How Te-quil-a Bottle of Tequila

The weekend is all that matters in Mexico City. Between 10 hour work days and torrential rain every day, people can start to go a little crazy here go a little crazy here. But just when I’m convinced my co-worker Jorge is trying to murder me and that I should kill him first, Thursday arrives-- or “Juebebes,” as the cool kids call it-- and it’s the start of all the fun. I’ll recap, beginning with July 15^th.

After work Jim and I went out with an intern-friend to a cantina and everyone spent the night mocking my face after sips of tequila. They sprinkle ground-up larvae on the rim of your glass to enhance the tequila flavor here. And yes, you sip it here, and you savor the taste without a chaser (only a lick of the lime if you are an invalid or Mormon). They say that for every shot hurriedly gulped down in Mexico, an agave farmer dies somewhere. This explains why rural Mexicans refer to Spring Break as the “week of terror and death.”

On Friday, or “Bebiernes,” the Jimador and I attended a Lucha Libre fight. Since it’s nearly impossible to see women, midgets, and obese men battle it out all in one enclosed venue, besides at the occasional Gary Busey basement party, we were excited. So we downed a few Indios, donned our appropriate headbands and tank tops, and joined a hostel group at a cantina before the fight. In the arena, I sat next to a Mexican father and his six year old daughter and spent the entire night rooting against her favorite fighters, fist pumping in her face and high-fiving the dad when her heroes lost. She was a tough competitor though, and I won in the end only with the classic go-to “Santa isn’t real.” The crowd roared as midgets, women, and men alike were tossed from the ring or flipped acrobatically over chairs, ropes, and other humans. It was an awesome spectacle.

For culture’s sake, Jim and I sampled several cheap, Big Gulp sized Mexican beers in the arena, so upon leaving, we shamelessly started a fantastic Lucha mask collection. We then decided to head back to our apartment, but couldn’t find a cab, so we opted for a civilian’s car instead. That’s right, a random, total stranger in his own car. Jim was convinced the guy was cool, and I didn’t realize it wasn’t a taxi until halfway through the trip, but it turns out this 50 year old man just really wanted to practice his English and earn an extra $8. In any other car, that late at night and in that neighborhood, we probably would have ended up in someone’s basement. At least Gary Busey wasn’t driving.

On Saturday, we joined the same hostel group in the morning for a tour of Teotihuacán. Pepe, our tour guide from last night, was very relieved to call the police and tell them to stop searching for us. Our first site was the Plaza de Tres Culturas, where some stuff happened a certain amount of time ago. Then we headed to the Basilica of Villa de Guadalupe, which is the second most visited Catholic site in the world. It was built in 1531 on the spot where a forcibly converted Aztec named Juan Diego saw the Lady of Guadalupe, whom he probably didn’t recognize since she was from the wrong religion. The saint left a holy imprint on his cloak that coincidentally resembles the 16^th century Spanish art style of the day (God was a huge fan) and since then, every devout Mexican Christian flocks to the Basilica, many walking on their knees, to see the image on his shirt. There is also a fabulous collection of gift shops next door where the Lady of Guadalupe is sometimes said to appear when there’s an unbeatable sale.

Next stop: the obsidian and tequila factory an hour away in Teotihuacán. A woman there showed us well over 5,000 uses for the maguey (or agave) plant and in so doing, solidified this specimen as the Superman of all perennial monocots in steppe climates. Aztecs used parts of the plant to produce alcohol and needles for sewing, which, as the Puritans discovered, is an unbeatable recipe for good times.

After a brief but unforgiving shopping spree in the gift shop, we headed to the pyramids of Teotihuacán. This site, established in 200 BC long before the Aztecs, was the greatest city in all of America (housing as many as 250,000 people) until its mysterious collapse in the 8^th century AD. Virtually nothing is known about its inhabitants, but archeologists believe a violent, internal rebellion is to blame for its destruction, citing the fact that only the elite’s houses and temples were burned, as well as the discovery of several rigged bingo cards. Jim and I spent our two hours of free time from the tour taking stupid pictures and enjoying the view.

I just want to say that while pulling my camera out at the top of a set of stairs, it slipped out of my hand and fell, hitting every stone stair along the way. The entire fall lasted about 8 seconds, as there were a lot of stairs, and the battery and SIM card came out about halfway down. After all this I sprinted down to check it and found it worked. My good friend Jim´s first thought was to take a picture of my reaction. Also, around the complex are dozens of vendors selling objects that make jaguar noises when you blow into them (which we obviously bought). We trembled at the thought of thousands who, desensitized to the roar of the jungle cat, would be mercilessly slaughtered during a sudden attack by a jamboree of jaguars.

Once we came back, Jim and I continued our quest for a die in this city (went to 15 different shopping malls before finding one) and Jim somehow seduced a nice young girl at the counter named Lucy to give him her number. Next stop was the Superama grocery store and the world’s biggest tequila bottle. While pre-gaming on our roof with a few friends, we received the greatest news ever: there was a house party. We drove outside the city and walked into an upscale house with 60 or so Mexicans ready to rage.

Here are some highlights: several people admitted they didn’t know that tequila bottles as big as ours were actually sold. We mentioned to most everyone that we heard Mexicans couldn’t drink tequila, at which point they grabbed the bottle and face chugged immediately. I was offered ecstasy twice, by the same guy, who couldn’t remember that I was the only blonde person at the party. Around 5 am, Jim disappeared from the party to call Lucy. Five times. She was angry at him for not inviting her to the party, and I think it’s all over between those two. People from our semester in Valencia: Jim came out of climbing retirement by purposefully getting lost outside the house and returning to the party by scaling the 20 foot wall surrounding the complex. He cleverly tested the electric fence at the top simply by grabbing it with his bare hands. It was either turned off or tequila is the esource of Jim's superpowers, but we all know how that could have ended. Best thing about Mexico? Everyone here likes Americans, and loves to talk to them. Which is NOT the case in Spain. The night was ridiculous and I felt like it was an Entourage party scene. And I got to be Turtle!

The next day we caught a 40 minute cab out to Desierto de los Leones National Park. Yes, there actually are trees in Mexico City. In the mountains, we toured an early 17^th century Carmelite Convent with a convoluted network of underground tunnels where the younger monks would go smoke cigs and shotgun beers. Then Jim and I picked the only direction worth going (up) and hiked until we got caught in a storm and almost stepped on a snake. Jim couldn’t resist another climb, but by the time the storm was directly overhead, it was time to sprint back down the mountain, and make our way back home. All in all, an incredibly, fun. weekend.