Tuesday, November 1, 2005

Estimada Mexico City,

I know you are the biggest city in the whole world. And maybe you have so many fans that you don't need two more, especially little old us. But if you do want us, you had better do something quick, because right now we don't like you at all.

Regards, Megan and Michael

We chose Omnibuses de Mexico solely on price: $410 pesos was the cheapest option, with the most expensive being $562 pesos. But the travel agent promised us it was primera classe.

We played a little rummy in the Guadalajara bus station, got conflicting directions as to where to find our bus, bought a stale pan dulce and some Submarinos (Mexican Twinkies) and then got on our bus. The travel agent was right. The bus was lovely. Clean and pristine and chock full of leg room. I can't even imagine what we would have gotten for an extra $152 pesos. We were very happy. I listened to a little David Sedaris and then drifted off to sleep.

Around 4:00 am, I woke up feeling nauseus. (I knew there was a reason I needed a watch with Indiglo.) This is not particularly unusual and I waited to see if it was just the feeling or if I would actually produce. In just a few minutes I knew it was time to dig out the plastic bag. Nobody stirred even though Michael told me later I was very loud. As always, it was a perfect catch. Still champion.

We arrived in Mexico City (or just "Mexico" if you live here) at around 6:00 am. It was cold. Not cold like the faint chill of early morning. Cold like, holy crap, wheres my fleece and why did I mail home my Capilene camisole? Who cares if it cuts off the circulation to my arms? The bus station was large and glittery and full of shops, but half open to the elements. Even inside, people were huddled up in parkas and under blankets and towels.

I felt better after I threw away my bag of vomit and brushed my teeth, but then we realized that we hadn't yet bothered to read up on Mexico City. The largest city in the world and we didn't even know which of four bus stations we were at. The only thing we did know was that lots of people had warned us about the city's dangers.

Lonely Planet says, "The recession of the mid-1990s brought a big increase in crime in Mexico City, with foreigners among the prime targets for pickpockets, purse-snatchers and armed robbers. Despite increased police surveillance, crime levels remain high and there have been far too many violent incidents (including assaults by the police) to deny the risks." (9th ed., pg 120). It also warns, "metro cars and busses, particularly crowded ones, are favorite haunts of pickpockets." (pg. 120)

And it advised against taxis. "Of all the forms of transportation in Mexico City, taxis are the most notorious for robberies. In December 2003 the US State Department website had this warning for visitors: 'Robbery assaults on passengers in taxis are frequent and violent, with passengers subjected to beating, shootings and sexual assault.' ... The importance of taking precautions with taxis cannot be overemphasized." (pg. 120)

I lost a little faith in the LP after it so wrongly advised me not to show my shoulders, but there are some risks not worth taking. We decided to take the metro to the hotel recommended to us by the motorcycle kid. He might lie to his parents, but he wouldn't lie to us, right?

We felt pretty good about the metro. At $2 pesos, its super cheap and we're New Yorkers, so we know from the subway. We would have to transfer trains twice, but whatever. Taxis are deadly.

The first leg went fine. It was fairly crowded, but not too hard to maneuver with our backpacks. The transfer to the second leg was ridiculous. We had to walk about a quarter mile underground. At least the metro tried its best to entertain and inform, unlike some subways with ridiculous transfers that I could name *cough* New York *cough*. The metro corridor was lined with giant photos of pollen and developing fetuses and different kinds of animals. There was even a planetarium section that was all dark and had a ceiling of fiber optic stars. Pickpocket central, I jokingly called it. Ha, ha, ha.

The second train, when we finally reached it, was where it all went down. Some guy got on the train ahead of us and then stopped in the doorway and we had to literally shove our way past him. "I guess some things are universal," I thought.

So we were swaying through the tunnels, looking around, trying to keep a grip on the poles, whatever. Then I saw Michael put his hand into the brown-sweatered back of some fatherly-looking guy and shove him violently into his neighbors. I thought he was way overreacting to a big of crowding. Little did I know. There was a little bit of a scuffle. Michael said the m-f word, and some other words best identified by letters. Then Michael yelled, "He had both buttons unbuttoned and his hand on my wallet!" A woman wagged her finger and tsk tsked. I dont know if she was tsking at suspicious gringos, or at pickpockets.

Except for the tsker and the people who had no choice but to move when the pickpocket landed on them, there was no reaction. It was about a silent as a subway car can get. There was more scuffle and the guy said, "No intiendo." "Oh, you intiendo all right!" Michael yelled. The pickpocket faced the door and stayed quiet. The commuters looked around at the advertisements. "LADRON!" Michael yelled. The commuters examined their fingernails.

We looked at each other and laughed. Michael whispered, "What does ladron mean?" He felt much better when I confirmed that it means robber. The pickpocket got off at the next stop. Michael believes the guy who originally forced us to shove our way past him was in on it, but we'll never know.

It seemed like a long walk to the hotel, and we were both feeling a little suspicious and jittery. If it had only been the warnings of the Lonely Planet, or only been the attempted pickpocketing, it might have been different. But a warning immediately substantiated by experience? Hmm.

The Hotel Isabel's only available room was a two-bed, for a bit more than what we usually pay, but we checked in anyway, sight unseen. Luckily the room turned out to be fine. Unluckily we were both out of cash after paying for the room and had to go to the ATM, which we did not feel like doing at that point.

And sure enough as soon as we stepped outside, some shifty looking guy (to be fair, to us everyone was looking pretty shifty at that point) bounded up and started talking to us. "Do you speak French or English?" He was skinny and greasy-haired and sunken-cheeked and liquor-scented, and he was wearing some kind of cape, which he wanted us to admire.

Michael was in no mood.

He tried to shoo the guy away from us, but the guy persisted and eventually got angry and started yelling at us. Michael shooed some more and finally the guy left, and started walking away with another guy who had come up behind us.

We got our money without further incident and scurried back to the hotel, which, true to its motto of being "an ideal place for tourists" had an attached restaurant, where we had some omelets and I had some tea which soothed my vomit-scratched throat. At this point, we really have very little desire to leave the room and are considering going on to Oaxaca right away. And I really wanted to like Mexico City, because its bad press sounds a lot like NYC's bad press and I love NYC with all my heart.

HOURS ON THE BUS: 65

YEARLONG RUMMY TOURNAMENT SCORES: Megan - 2750, Michael - 2555

TIMES VOMITED (MEGAN): 5

 

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View from Hotel Isabel.

Hotel Isabel. The room we almost didn't want to leave.