Livin' la Vida Loc- What?? Ricky Martin is Gay?!

Anyone who has been to Mexico or China King Buffet knows full well the fury of Moctezuma’s Revenge. For those fortunate few without a solidified understanding of this expression, Moctezuma II, the Aztec king of Tenochitlán, mistook the newly arrived Spanish Conquistador Cortes to be a god. The misidentification was founded on both a classic Aztec calendar mix-up and Cortes´ ego. So the Aztec Emperor graciously allowed the Spanish army to stay and enjoy the pleasures of palace life until one day when Cortes, infuriated by what he described as an “average at best” body massage, brought Tenochitlán to its knees with the help of nearby tribes who weren’t such big fans of Aztec human sacrifice anymore. The Spanish slaughtered the Indians and killed Moctezuma, at which point Cortes immediately began construction on, quote, “a huge-ass water slide.”

However, with his dying breath, Moctezuma concocted a curse so terrible and sick that anthropologists today are deeply disturbed that a person could come up with it entirely on the spot. He aimed his poison not just at the Spaniards, but at anyone who would dare eat a taco in Mexico from that day forth, which is why we gringos are affected by his wrath today, for as they say: revenge is a dish best served cold. Or in this case, fiery hot.

So now that I’ve recounted the major happenings of my first week, it’s time to move on to the weekends. Mexico City is big, cheap, and very much alive. A metro trip to ANYWHERE in the city costs 25 cents, a chipotle sized burrito is three dollars, and a 12 mile rickshaw ride runs about $6, but it’s totally worth it. Jim and I spent our first weekend mostly within sprinting distance of bathroom facilities, but by the next weekend we were off the leash and headed to Chapultepec, which is like the Central Park of Mexico City, except with an amusement park, an elusive hedge maze, and fewer Mexicans camping in it. We visited the Castle of Chapultepec, which is the home of past Mexican revolutionary presidents and boasts the best rooftop garden I have ever seen in a park in Mexico City.

We then visited the world famous Anthropology museum, but only saw the first two rooms in 2 hours. You heard me right. They have far too many interesting things in this museum for just one visit: 3.4 million year old skulls, 40,000 year old cave drawings, Aztec Sun Stones, the first manmade tools, and Jose the pamphlet boy... the list is endless. What was most impressive at the museum besides Jose’s map distributing skills? The Ball Game. The Aztecs, in their infinite creativity, named the game after a thick, rubbery ball the size of a cantaloupe (9 lbs), which they would hit off their hips (couldn’t touch it with hands or drop it) into a small ring 12 ft high up a wall. Now before you get your cleats out to play, you should know one thing: whoever loses the Ball Game is sacrificed at the Great Temple. Or whoever wins the game. Anthropologists aren’t quite sure. Just make sure you don’t find yourself in that coin toss.

I should point out that Jim and I are the only Americans working at the SSP, so it has taken quite some time to make friends. But once people became accustomed to my blonde hair and office magic tricks, we had no problem. We befriended another Mexican intern, Alejandra, who took us out Saturday night to an underground concert. After asking why she was so nervous on the way, she told us about how she had been express kidnapped a while ago. For those not in the business, express kidnapping is when someone pulls up to you, either at a red light, as you are parking, walking into your house, or at the ATM, points a shotgun at your face and tells you to take them to an ATM and withdraw everything, after which you to start walking, and they steal your car. If you resist, a lot of the times they’ll shoot.

So after that bedtime story we sprinted from the car to the club, but once the band come on and we got a couple $1.50 longnecks (in a club, too) we were good to go. All the bands at the show were entertaining and I even chatted up a few ladies whom I later found out were not only very ugly, but unquestionably underage, which is weird because one told me she was a doctor… which, I thought, explained how she knew the “tequila after a tequila shot” anti-infection method so well. On the way home we were pulled over and our driver breathalyzed by the cops, but she was just under the Mexico legal limit of 20 beers, so they let us go and have more fun. Late night food places here are like Taco Bells on steroids and without the rats. Mexican chefs fry up any kind of meat you can think of with cheese, tortillas, chocolate, veggies, tequila, anything you want, and then they throw it in front of you.

Sunday afternoon, Jim and I watch the World Cup final at a quaint little eatery called Burger King and saw an exhibit by René Magritte at the Bellas Artes museum, who is a really interesting, albeit weird surrealist painter from Belgium (he did the apple in front of the man’s face). Magritte’s weirdness was outdone, however, by the 45 year old Mexican woman who followed us and proceeded to have one-on-one conversations with each of the paintings. She was obviously alone.

This weekend was a warm up for next weekend, which I’ll detail in the next post, but we were just happy to be away from a bathroom finally.