God once said “let there be light!” Fourteen billion years later, I have started a blog. Both are remarkably similar in significance. To whom you may ask? That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that I never imagined a day when I would actually write a blog. So all I can say is: go easy on me, I’m new at this… and at least it’s not Twitter.
I’ve started this blog because nowadays everyone is doing it. Utterly incapable of resisting a challenge or peer pressure, I wanted in on the action. And since I am in Mexico City for the summer, I assumed there is ample action to be had. But why should you read this blog? Why should you care about the stories on these pages? The answer lies in the fear that most people have of Mexico these days. Through my blog, you will see the world that exists on the other side of our border rather than just the country in CNN´s morbid headlines. To put it in more universal terms, it’s like watching your neighbor from your house with binoculars when you could get more by hiding behind their curtains. And that is what I will try to do for you: reveal a more personal, genuine Mexico through adventures and inconveniences alike during my time south of the border. 
Let’s begin with the basic facts: I am here for 7 weeks, working for the Department of Public Security (SSP), which directs the Mexican Federal Police. I got the job only when the more qualified people ahead of me eventually read a newspaper and dropped out on account of the danger. Lacking summer job options besides watering mother’s plants, I gladly took the internship. From that point on, I simply ignored the news reports of bloodshed in Mexico by mentally replacing the word “murder” in newspapers with “French horn recital.” This method later proved difficult during an article by the New York Times about a woman’s murder just seconds before her French horn recital.
The gig: I, along with my “friend” Jim, work on a compound heavily guarded by several dozen Federal Police officers in the middle of the city. We even have a chauffeur who picks us up. His name is Alfred. I need not say more, other than that he takes good care of us, whether pretending to drive us to lunch so we can watch the World Cup in his office or teaching us the ancient Mexican tradition of drinking a shot of tequila after taking a shot of tequila to minimize the risk of infection. It’s a medical breakthrough sweeping Mexico right now.
I also have my own office, with a generic poster of a roman temple, a computer, and a big desk. Apart from this strangely devised poster, I have a computer, a big desk, a few chairs I will never use, and a dry-erase board which I have made ample use of (as you will see later). Outside my cozy office are 50 fully employed Mexican government workers sharing desks. Thus, I live in constant fear of the day they discover that I speak Spanish at a 2nd grade level, begin to question my right to this precious 15 x 15 ft space, and carry out a reckoning of sorts. The last thing I want is for there to be a French horn recital in the workplace.
The work days start at 10 am and end at 8 pm. Sounds like a lot of work, but that is before you factor in everyone’s 30 minute coffee break at the beginning, snack break at noon, two hour lunch at three, and one to three hour nap at five. All in all, a solid, productive 45 minutes of work a day. That leaves us just enough time to do a little translating and research on Police Institutions from all over the globe for the ol´ jefe, whom I have not seen in ten days…
We live in a chic, upscale neighborhood called Polanco, where Old Navy jeans, $20 lunches, and Costco memberships are frowned upon. People here drive Bentleys and Lamborghinis, which are stolen, and then they buy new ones. But there is also an endless supply of restaurants and shops, and the metro is a block away, so it is a convenient location.
So there you have it-- that is the background story. The workdays do not leave Jim and me much to work with during the week, so we make good use of the weekends. In my next posts I’ll talk more about what life is really like in Mexico City.
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