Tuesday, November 1, 2005

After a nice long nap and a shower, we were inclined to give Mexico City another chance. Maybe the attempted pickpocketing was for the best, we thought. We hadn't lost anything and it had taught us another Valuable Lesson. Besides, it was just an attempted pickpocketing, not an attempted organ harvesting.

We decided to go out for Korean food. It turns out the city has a large Korean population and, well, delicious as Mexican food is, I´m not used to having just the one kind of food every day. We took the metro again, but this time we had no huge gringopacks with us, and we were both very alert. We made it to the restaurant unmolested.

Koreans met us at the entrance to the restaurant and greeted us in Spanish. My knowledge of Korean food begins and ends with bib im bap, so I didn't know anything on the menu. The descriptive passages were in Spanish, so they were only marginally helpful. Michael recognized something and ordered the combo featuring that thing, and I ordered something that sounded similar. We thought that would be it, but the waitress had all kinds of questions for us that we didn't understand. I need to teach myself the Spanish for, "I´m sorry. We have no idea what you're saying. Please just bring us something reasonably priced and without organ meats and we promise we won't complain."

The first item to arrive was a collandar full of lettuce. The menu had said our food came with "lechuga fresca," and I knew what that meant, but somehow I didn't expect it to just be plain old "fresh lettuce." Is that Korean? Mexican?Then there were tiny little bowls of kim chee and such, which I love. Our food turned out to be of the type that's cooked on a tiny grill on the table. That was pretty cool. Also we had some beer. The Korean food cheered us up a lot.

Next on the agenda was an evening of Lucha Libre (Mexican wrestling), so we got back on the metro to go to the Coliseo. The sidewalk in front of the Coliseo was a madhouse. Vendors were selling wrestling masks (Mexican wrestlers fight masked) and lightup things, and tacos and tortas and other snacks. The narrow street was jammed with cars and the sidewalk jammed with people.

I had no idea that "Donde compramos boletos" ("Where do we buy tickets?") could provoke such a long and complicated response. I was sure the answer would be some sort of pointing action. But no, apparently where one buys tickets depends on which particular tickets one would like to buy. Michael wanted the best and most expensive seats, $50 pesos ($5 USD), so we were directed to that window. We learned there was a 40% tax on the good seats, but we were undaunted. It's not like we see live Mexican wrestling every day.

We bought the tickets and proceeded to the frisking area. They didn't find Michael's scary-looking knife, or my more innocuous Swiss Army knife (with scissors) but Michael's camera was a big no-no. The security lady had a lot to say on the matter, the only part of which we understood was the part about "cameras not permitted." "But we just bought tickets," Michael said, and waved his around. "Cameras are not permitted."

I mustered up my Spanish to try to ask if we could check it somewhere and came up with something eloquent like, "Is it possible to put in a place?" She seemed to like that and softened up a bit.

"I think she said it's ok if we take out the battery," I said. So Michael opened the bottom of the camera, took out the battery, and held it up. It turned out to be the right response. She got out a little plastic baggie, put the battery in it and told us to write our names on the label, which we did. We tried to ask where we'd be able to claim it from, and she told us to ask for our friend Claudia after the match. It was less a matter of losing the $50 USD battery and more a matter of whether we'd be able to find another one later. But there are camera shops here, so we shrugged and hoped for the best.

Inside, an usher led us to our seats, flipped them down for us, requested a "propinita" and left us. When we sat down, I felt like we had really achieved something. And they were good seats too, sixth row orchestra. It was a smaller venue than we had expected, but the orchestra was definitely worth it, since the balcony was caged in and looked really steep, and that´s where all the cigarette smoke was rising to. The green, blue, and red seats of the arena were not all filled, but there was plenty of enthusiasm among the crowd. Some people had some complicated looking air-horns that almost drowned out vendors' cries of "Tortas! Tortas!" and "Cervezas y refrescos!"

The seats close to the wrestlers' entrance were the most popular, with little kids, hands outstretched, being held up by parents so they could slap hands with the wrestlers as they came running out, all masked and costumed. The wrestlers, who fought in teams of two or three, were introduced, cheered and then it all began. It was very interesting. Like a cross between women's gymnastics, Cirque du Soleil, old fashioned melodrama, and gay porn.

In general, there was lots of flipping and somersaulting, and slapping and leaping from ropes. Sometimes the wrestlers flung themselves and each other out of the ring entirely and fought up and down the aisles. (The ladies were by far the more ferocious fighters.) The defeated wrestlers lay on the floor in mock agony and sometimes the bad guys (because there were very clear good and bad guys) attacked the good guys when they were down, despite the "protests" of the referees. One of the bad guys even threw the ref out of the ring entirely during the last match. People loved it, and everyone got out their cell phones to take photos. (Ahem. Whatever.)

For me the crowd was as much a part of the show as the wrestlers. There were two opposing camps, and each had dozens of chants either in favor of their own teams or against the opponents. I'm pretty sure the anti-chants discussed maternal fornication. Oh, and for those who are interested in the gum phenomenon, there was a minimum of three wads of gum thrown into the ring during the evening. It was a good time.

Afterwards, we managed to find Claudia and she gave us back Michael's battery. For some reason I had gotten the idea it would be at some kind of coat check, but she had it in her jacket pocket. She gave it back, but warned us again that there were to be no photos taken within the arena. So Michael went outside to see if he could get any shots, and I went to the damas' room where I enjoyed my own personal wrestling match.

There were two stalls, both occupied, and two women waiting. One was holding shut the door of one of the stalls. Then another woman came in with three young girls. With their addition, the room was packed. In many of Mexico's public restrooms, if there is toilet paper provided, it's kept in the general restroom area, and one collects a wad before one goes into a stall. This was hard for me to do with the crowd, but I managed.

One stall opened. The girls scrambled for it, and their mother had to tell them they weren't next. The next stall opened. It was the one that had been held shut by someone else. The girls scrambled again, and the mother stopped them again. The door holder took her turn in the stall, and the one who had just been in held the door for her.

I was supposed to be next. The girls were all whining and doing the pee-pee dance, and I thought about letting them go first, but decided against it. There were three of them and the mother and I'd be there all night. And I had to go too. We all had to go.

The next stall to open up was the one with the broken door, which sucked for me because I didn't have a door-holding partner. Mom had to grab the girls and physically restrain them from going in there before I did. Once inside, I found that the door was thoroughly broken. It wouldn't even prop shut; it had to be held. So I held it while I unbuttoned and all that, but when the time came to squat, I had to let go of the top of the door for a moment until I could grab the bottom. The girls seized the opportunity to try to pile in with me. Mom grabbed them again. I did what I I went in there to do.

Then I was worried. How would I pull my pants up with one hand holding the bottom of the door? I needed at least a second to transfer my grip to the top of the door, but I also knew the Pee-Pee Sisters would be on me in a second and this time my pants would be down. But what choice did I have? I let go of the door intending to grab it again as quickly as I could, but I wasn't quick enough.

Again they were pulling the door open and trying to come in to the stall. I mean, for crying out loud, can I please just go to the bathroom in peace? The mother grabbed at them again, but it was all a farce, really. Those girls either had absolutely no idea that they could not occupy a bathroom stall at the same time as another person, or they just simply didn't care, and nothing their mother could half-heartedly say would change things.

So everyone in the bathroom got to see me half-naked. Oh well. Still, I had to hold onto some dignity, and I yanked the door shut and held it with my foot. Who knew I could pull my pants up and button them while balancing on one leg? When I forced my way out of the stall through the crowd of rabid girls, the mother didn't seem even the tiniest bit apologetic.

That part of the night wasn't so much fun, but the wrestling was good and the Korean food was good. Michael and I feel much better about Mexico City now. I´m going to use that baggie that Michael´s battery was in to store my Q-tips.

 

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Lucha Libre program.

After the match, spectators pay the wrestlers for photos.

Wrestling masks for sale.

Allowed at Mexican wrestling.

Not allowed at Mexican wrestling.