I suppose it started off like any other Saturday morning, right? Then again, maybe not everyone starts off with breakfast of fresh mangoes and a lecture and example of how to use a mango fork. Yes, it looks odd seeing a mango on the crazy looking fork. More amazing was how how hairy the mango looked as it was peeled. It was also so exotic looking. Me? I was crunching on strange muesli and some odd excuse for yogurt…good enough for me. I need not ingest hairy fruits first thing in the morning.
Tonya was feeling like crap, but we were going to attempt to make it out to the pyramids, in spite of what crowds may be thinking the same thing.
First, we must try and exchange some money. We drive near the plaza, park and take a short walk down to the local bank. It’s closed. We stand around for a minute wondering if this is really necessary. It is at this time that my dad says he doesn’t even own a debit card. Imagine that! We get some cash out of the ATM anyway, and head back. As we pass through a church yard, Tonya tells us to keep going and she is going to make a slight detour to visit an old lady selling those infamous ‘mini-pancakes’. Just as we are walking up to the car, I look back and Tonya is coming around the corner with a smile on her face and a warm roll of several mini-pancakes.
A quick trip home to pick up another body…oh, and it is pointed out that we may get a bit better gas mileage if we dump off the 5 bags or so of concrete that have been laying around the back of the car for a few days. Yes, a great idea and I am sure Al gore would commend us for caring about our heroic action to help save some fuel usage. Hey! We cut back our carbon footprint amidst one of the most polluted cities in the world. Do you think anyone would have really noticed had we not?
It was me who got to haul 5 bags of concrete out. Each one 100lbs. Five trips. Three people watching. Now I have that annoying concrete dust on my hands, forearms and one of my favorite t-shirts. I do not worry about the messy shirt, now I just feel like I will look like any other Mexican out on a fun filled Saturday.
The trip to the pyramids is actually pretty easy. Basically you follow Insurgentes all the way until it turns into the highway. Of course, at any of the red lights a greasily dressed kid is apt to jump on your hood and ask if you want your window washed. Before you can answer “NO!”, he may already be squiring some white-ish liquid from a modified plastic coke bottle onto your windshield…as done to me. My window may be clean, but the grime of an overly polluted city and the grease of life on the streets is now smeared on my hood. He slides off and stands at my window asking for his pay. I shake my head and just drone out the most monotone ‘NO. I TOLD YOU NO’.I shake my head and he wanders off into oncoming traffic. Move on, take a right, get confused by what few signs there are, drive a bit and voila! There you are.
It is easy, but first you have to get through Indios Verdes. This part of town looks very dodgy, and I am told from the natives that this is one of those neighborhoods you do NOT want to hang out in. You venture in, and never come out. “Indios Verdes” (Green Indians). Now, I cannot remember where I read this, but something about a monument in the middle of the road there somehow depicts Mexican supremacy. Call me crazy, but then you also see traffic signs for “La Raza”.
Racists? nah...there is no way you could even misinterpret traffic signs like this.These signs make strong Latinas proud...
It was right in the midst of this no-go neighborhood that those anxiety inducing flashing blue and red lights appeared from behind. Next thing I know a siren sounds and the police are next to me, motioning me to pull over. Everyone in the car echoes the same general question, “what did we do?”. No one expects an answer, it just bounces from front seat to back, as if repeated enough the cops will just pass us by. It didn’t work. I roll my window down and wait as I watch the action unfold in my side mirror. A cop walks up to my window and is holding what looks like a computer.
“Buenas Dias” he says and puts his hand forward. I immediately extend my hand and willfully put it in his rough, leathery brown hand. We shake and the Spanish is rolling off his tongue. I wait until he stops, shrug and while smiling let out a shy but polite “ No comprende.”
“No Comprende!” he asks somewhat surprised. I just smile and point him to the back seat, making sure he sees Tonya. (Personally, I do not feel bad playing the ‘no comprende’ card because God knows how often it is used daily in the good ol’ USA). Tonya has to switch from sickie in the backseat to insto-translator. The cop informs us that because of our plates, on certain days of the month we are not allowed to drive. It is obvious looking at us and my cement dusted t-shirt, that we are naïve gringos on the outside of a fence that is keeping in a very bad neighborhood on our merry sightseeing adventure. He tells us that normally he would impound the car, then tells us to just keep moving and don’t get stopped again.
As he is walking back to his car, Tonya immediately says “Get moving. Just go!”. This is her simple explanation of what Juan Law has just told her. Somehow, I think there is more to it. In any case though, I am off and running.
We manage to read one of the ill-informed and misleading traffic signs, take a turn under a huge Corona sign, past a girl standing under an over pass in tight jeans, high-heels and a tight fitting halter top. Alexandra asks her mom, “Mom, is that one of those girls?” I take a look around at what looks like a very bad introduction to a suburban Mexican neighborhood, and do an impromptu u-turn and waddle my way back to the highway. ALWAYS TAKE THE ‘CUOTA’ (the toll road). This rule obviously applies throughout the whole of Mexico.
Pyramid of the Sun as we approach.
...another view of the ancient site as we drive up.It is not a long drive (about 17 miles or so) to Teotihuacan, the home of the pyramids. “Ohh”, and “Ahhhh” were the most obvious utterances as the great pyramids came into view. All of a sudden we are at the entrance to the site. Alexandra says that she just read entrance #3 is best. I have no idea where this is, especially since we just entered this site , so we go around the round about and shoot off the first chance we get to go right. Just ahead was a large group of people dressed in black slacks and white dress shirts. They are approaching the cars as they near, with papers in their hands. “Just keep driving!” Tonya asserts in a sicky aura from the back seat. Ok, so I step on it a bit. The old man that was walking towards the car obviously takes offense, yells something at me and throws his handful of papers at the car.
“Just go!” Tonya blurts out again. I feel a bit bad, but drive on watching the papers billow down in my dust behind me, and the old man stomping his feet as he gathers up the fallen pieces.
Along the back stretch behind the great pyramids are loads of restaurants, most all of which are boasting of the best barbecue. They all look the same, but there is a long row of big green signs with numbers on them, and a poor soul standing beside any given sign, waving you in to the very same restaurant that you just passed but serves up a better barbecue than their neighbor.
numbered restaurant row...all serving barbacoa.We never make it to entrance 3, but take a quick left into entrance #5, right behind the giant pyramid of the Sun. We pull up in front of the gaudy souvenir stalls and I am immediately embarrassed by my dad expressing joy over the $1 straw hats for sell right in front of us. Needless to say, he is out and dealing with the little lady for a $1 hat in no time. Obviously, this is a great thing for him, to spend only a dollar and to walk amongst tourist in such an obvious hat that only a tourist would wear…and would only obviously cost one single dollar. He may as well be wearing an “I’m with stupid” shirt and the giant finger pointing straight at me.
We came in here, at the side of the great pyramid. It is pretty impressive.
whu...? graffiti on the plants too?!We walk around the side of the great pyramid, swatting away cheap vendors like flies at a picnic. They all sell the same crappy miniatures and glorified shot glasses. As we get to the front, Alexandra whines about wanting to climb the pyramid, and who will go with her. Guess who goes?
I felt pretty good actually, striving up the face of the pyramid. It is a pretty good haul, but I managed without too much fanfare. Alexandra, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. At each level she had to rest longer and longer, and was expressing concern over being too scared to climb down. Like any idiot tourist, when we finally make it to the top, I am all giddy. The best thing to do is to snap a photo of you standing there atop ancient grandeur giving two thumbs up with a retarded grin on your face. I filled the role perfectly. Alexandra was too nervous to get close to the edge, so I told her to stay put and give me a thumbs up so she too, can look back with fondness at such a hick gesture atop of this great pyramid.
Full geek mode on display. Atop of the great pyramid with thumbs aloft.
Yeah, that is right...I am a great discoverer of ancient cities. I take snaps of myself to prove it too.The cigarette butts lying in the cracks of stones on the top up here…seriously? Who climbs all this way to pant and have a puff then start a descent?
There are no guys working here that will help walk you down if you are scared. Atleast, I didn’t see any dudes wearing shirts that gave any indication of assistance.
The lil' kid is pooped, Tonya is sick. Look at this fun bunch!Dad was wearing thin because of the heat, and by the time we got to the bottom, Alexandra was proclaiming she may vomit and dad said he was done. I was thrilled. I was happy knowing my dad had seen something he really wanted to see, and I now have picture proof that I am perfectly able to look like a tit no matter where I may be in the world, or how high of an ancient structure I may be perched on.
The folks in front of the great pyramid.The drive back was one of typical post-fun drollness. Tired, thirsty and snacking on thick chips, we muttered amongst ourselves. On the highway, dad was musing at how the other lanes going the opposite way were at a stand still.
By the time we roll back into the city and get into it a bit, we are now being the chumps in stand still traffic. One of the main streets are shut down, thus creating an even more intricate weave of traffic in this already horrendous maze of smog concrete. Obviously, to some, this is a great advantage like the cop who decided we would be his next target. To a car load of gringos, this can be a trying time.
I thought I may just be being paranoid when I saw the patrol car in my rearview mirror. He was a few cars back. Because traffic was inching along, the officer was able to get out of his car and walk up to the cars that separated us. I would quickly find out, he was probably telling them to get out of his way, as he was going to nab this carload of out of towners. I already knew the drill, so I was prepped when I heard the fart of the siren and the flashing lights and the brown hands waving me off to the side of the road.
I don’t understand why some of the Mexicans look Korean…like this guy. He spouts off as I sit and look at him. Surely he saw the sweat, dust and bleariness in my eyes. Then I just smile and say, “No comprende.” Tonya knows the drill too, as she leans forward and starts her spiel.
My newfound buddy, the Mexican who looks Korean is not having it. He tells us the same thing the other cop did on the way to the pyramids. We are not supposed to be circulating today. Tonya plays dumb. She offers the guy a sly 200 pesos. He says no, and he will have to impound the car. The two go back and forth. He takes my license and papers back to his car and gets inside. When he walks back, he does not have my stuff. I see this as the beginning of my Mexican jail hell ride. I know I will get shanked. I understand a bit of Spanish, and I hear Tonya pleading about tomorrow, but the Korean cop says something about Monday. I don’t want to be in a dark Mexican jail for the weekend. I am really starting to hope that my dad has more money than I would expect, and that it is easily acceptable. The cop walks back to his car.
Looking back, the officer signals for Tonya to come to their car. This is where she brokers my stay. I don’t care how sick she is, she better turn on the charm. She stands next to Kim Jong Il and leans in to talk to the other cop. I see her grab her purse. I think she is doing what she is not supposed to do.
“She’s paying him off” I say softly, as if the car is bugged.
“Take a picture!” Lois says from the backseat, and dad starts to get the camera out.
“Are you crazy!” I say. “That is all we need is these cops to get freaked out because you are photographing them taking bribes. Look at the other cop on the sidewalk! Behind us! In the street directing traffic! Put your camera away!” Thankfully dad dutifully complied. After a few more minutes I see Tonya turn towards the car with my papers in hand. Before she even makes back to us, the cops have vanished amid the traffic. As she gets into the car, she manages to push out in a scratchy voice, “Just go! Get out of here!”.
The cops told us to go straight to a bridge, but don’t go on the bridge. From here, we could find our way home. Well…it would take more than an hour for us to do so. Tonya is feeling worse by the minute. I am still in a cold sweat with my visions of jail time and my patience shot. The streets are blocked off, and I soon discover that we have made a giant circle. I am freaking out all the more now. We are re-treading a dangerous path here. Nerves are practically non-existent. Dad taps me on the leg and say softly, “It’s ok. Shake it off. You’re doing fine.”
The drama did provide a close-up view of the Angel on Reforma, the city's mascot.Determined to break out of this circle and to head home, I ask Tonya which way to turn and where. In return she tells me in a catty tone “This is such and such street” (although it is any given Spanish name, which she pronounces with utmost force, as if you bludgeon me with my ineptness with this language).
“So! What does that mean to me!” I pop back.
“You think I know where I am going…I don’t know!” she yells back.
Great. Not only am I sweating, keeping my eyes open for more cops, but now I fully realize this hometown girl has forgotten all about how to traverse her hometown. This is infuriating to me. I look at the built in compass on the dash and notice we are heading the wrong way. I adopt my best Lewis & Clarke mode and decide I will turn at will. I do. Now we are plopped right into another crawling mass of traffic. As we approach the corner, Alexandra exclaims, “Oh no-there’s a cop!”
“Drive!” Tonya demands.
‘The light is red…” I say.
“So what! Go! Everyone else is going!” While keeping an eye on the patrol car at the light and one on the bumpers ahead of me, I scoot out into the flow of traffic. The cop is still stalled at the light…thank goodness. There are two cops now in front of us directing traffic. I hear someone yelling, but do not know from where or what they are saying.
“He’s yelling at you” I hear dad say.
“Who?” I ask him.
“The cop…” he is calmly replying when interrupted by Tonya.
“It’s the cops! GO! DRIVE! DON”T STOP!” she yells.
I find it hard to drive over the brown cop in the bright orange vest standing in fornt of me now pointing to the side of the road and the large puddle of water. Gross. No telling how filthy that water is and now we have to pull over in it?
He is at my window in a flash, he is pretty steamed and blurting out something to me. Guess what I say back? He seems angered that I do not know how to communicate with him. Tonya tries her best to manage an audible tone from her ravaged throat. He leans in to the back window to hear her. He starts yelling. I have no idea what he’s saying. He takes a few steps back and starts waving his hands. I am assuming he his flagging down the cop at the light.
“DRIVE!” Tonya yells.
The cop makes a few odd steps in front of me as I start to move forward. He looks as if he slips (thanks to filthy water puddle he made me pull over in), and thows his hand into the air.
“He’s flipping you off” dad said with the coolest demeanor.
“Get outta here!” Tonya yells. I, in turn, let slip a slight “For fuck’s sake” and then hope that Dad didn’t catch what just came out of my mouth. Doesn’t matter, because coming form the back seat I hear a defeated “SHIT” from Tonya.
Next thing I know we are next to a limousine with a purple bow. “Look! They just got married” exclaims Lois. This whole flow of cars is moving pretty quick. I start weaving in and out, trying to get lost in the herd and as far away from Copland as possible.
The pigs.For the next 15 minutes, we all sat pretty quiet, and were on full alert for cops. Each time one was spotted, someone would yell out the warning, followed by a “slow down”, “stop”, “Don’t let him see you”, all of which were immediately over-ruled by a stern “JUST DRIVE!” issued by Tonya. We did make it home eventually, with only one more real cop scare. He passed us and slowed down. I slowed down more, letting anyone who wanted in, in. We went a block or two then a bus pulled out…then another bus followed. I acted like Steve McQueen and took advantage, cutting across two lanes of traffic and sandwiching myself in the chaos. In my rearview mirror I see the cops lights go off and they take a turn onto a side street.
All I can think of is getting home. I was jonesing for a cold beer and swearing to myself that from now on any trekking we do, Tonya will be driving. We pull up and park, the car empties out quickly and I am so thankful that I get to sleep in my own bed and not on a steel spring frame with my new best friend, Pancho.
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