sabotabby | I was killed by a bird

The good news: There is wireless at the hostel, so you get to hear about my adventures in Mexico more or less as they happen.

The bad news: It's not the world's most convenient wireless, and my schedule's looking pretty packed, so my updates won't be as rich in detail or flowing in prose as I'd like. Also, no Photoshop on this computer so while I took photos, they're too large to upload, so those will have to come later.

Enough with the excuses, though. Here I am in beautiful Mexico City, staying at the Casa de los Amigos. The trip in was surprisingly not stressful, besides the 2 am wake-up. I'd intended to sleep on the flight, but my seatmate was a precociously bright child named Pepe who decided that it was his solemn duty to make sure that I understood some basic phrases in Spanish: "Hi!" "I don't understand!" "Poo." "I was killed by a bird." I am not sure where I will use the last one but he was very insistent that I learn it, just in case I had to explain to a doctor.

Paul met me at the airport, I dropped my things off at the Casa and got a whirlwind tour of the premises, and then it was off to the weekly punk market. For you Toronto people, imagine Kensington Market minus the pretension and gentrification, and much more crowded and intense. For you Toronto goths mourning the closure of all the clubs, rest assured that the subculture is alive and well here despite the heat. I think there were more goths on one street corner than there are in all of Toronto.

We then walked around downtown, taking in the sights until rain forced us into a Catholic church. I'm a fish out of water, but it's as if the fish was taken out of the water and put into delicious beer: Confusing and overwhelming, but a wonderful way to drown. The architecture is baffling and gorgeous, a mix of colonial European, traditional pueblo, and Brutalist concrete monstrosities. There's music everywhere, bursts of sounds from CD hawkers on the subway, bands playing on the streets, the church organs, drowned out by rock concerts. At night, everything flashes and glows; people stand in the square and throw flashing whirligigs into the air. The streets are named for revolutionaries and revolutionary moments, with the ominous headquarters of the municipal PRI competing with a gigantic ad for Corona across the skyline.

Had dinner at a vegetarian restaurant, believe it or not, and then hot chocolate and churros at a deeply surreal cafe. I'm more or less ready for sleep, but apparently a bunch of us are going out for adventures instead. No rest for the wicked, it seems.