget the real name. Something about Independence. How many photos of this have you seen?

That first night started with a party, where I met lots of new people, and then the next day began the organized orientation activities. The next few days was a washing machine (whirling and wringing) of emotions. I was lonely, I was elated. I was making a mistake, I had done the best thing EVER! But I got over it.

However, the library I was supposed to be in charge of was a shambles! They’re re-constructing the high school into some sort of new-wave-architecture-style third floor box floating over the existing (but remodeled) structure. As a consequence of the floating, the library had been divided into two parts where a support column is being built—can’t float without support! I can hear the construction workers’ conversation behind the temporary walls, but I have to walk around the building to get to my own (library’s) computer center. And that’s all I want to say about that.

But work is work. Meetings, orientation, new co-workers (some interesting, some not), books, dust, typing, etc. More about the job later.

I had arranged to take over a departing teacher’s apartment, furnished. I just didn’t want to go through again what I did when I moved to Guadalajara—living in an empty apartment, sleeping on the floor, cooking in one pot, eating from one dish. I was a little concerned, especially after I saw it the first time. It’s in a building built in 1911 in the colonia Roma Norte. The location is GREAT. I’m four blocks from the Zona Rosa (my kind of night-club central, ifyouknowwhati’msayin) and four blocks from the Condesa, which is another colonia where there are lots and lots of cafés, bars, restaurants, and beautiful trendy people. I’m glad I don’t live in either of those places, but equidistant is good enough. And my neighborhood is great in its own right. This is a picture the Cebeles fountain, half a block from the apartment. It’s ringed by trees and cafés and bars and shops, and cute little iron benches and smaller fountains and people relaxing.

But anyway, I was concerned at first because the departing teacher had sent wonderful photos of the apartment, but which I later found out were taken three years ago, before he and his family had moved in! But it worked out okay, because after he and his family had soiled the place pretty well, the landlady worked hard to get it back to the state it was in when the photos were taken. Like I said, it’s an old building, and has creaky hardwoods and lumpy woodwork, but it’s pretty much the same age/style of almost every other apartment I’ve lived in. The best thing, other than the location, is that I have five French door/balconies that have little flowers growing from pots on the stone railing (is it a balustrade? Probly not.) I get lots of light, lots of air, and lots of street noise. Which is okay, because it gets really quiet here around nine pm. I’m now working finding my way around the neighborhood—I spend an hour or so every afternoon just sort of walking around, getting to know the place.

Today I saw two interesting things, and had the presence of mind to snap pictures. The first was when I stopped for tacos on the street. The lady making the tortillas would actually pound out the dough (masa) with her hands old-school, and then slap them on the griddle to cook. But every once in a while she would throw a lump of dough on the sidewalk. At first I didn’t understand, because I wasn’t looking where the lump landed—I was just watching her throw. But then I saw, and understood, and took this picture:

(Those are tiny little birds, in case you can’t see them. Cute, eh?)

Then, as was walking home on the busy street, the big street, the one called Chapultepec, I saw this: (unexplained, but with comment: What the hell is he doing?)

Ahh, Mexico! But I found out today that all of the other three apartments in the building by Americans. Or maybe Canadians (almost the same thing). I thought I was escaping! But what can I do? More to come…