My birthday with the Conqueror and Rebel.

 

I wasn’t paying too much attention to my approaching birthday.  It could be denial, but I think it was really do to all that is going on around me.  Tonya asked what I wanted, and I could not answer.  Anything I would want, the prices will be much higher here than back in the US.  I told her what I really would like is a giant steak, a thick red wine and mashed potatoes with goat cheese.  That sounds great to me!  I proposed that we go downtown and wander around and see a few sights I had wanted to see.

Of course, the day gets off to great start.  I hear Tonya complaining in the other room.  One of the dogs had gotten on the newly reupholstered couch and had a lick fest.  This left a big wet spot, and got Tonya off to a great start.  I tried not to get too worked up over it, and just carried on with my rather boring breakfast of two English muffins and that pomegranate jelly which I am going crazy for.  I check my emails and receive two birthday greetings.  One subject line was from The Rolling Stones, the other from The Coral.  I suppose signing up to your favorite bands mailing lists has some benefits, as they were the first greetings in.

I am not too keen about these ‘lonely’ birthdays away from friends and family, so I have to make them count. Today’s celebration would be one of historical significance and it would also prove to be a first for both Tonya and I.  I wanted to see the resting place of Cortes, the man who almost single handedly destroyed the Aztec empire and definitely changed Mexico forever.   I understand that his place of burial is not a big site for the Mexicans.  Why should it be?  He ruined their country.  Still, for me, it is something to see.  The other main attraction will be the famous La Opera bar.  It is lost in time, and it is famous for a visit from Pancho Villa and him getting carried away and shooting a hole in the ceiling.  Of course, one cannot visit this place without having a tequila to boot.

We park in our regular spot downtown and as we get out of the car, Tonya complains aloud, “Oh no, it’s Monday!”  I am a bit perplexed by her comment.  Yes, of course it is Monday, and it is my birthday.  Why the angst ridden sigh?  I ask her, “Yes, and what is the big deal about it being Monday?”

“All the museums are closed, we won’t be able to get in” she says.

“Cortes is buried in a hospital.  They can’t close that off.” I say back.

“I know, but if we want to go into any of the other places, like the photography museum, we won’t be able to” she says bluntly.  I pause for a minute and realize that a few ‘extra’ stops today may be futile.  Still, I am determined to go see where Cortes is buried.  Who cares about museums?

We start the trek towards the Zocalo.  As we wonder down through the historical part of downtown, we both notice that although it is busy, it is not chaos like it usually is.  We wonder aloud why this is, and deduct that it must the fact that it is Monday and perhaps a bit grey overhead too.  The Zocalo has a makeshift barrier around it and posters promoting an upcoming book fair.  The square is such a great place; it really sucks when they cordon it off for silly events.  As we round the south end, we look across the magnificent plaza and stare at the giant flag waving in the air.  It is a magnificent sight.

It doesn’t take long to get to the Jesus de Nazarene hospital.  Ironically, Cortes helped to create this very hospital way back when.  Mexicans aren’t too jazzed about paying homage to the guy who ruined their culture, so I am not expecting any crowds whatsoever.  We find the hospital, but can’t figure out how to get in.  We stand in an old hallway, staring at a nice courtyard form behind metal bars. “Maybe they’re closed.  It is Monday, remember?” Tonya says. I look at her with frustration, ‘You can’t close a hospital.”  Just then, a man in the courtyard tells us to go all the way around the block to get it.  In no time at all, I am whizzing around the block brimming with anticipation. (It is amazing that as you age, things like this can really get you going).  We find the entrance and walk right on in.  I was always told that ‘If you look like you know what you are doing, no one will question you’.  I put it to practice and walk straight past the nurse’s booth and towards the courtyard.  Tonya asks if I know what I am doing.  I tell her that all I know is he is in the courtyard just stick by my side.

You can find Cortes' bones here.

It is a nice big courtyard.  We are both amazed that such a nice courtyard would be part of a hospital.  As we walk around and take it all in, I wonder what this hospital is all about.  I peek down some hallways and watch a guy refinishing some benches underneath a stairway.  There, right in the middle of the courtyard, facing a huge stairway, is the memorial for Cortes.  Tonya stands and looks at me, “Is this it?”  “I guess so” I reply.  I point to the wall, “There is a bust there and a huge inscription on the wall, so this must be the place” I stand back and look.  Of course, I take a few pictures.  Interesting note;  Cortes had requested to be buried in New Spain, and his bones were moved several times before they came to rest here, taking over 240 years to finally end up where he wished to be.

Across the street is the museum of the City of Mexico. On the corner of the building there is a giant serpent’s head.  I had read that somewhere around here the Aztecs had a glorious avenue, where ornate serpents lined the street.  I am not too sure if this is where it begins or not.  Tonya is willing to walk down a few blocks to see if my historical trivia is correct.  Not too sure, as all we see are loads of shops selling foam stuffing in all shapes and sizes.  This is definitely the place to come to shop for all your stuffing needs.

We wonder the back streets working our way back towards the Zocalo.  Each new block is filled with stores for certain needs.  One block is all underwear, one is all shoes, and one is all hair accessories.  After several blocks of cheap looking junk, Tonya says she wants to cut back to the main strip.  Working our way through the hustling backstreets, she comments that she feels like she is in Bangkok.  She says she is getting hungry and I reassure her that we are working our way to La Opera.

Just to see if the ‘Monday theory’ is in full effect, we detour behind the main cathedral to the photography center.  The doors are shut.  As we continue on down the street I conclude, “I get it.  There are not as many people out today because there are no museums open for the tourists to go to.  If we want to come downtown and wander around, we definitely have to come on Mondays”  Tonya doesn’t say anything in return, just a blank stare that reads ‘Sure thing genius’.  

The blind band...the drummer was great!

As we walk down Tacuba, there is an impromptu concert going on.  About a block from one of the subway stations, a group of blind musicians have set up and are playing to the crowds.  I didn’t realize they were all blind at first, but I did notice an awkward guy standing next to the drummer, with a strange grin on his face and he never opened his eyes.  When I saw his fingers fidgeting and they way he had his head cocked, I finally realized he was blind.  I tell Tonya I want to stop and listen.  When I walk around the crowd to view the band head on, I see they are all blind.  They finish a song and immediately the bassist grabs a taco and eats while the drummer explains what is next.  He jokes about the band being ‘Univision’ which gets a nervous chuckle form the crowd.  A woman who was sitting at the back eating during the previous song slowly works her way into the group.  She feels for a mic and says aloud, ‘I want some orange juice.  Someone get me some orange juice’ and she stands poised while she runs her hands over a small electronic drum machine.  I watch her as she stares straight ahead with no sight.  Her hands are delicately adjusting controls and switches as she prepares her sound for the next song.  When she gets the sound she wants, she makes a few sounds on her pad, and the band strikes up again.  I smile at the whole sight.  I admire them doing this, and this brief moment makes me realize how fortunate so many of us are…especially me, and I am so thankful to be able to walk around on my birthday and see all these things.

As we walk into La Opera, I am glad to see that it is not swarming with people.  In fact, there are only a few tables occupied.  A waiter stands up from his stool at the bar and comes to greet us. He shows us to a great booth right in the middle of the bar.  I shake my head, and ask for a booth over against the wall.  I keep staring up, looking for the famous bullet hole.  What am I really looking for?  I am doing quick scans of booths and the ceiling.  I think I spot the famous hole, just as he points at the booth right to the side of the hole.

That's it!  The famous hole.

Inside La Opera

We slip into to the old booth and look around the whole place. It’s great.  I can see why anyone could get all wound up and want to shoot the ceiling, especially crazy rowdy Mexicans.  Our waiter is small but carries a big welcoming smile.  We order a few tequilas.  I notice another couple come in and wonder of right beside our booth. They are pointing to the ceiling.  This is undoubtedly the most common scenario in this place, day in and day out.  Everyone walks in staring up, looking for Pancho’s bullet hole.  It is an easy way to tell a ‘regular’ from a sightseer.  Tonya laughs and says, “Is that it? Everyone comes in to see that?”  Our tequilas arrive, and then we order a few appetizers. 

The queso y chistorra, tequila and yummy green salsa.

I truly enjoy sitting in a sea of red velvet, sipping this tequila and just reflecting on the day.  This is a historic day for me, and I am digging my time in these historic places.  Our dishes arrive.  A plate full of melted cheese with sausage and a tortilla soup.  The food is so-so, but the green salsa is worth mentioning…as is the small plate of pickled onions and wrinkly jalapeno.  These simple pleasures make this place worthwhile.

After we finish up, we walk around the corner to go see what exhibition we may be missing at the national museum.  We stand and look at the banners.  Looking at each other, we ask “Ever heard of them?”  No.  Oh well, guess we aren’t missing anything, especially since half of the banners are just advertisements for the museum itself.  The sky is getting really grey, but we decide to stroll through the Alameda and see if there are any good bootlegs DVDs to buy.  We come across a guy sitting on a stool, with a flimsy plastic table.  He is selling dog tags (literally) and pressing them with your choice of slogan by hand.  We get three small bones, one for each dog.  It’s my birthday, but they are getting treats too!  After he’s pressed the three tags, we get back to the car and start back home.

Perfect timing.  We get home and take the dogs out, and as we unlock our door on our return, it starts raining.  The rain and gloom starts to take hold, and what was a somewhat good mood starts to fade.  I feel a bit down.  The prospect of my big steak and thick hearty wine is getting washed away.

I talk to my dad for a while, and do some internet chatting.  I actually end up arranging Ultravox albums on iTunes to pass the time.  I get worked up if the right pictures of sleeves are not coordinated correctly, along with the proper release dates.  This actually takes up quite a bit of time, since it is their entire 80’s output.  Sadly, to add insult to injury, after I complete getting everything in order, I randomly click on songs to see if the correct image is shown.  For some reason, they are not.  I’m frustrated.  I think back to what my brother said today, "Listen to some Van Halen today.  You share the same birthday as Diamond Dave!"  I tell myself I have to blare some Van Halen before the day is done. I go to the bedroom and plop down on the bed and just lie there listening to the rain.

At 8:30, Tonya comes in and says we should go to a nearby restaurant for a meal.  We do.  The place is empty.  We ask to sit on the porch and are both horrified to be sat in the middle of a ring of flat screens showing Monday Night Football.  Tonya insists that I eat a steak.  I eventually breakdown and order a New York strip, served on a charred wooden platter.  It comes with another platter of sides, including potatoes, peppers, corn, garlic, chimichurri sauce and a few others.  Tonya orders fish.  It was not what I had envisioned, but it is OK.  Without a doubt, we could have done better at home.  Tonya says we will do it right whenever I want.  We have a nice long conversation, and finish up with a piece of corn cake.  

I didn't get the steak I was longing for, but then again, I didn't expect the Mexicans to do it 'Texas style'.  It was still a nice day and we both got to see some things we had never seen before.  Now-we are going home to watch some crappy episodes of a pathetic TV series that we love to watch.