Guero on a Bike!

Raul and I are going to check out record shops.  He had an idea that I come over to his place and we go scope some out on bike.  This would allow us a ‘street level’ view of the people and places of local neighborhoods along the way.  I was kind of jazzed about this prospect of riding a bike around Mexico City.  Likewise, I thought it was a bit daring…anyone who has ever been here and seen these idiots drive; you know exactly what I mean.

I meet Raul at a place close to his, a place where I can park easily.  We walk back to his place talking nonsense.  We get to his place, walk through the lobby and out to the parking spot.  There are two bikes.  He passes the red one over to me, “It’s my girl’s, but it should work.  Try it out” he said.  I hop on and do a few small loops in the parking area. Raul will be riding a Peugeot. Mine is a no name thing. “It’s OK, a bit low, but I’ll manage” I say.  In truth, the handlebars were very small.  I was not used to such small handlebars.

You ever notice how Mexicans and blacks ride bikes that are too small for them?  I kind of felt that way when I was riding this bike.  I felt like I should be wearing gold chains and perhaps have a baseball cap skewed the wrong way on my head while riding this thing.  The difference is: this is a 10-speed style, not some kid bike with a gang member on it.  Good enough, off we go on the adventure.

We don’t get far before my seat goes all wobbly.  It shifts back and the horn of the seat almost enters my butt at the worst moment possible.  I am very uncomfortable, and I am trying to maneuver through crazy Mexican drivers while trying to maintain composer with an obvious ‘compromising’ position apparent to anyone with two eyes.  “Hey! Raul!” I yell at him as he is leading the way. This was not going to work.  Luckily, we were at a spot he wanted to show me.  There was a sushi restaurant next door. “Maybe you can ask the Chinaman for a wrench” I said.  “Yeah, maybe he has something” Raul replies as we put the bikes together and stand next to a bench.  He looks at me and says, “You know, Chinaman is not the correct term.  Maybe you should use Asian –American” he says.  I look at the sushi sign.  It says ‘Osaka’.  I could care less about political correctness, I look at Raul and say, “Well…Asian American is stupid, since we are in Mexico….anyway, the sign says ‘Osaka’, so he should be Japanese”  Raul goes and talks to him and he comes out and we are introduced to one another. His name is William.  That is not very Japanese or Asian for that matter.  I sit and watch the discussion amused at a Japanese guy speaking Spanish.  When we’re done, we shake hands, and I try to be accommodating, so I bow and smile.  He smiles, and laughs a little, then William bows and smiles at me and shakes my hand again.  Raul suggests we backtrack to his restaurant and try and repair the bike.

We grab a quick sandwich while at his place.  He says I should take the bike from the café.  It is a total Pee-Wee Herman style bike.  Low and slow, it is only missing tassels from the handlebars to be complete.  He tells me to try it out, and when I do, a local sitting in front of the café starts laughing. “See how stupid I look, even he’s laughing” I say to Raul as I take it for a spin to the end of the street.  Raul tells me to not to worry, and that while we go scope out some shops, he’ll have another guy take the broken bike to get repaired.  He asks if I am ready after my test ride.  I give the thumbs up and we ride off towards the trendy neighborhood of Condesa.  Those of you who saw a lanky awkward guy wearing a reggae themed t-shirt riding a bike too small for him and seeing his knees hit the handle bars…that was me.  As we neared our destination, I hear Raul utter a simple “Oh…” and then it was followed by a stern “shit!”  He had a flat.  Lucky for us, we were at the prime spot where we are in the middle of what we needed to do.  The record shop had closed and moved on.  He asked if I could lend him a few bucks and we would go to the park, to a nearby bike shop.  He walks his bike and I stroll along beside him, half riding and half pushing myself along with my big feet.  I brought some crackers in case I got hungry, and while the bike guy is repairing his flat, I pull out my crackers.  I give Raul a pack and as we both munch crackers, we both admit we’re starving.  After his bike is ready, Raul suggests we go back by the café and get a sandwich.  I happily agree.

We sit in front of his café and talk about things.  His co-worker brings back the other bike.  It is repaired, and the worker makes a point to say that the new seat is ‘Italian’.  Well…it ain’t Mexican, so it must be of some quality I concur.  Raul grabs a bag of cookies and eats all but one.  He then hands the bag to me, “Oh…how nice. Dessert?” I ask.   He laughs and says ‘yes’.  Nice that he saved me one out of about eight.  Raul then says that we should now ride into the historic part of the city. I look at him and say ok, “Do you think it is safe for a guero on a bike?”  Raul gets a cheap laugh, and looks at me and says, “Yes.  I think it is even ok for a guero on a bike”

Before I know it we are on one of the most important streets in the city, Reforma.  It is the street which is home to many embassies and business headquarters.   It is also the street on which the famous golden angel resides.  I pedal along being careful to steady those tiny handlebars.  I am amused and giggle to myself that I am riding a bike down one of Mexico City’s biggest and most important streets.  Who would have ever thought?  I also consider the fact that maybe this means that I am really staring to feel comfortable here.  That strikes an icy cold fear in my heart.  I keep peddling. 

We are riding in front of Bellas Artes in no time.  The very center of the city is so close.  My eyes are burning and I feel as if I am on the verge of being light headed from all the exhaust.  I try to grab a breath of clean air when we hit a stretch of road where there is a gap in the traffic.  No use.  Riding a bike is a great experience in this city, it is truly a great way to see things up close, but it is hell on your eyes and lungs.

As soon as we reach the historical center, cops on both side of the street point and shout.  I have no idea what they are saying, but from the panicked look and the stern hand gestures, I decide it is best to slow down and get off the bike.  I was right.  We walk our bikes past the famous tiled Sanborn’s and into the heart of the city.  Like a good Mexican, Raul is quick to disregard the cops’ orders and in no time at all, is back on the bike again. 

There it is: Negro Disaster

I am thoroughly enjoying the bike through the heart of Mexico City…even if I am navigating busy streets and dodging pedestrians with handle-bars that are way too small for human hands.  I manage quite well.  I keep an eye to the right and left, in case anyone suddenly opens a car door or steps out from behind cars.  I scan the buildings lining the street looking at the wonderful old architecture and just the bountiful oddities that make up this place, like ‘Negro Disaster’. I know it is probably not smart, but riding down the street I see something that doesn’t seem right.  Did that bright pink and yellow sign just say what I thought it said?  I yell ahead to Raul to stop.  I turn my bike around and ride back into the line of taxis and cars coming down the street.  I pull my bike on the curb and pull out my camera. Yes, it is what I thought it was, a hip and happening store blaring loud music and hustling with avid buyers. ‘Negro Disaster’ When Raul gets close enough to see what I am doing, he too is a bit surprised and shakes his head and laughs at the name. Unbelievable.

Raul takes me through all these backstreets, and on to one which was recently made a pedestrian way.  I believe it was ‘Regina’.  This was strange.  People staring as we ride down the center of the street, there are numerous empty places and old decayed buildings with someone standing in the dark doorway, peering out at the passersby.  I ask why this street seems so odd, like it is trying to live but is already dead.  Raul explains that it was just converted and most people are not willing to come stroll down this once dodgy street.

We backtrack and wind through some more streets and find ourselves in the ‘music area’ of the city, where all the shops are blaring music and have flashing lights set up.  Every store has a name full of bravado, trying to outdo the other sound equipment salesman.  I do not understand the shop named ‘Holocaust’ though.  Doesn’t seem right gliding by and a giant PA pumping with flashing lights and disco balls spinning.  Raul takes a quick right and we are on a tight street.  It is loud and bodies bounce back and forth, in and out of the shops.  We pull into a small entryway and Raul says, “I want to show you this shop”  “Why?  What is the deal with this place?” I ask while he chains the bikes.  “It is a specialty record store” he says, and then he looks up smiling, “in high energy music”.  “Oh, you mean gay” I reply.  We walk in the small place and it is stuffed with records and in the opposite corner is stuffed a bunch of older me.  They look us up as we walk in, we smile and say hello.  I glance around the place.  The prices are outrageous but it looks OK otherwise.  Above the corner stuffed with older guys hangs a spinning disco ball.  Beside that and along the back wall are very bad paintings of Divine and other over-the-top icons.   I just don’t understand the Billy idol picture disc on the wall, or the Beatles records either.  Never thought those are proper fodder for the gay cannon. Ok, so I guess I just visited the spot for the gayest music in town.

View from where I was standing

We take off and work our way further eastward.  We get to a major street, November 20, and Raul stops his bike.  He points over the busy street, “I guess we should head up.  Everything else on that side of the street is just crap.  It gets bad pretty fast…not worth even looking at”  I am not up for riding into blatantly dangerous territory and neither is Raul.  This is when it obviously is good to be with a native.  We start peddling again and head up the major thoroughfare.  It isn’t long before Raul looks down and utters another loud “Shit!”  No way.  He stops and obviously frustrated, starts turning his back wheel.  “Can you believe it?  Another flat.  Two in one day, that must be an omen” he says.  Once again, Raul starts walking his bike and I do the combo slow peddle, push with foot routine.  After walking a bit I look ahead and there right in front is the beautiful Zocalo.  I had not noticed that this street ran straight into the center of it.  Then again, why should I know that, I am not from here?  It looks great, and so majestic.  The sight of the giant (and I mean GIANT) flag waving in the wind and the old church behind it is marvelous.  I ask Raul if we couldn’t catch a cab and shove the bikes in the trunk.  He says we can try.  As we are near the edge of Zocalo, he spots a cab at the light across the street.  He yells to get the cabbies attention and asks if he’s free.  We walk over and Raul unwinds the story to the guy.  He gets out and opens the trunk.  Raul says he will put the bikes in, but we may have to follow him in another cab.  As Raul starts to dismantle the bike, and slides it in the trunk, the cabbie shakes his head in agreement.  As the second bike is dismantled and I slide it in on top of the previous, the cabbie seems very pleased.  He says it is ok, and grabs a wheel from the front seat and hands it to me.  I do not know what he is saying, but he is obviously sure that the bikes and their front tires will fit in the trunk and we will be able to ride with him.

Raul and the cabbie put the finishing touches on

The bikes are loaded up and we start to make our way back to our starting point.  I understand enough to get that the driver and Raul are talking about the flat.  The cabbie asks if the tube was damaged and Raul tells him yes.  “Twice?” the cabbie asks?  Yes, and then they start off into that superfast Spanish at 100 mph and I just sit in the back and watch the city pass by.  Not near as nice as biking through it, but much better than walking all the way back through it!

Wrong Place, Right Time

Mexico City is a very big place.  When you fly in and look down over the vast shanty town, you can get idea of the immense sprawl of this place.  Likewise, if you get out to some of the surrounding mountains, you can get a prime view of the mess that is Mexico City.  These angles are optimal for getting an overview.

The other way is to see if from the ground.  Walking can give you a sense, but not so different from anywhere else.  Driving, on the other hand, is a great way to really get out and see this mess, up close and personal.  I know this, because of the amount of times we have gotten lost while driving.  I dread to think of the cumulative hours and gas I have wasted being driving while lost in the place.

Take the other day for example.  We wanted to go and see a lady about taking care of our dogs.  She has a dog care service and it appears to be pretty decent.  According to her, we were not so far away.  Tonya spoke with her on the phone and set up an appointment for late afternoon, 5pm to be exact.  The instructions were lengthy, but according to her, not as complicated as they seem.  When Tonya finished the conversation she comes and tells me, “We have to go print out the directions.  It is a whole page worth, it is too complicated to tell over the phone”

We took off and went to the local internet café to print out the directions.  As we walk to our ‘local’ we see it is closed. Right, today is some goofy holiday, so now we backtrack and go to our stand by place.  Tonya prints it out.  It is one sheet.  One sheet with an address, a logo, and the main body of the page is one solid run-on paragraph of how to get to the place that is not so far away.  Tonya gets the sheet, looks at it, then me, and laughs. “Right” she says.

"...not as complicated as it looks"

We give ourselves about a 45 minute leeway.  We get in the car and head out.  I know the basic direction and how to get us to the part where we don’t know how to go from there.  In no time at all, we are exiting off into unchartered territory.  Notice; I said we exited…that is about it.  No sooner had we exited than we are greeted with a sea of red taillights.  Traffic, loads of traffic. There had been a wreck up the road and everything was clogged.  Luckily for us, it was on the other side.  We ease into the crawling mess and assume the position.  Slowly we inch along.  I look at the clock and the gas gauge.  A quarter tank.  I tell Tonya.  We inch along slowly. 

We had been sitting in this traffic for about 20 minutes when I see a gas station up ahead.  I tell her we should get case, ‘just in case’.  We fight our way over one lane, get off on a beaten up feeder road which has taken the role of main road, due to massive construction and general Mexican chaos.  After our attendant gasses us up, Tonya asks him about the first segment of our long list of directions.  He says it is about 8 kilometers ahead, passed two more gas stations, exit right. We pull out of the station and continue on.

I ask Tonya what our landmarks are we are looking for.  “What do the directions say?” I ask her.  She looks down to the sheet and quietly reads.  “We are looking for the ……exit, then we go right, on to the toll way.” She says.  I ask her to read the directions out loud, so I can get prepared on places and streets to look for.  She starts to read.  After a few minutes I am agitated by all the nonsense she is saying.  It sounds like one long run on sentence.  I glance over and when I see her rambling through the solid black paragraph, I am reminded of this jumbled mess called directions.  “Are you serious…is that what is actually printed there?  She says that stuff?” I ask.  Tonya looks at me, halfheartedly raises the sheet of paper, “Yes.”

So, our instructions go something like this; “If you are coming from this direction, go here take this and look for that-but, if you are not coming from said direction, then don’t look for those things, but these.  Take this to this, exit either here or there.  You will be on the old highway which takes you to this place.  You will pass the restaurant so and so.  You will see these roses and a beautiful house, but you are not going here, so keep going” Obviously, this is all paraphrased, and about 143 sentences too short of the actual instructions.  The funny thing is, the last line of her instructions read “Don’t worry, it is not as complicated as it looks” I can’t believe it.  We are heading into unchartered territory with instructions given by someone who definitely has multiple personalities clamoring for the honor of giving proper instructions.

I have often tried to politely tell Tonya, this is not the place to slow down and stall for whatever reason.  In Mexico City, you keep moving!  In a car, you move exponentially faster.  When you have a knotted mess of run on sentences telling you about sights along the way which is actually supposed to be directions…you can imagine what happens.  We are moving way too fast for Tonya to decipher the code and get us to the location.  She manages see something about a toll booth right as we are upon it.  ‘Here!  Here!” she says while trying to eye the directions and the road at the same time.  My Steve McQueen instinct kicks in and we swerve towards the toll booth.  As we slow down, she continues reading, “Ok, it will cost us 12 pesos…”  I pull up and the guy says “30 pesos” I pay him.  Tonya looks at the paper and then says again, “Wait, this is wrong.  Why is he charging us 30 pesos when she says we will pay 12 pesos?”  I am the wrong person to ask, and I am sure as she looked at me my eyes were just completely glazed over with indifference.  She leans over and asks the man in the tollbooth if we are in the right place. No, we are not.  By the motioning of his hands and the broken Spanish I know, we have to turn around, continue down the highway and take the next exit.  So, we trudge on.

As we are driving, Tonya finds a line that says “You will drive about 8 minutes” I eye the clock.  We will definitely be late.  “Here!  This is the one!  Exit!” she says and she anxiously motions to the right.  Typical the exit sign is posted exactly on the street you are to exit on.  There is no for- warning.  There is no lead in or exit time, with a sign placed at least 30 feet or so ahead of the actual entrance or exit.  You see a sign, you jerk the wheel.  We pull up to another toll booth.  The guy holds his hand out and says “12 pesos please”   Now!  We know we are headed the right way.  We pay the guy and pull onwards…to a round about.  There are no street signs, just a round about. “What does it say about roundabouts?” I ask Tonya as I pull the car over and put the hazards on.  She stares at the black lines and punctuation, the simply moans, “Nothing”. Great!  We are we?  Which way do we go?  She tells us about roses but nothing about the round about after the tollbooth!”  I am obviously getting perturbed now.   Tonya pulls her phone out and gives the lady a ring.  I stare ahead at the outlying mountains and the sun going down.  I have an ominous feeling that we are going to get deeper into unknown territory; something this gringo does not like experiencing.  She hangs up and looks at me and with a blank looks says, “She doesn’t know where we are” My immediate reaction is to cuss and yell, “How can she not know where we are when she is the one who gave us the directions?”  Tonya yells at me to not yell at her.  ‘Pull over there.  I will ask someone in those shops” she commands.

She comes back out and point upwards, towards the hill behind us.  “Go up, you will see another round about, take the so and so exit from the round about”, she says is the latest correction to our madcap adventure.  We trudge upwards until we reach the second round about.  We circle slowly…and once again, there are no signs naming any streets or any direction, “Great!” I say with loaded sarcasm.  There is a guard booth up one of the roads.  Tonya gets out and goes to ask for help.  She is in there a while.  She later informs me that the guard wants to help and tries to read the whole page of instructions.  Obviously he gets scrambled and has to restart a few times.  She comes back towards the car and quietly gets in. “He says go up that road, turn left and just keep going.  It will all be on that road”

We head up that road and take a left.  This is the start of our journey into places we should not be in.  For the next hour and a half, we will pay a friendly visit to countless barrios and trashed pueblos.  Tonya is diligent though, she keeps trying to decipher the mess.  She says we are supposed to look for a Corona sign.  Seriously, driving down these packed jumbled streets through Mexico City and a key point is a Corona sign?  Do you know how many Corona signs you see in a 2 minute period???  She also tells me to look for this and that…words I cannot say.  This irritates me to no end.  We repeat the same scenario, I am frustrated and snap, “What!?” and she snaps back “(whatever the word is in Spanish)!”  “You know I cannot understand you, so why do try and be Mexicano #1 when we are in situations like this? Why can’t you speak slowly and not roll your ‘r’s and speak to me the way you do to someone who can’t understand this language?”  Undoubtedly, a nice volley of accusations and curse words bounce to and fro and we drive along these trash lined streets, piled as high as fences.  We are driving through places where the streets are so narrow you can almost touch the buildings on both sides. I forgot to mention that the dogs are in the car too.  They are tired of riding around for almost two hours too.  Every time we have to stop for a pack of wild street dogs to wonder in front of us, our dogs go nuts and start jumping over seats, howl and gnash at one another.  Of course, this does wonders for our already frayed nerves and patience.  It also helps to draw attention to the slow moving car with the gringo driving and sporting an obvious look of worry on his face.  We wind further and further down winding roads, and the sun sky goes from to yellows, to pink-ish and then to light purple.  We are going down, down , down and the sun is too.  I am starting to freak.

Tonya thinks she saw something mentioned in the directions, and tell me to take a right.  I do, and so does a long line of other cars.  We slow our pace.  There is a line of cars in front of us too.  As we wind around a corner, we start a slow descent.  I notice that we are on a street outside of the neighborhood.  To left of us, just shanty town as far as the eyes can see.  To the right, dirt and stone walls.  Then I see cars parked on both sides of this skinny road.  Along the cars are countless guys standing around, leaning on the cars, drinking, and talking.  We are moving way too slow for my liking, especially when we now have to move at a snail’s pace through this inspection line.  There are lots of eyes on us (at least that is how I feel) I just know that someone gang member has phoned ahead, and his muchachos are waiting for the easy prey.  “Just look for the bickering couple with dogs going wild in the car” It is obvious who their target would be.  Seriously, I was very concerned for my well being.  I knew, without a doubt, we were in a place that no decent citizen of this city should be in.  As we got to the bottom of the hill, Tonya tried calling the lady again.  Once again, the lady says she does not know where we are.  Tonya says we should try going this way, and I shoot down the suggestion. “F*ck that!  We are heading back!”  I turn the car around and start back the way we came.  At a fork in the road, Tonya says I should go to the left.  I do.  We are now in another bad place we should not be.  “Just stop!  Just stop and I will ask someone where we should go”.  We’re on a busy, crammed street and I am paranoid about drawing anymore attention to us than necessary.  I see a guy working on his van, right on the curb.  Good enough for me, I pull over and put the hazards on.  People are staring at us because of our abrupt pause.  Tonya gets out, WITH the instructions in hand and approaches the guy with the van.  I cringe.  That is not someone lost at all is it?  Stopping on a busy street, directions in hand and as she walks up to the stranger he just glares.  I know for a fact, if you don’t want others to think you are lost and a gullible foreigner, don’t look and act like one!  Walking around with a flimsy paper with directions, going up to complete strangers is not the sign of a real insider.

Tonya plops back down and says, “Go up the way we came, at the Kentucky, go right” I turn the car around and try not to make eye contact with the spectators hustling along the crowded street.  We head back up when suddenly Tonya says, “Turn here, he said turn here!”  I slow down and turn in behind some cars.  An argument erupts because I am confused.  “Did you say ‘turn at Kentucky?’?”  Tonya keeps rattling on like a broken record about taking a right and following the road.  “I know, I get that!  Did he say turn right at the Kentucky?”  She doesn’t answer, but just keeps arguing.  I am sure there is a small stream of black smoke coming form both ears.  I am livid.  I am staring at the red tail lights in front of me, “What the hell does Kentucky have to with any of this?  Who mentioned Kentucky?  Did he say Kentucky or did you?”  I assume he meant Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I look back over my left shoulder, and there is a Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I push my interrogation onwards, “Did he or did he not say to turn at the Kentucky!”  Finally Tonya yells back, “Yes!  Yes!  He said to turn at the Kentucky!”  We sit and fume as we twist our way back upwards.  It won’t belong until it is completely dark.  Over two hours and counting now and I am at my wits end.  I think Winston is a bit shell shocked too, from all the yelling and the chaos going on outside.

As we get to the top of the hill, I make my way back the way we came.  Tonya says, “Wait, the directions say something about the median in the middle of the road.  Stop, I think we should go the other way.  We are supposed to follow this road until we see the roses!”  I turn around (against my will) and head the opposite direction.  She says to pull over at the pharmacy and she will ask the girl inside.  I sit and lean back into my chair and close my eyes.  I turn the music up and try to relax.  Not too long though- as I do not want to get car jacked.  Every few seconds I crack open an eye to peer around and make sure there isn’t a bandito creeping up beside the car with a knife between his teeth.  She comes back and informs me that the girl inside has no idea where we are supposed to be.  She pulls her phone out and calls the dog lady.  Tonya tells her a few names of places we see in front of us, and the lady tells us that she knows where we are, stay put.  Watch for the red pick up.  We are at a paint store, Comex.  We will now sit and wait for our rescue.  After about 15 minutes, Tonya calls again.  It is at this point that the lady says she has no idea where we are…but are obviously in a strange neighborhood where we should not be.  Tonya is frustrated and mentions landmarks we passed as we drove for the last two and a half hours.  She mentions a hospital and the dog lady knows the place.  She says she will meet us there in a few minutes.

It took more than a few minutes and a handful of stops for directions to finally get to where we actually needed to be.  There are only rare occasions when ones eyes light up seeing a hospital, and this was one of those occasions.  Now, we just had to find the way in to the hospital parking lot.  As we do a circle around the premises I notice a red pick up behind us.  Tonya starts to call the dog lady to ask where she is and how we get in, as she is calling, I look over and see two people in the red truck, telling me to pull over.  I do.  It is the dog lady and her helper.  Tonya gets out and talks to her.  Tonya then flags me to pull up and over a little further up.  As the red pick up pulls in front of me I notice a sticker, “caution: dogs on board” and I know this is our mark.  I then notice a Canadian flag. “Ah, it figures…she is Canadian” I say to myself.  She and Tonya come to the car and she says hello and apologizes for the mix up.  She greets the dogs and talks with us about her place and how the dogs will be cared for.  She and Tonya stand beside the car and then Tonya pokes her head in, “She wants to know if we want to follow her now” My reply was a simple two word reply, one an expletive the other ‘no’.  Tonya pulls her head out and the Canadian dog lady smiles and asks, “We are only about a half hour away.  Would you  guys like to come over and see the place?”  I politely decline.  As she and Tonya finish their talk, I mumble loads of colorful language to myself, kind of like a one of those crazy people who are yelling at no one as they wobble to and fro in the street.

We say goodbye to the Canadian lady and her red truck.  She tells us that she will lead the way back to the main highway, she will go right, and we go left.  It is deep purple above us now, and will be black in no time.  I do not want to be lost in neighborhoods like we just visited under the cloak of darkness, no sir.  We follow her to the splitting point, and the Canadian sticks her hand out her window and points to the left.  I honk and we wave as we pass them up.  Tonya and I don’t say too much on the way back.  We hit traffic, some of the traffic we saw on our way up.  There had been a wreck and they still had not towed one of the cars away. “Awesome” I said as we entered into a line of red brake lights.  I think we only said three words while we drove back; “Awesome”  and “Over it”  We repeated these like some sort of mantra to help ease our minds.

A few days later we are having coffee with one of Tonya’s oldest friends.  In fact, he was one of her teachers when she was in school.  We told him of how we got lost.  I asked Tonya the name of the neighborhood we found ourselves in.  She told the name to her friend.  His eyes went wide and face froze. “Oh…”he said, “that is bad” and he shook his head.  Tonya mentioned the name of another neighborhood we had visited too, he shot a stare back and repeated the two names of the neighborhoods and put his head in his hands.  I knew form this that we were definitely out of our league.  He raised his head up laughing and said, “Even I know not to go there to those neighborhoods.  How did you do it, a lost gringo driving through those parts?” he shakes his hands as if he just touched something hot.  He cocks his head while still laughing.  This reaffirmed my thoughts, “I know now I have been to neighborhoods that even Mexicans are afraid to venture into in Mexico City” I said.  He laughed and nodded his head. “Yes, that is true” and then let out a small squeal.