Mexico City worked it out today to the tune of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and won itself a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records… The most people dancing Thriller ever record? Something like that.
First though, they swayed along to Heal The World and We Are The World, and even sang happy birthday (well, Mañanitas) to Michael on what would have been his 51st bday. Sweet. Mexico te quiere mucho, Michael!!
Yo Si Bailo Thriller... Yeah, I'm dancing Thriller!
Lots of little Michaels
Rain --> lite chaos
Interview with one of the choreographer/dancers
Undercover reporter in bright pink: Joy against the Thrillers
Little dancer hams it
An early Halloween... Todos somos zombies!!!!
The view
Group cheer!
Checking out the souvenirs
And some video… This was just their first practice- they went all afternoon and finally did the full 13-minute version to break the Guinness Record.
Well, at long last, I’m back. But before I get down to the business of blogging about all things Mexico, por favor indulge me while I stray off-topic, and take it back to my other world, a.k.a. the motherland, a.k.a. Alaska. I took a trip back to Alaska earlier this summer, which came as a welcome break, really, kind of an antidote to Mexico at a time I’d been feeling a bit over-Mexified.
It seems for a lot of people living abroad, home is like a barometer of just how much distance makes the heart grow fonder. There are things you miss, things you’re glad to get away from, and things you didn’t really know you had till they’re gone. Some days in Mexico I get pretty nostalgic for certain things I had when I lived in Alaska: a 10 minute walk to work, a cozy apartment with heating included, family, old friends, a salary that allowed a little wiggle room, good beer, forests, recycling, cross country skiing… Fresh air, the smell of the ocean, a reliable postal service, NPR, hulu, bagels, you know.
It had been a year since I’d been back to AK, so I had to pack in my favorite things and places and people into way too short a time. I went to beaches and backyards and rode on boats, watched whales and the 4th of July parade, ate potato salad, halibut, and salmon, drank plenty of Alaskan beer, made a rhubarb pie, walked in the forest, got a few bug bites and a little bit sunburned.
On the way back, doing the Juneau-Mexico City trip all in one day is kind of a doozy, so I came back to Mexico groggily, wishing for more time in my last frontier. But I’ve definitely warmed back up to this Mexican life since coming back. After all, this is home now too.
More on Mexico later… Here’s some of my pics from Alaska Summer ‘09.
Skipping rocks. That's the glacier in background, por supuesto.
Picnic at the beach, featuring a new classic: bun-based s'mores!
4th of July parade, downtown Juneau
Hanging with Baby G
The big rigs are as tall as the buildings, and always kind of exciting
A world champion beard, in the land of fully bearded men
Just a few bagpipers
Fun with driftwood at Sandy Beach
Backyard barbeque
Still life with beer
Evening view, looking across channel at downtown Juneau from Douglas
Crossing the channel
Douglas bridge, blurry Juneau
Midnight fireworks over the channel
Wood chopping technique A
Wood chopping technique B
Captain Talbot on the lookout
Went along on a boat run to pick up the miners off their island.
Bosco checks the view of Point Retreat Lighthouse, where he grew up.
On my friend's boat, looking for whales...
Looking for whales...
Whales! At one point they got so close it was kinda scary.
All right, let’s get this much out of the way: I love mole. A few days ago I had some mole that I would qualify as just mediocre on the scale of mole greatness. But, since it was on the scale at all (as in, it was mole), it was delicious anyway.
My favorite presentation of mole is on a plate of chicken enchiladas. At first glance, it’s quite no-nonsense: shredded chicken rolled in tortillas plus the sauce… But oh, the sauce. It’s a sauce that I find often gets better as it cools off a little while you eat. The chocolate flavor comes out of hiding more as it cools, and you may find yourself eating just a little more, and just a little more, until you’ve eaten yourself into a food coma that has your eyes crossing as you stare with overstuffed remorse at your mole-streaked Talavera plate. Unless they really slathered it on, in which case you’ll never see that pretty ceramic plate, just an endless lake o’ mole.
I’m talking here about mole poblano, of course. Though there are many moles to be found in Mexico, the poblano is the most famous, that richer-than-thou mixture of chiles, chocolate, spices, nuts, seeds, and about 20 others of your favorite ingredients, all toasted and/or ground up and mortar and pestled and cooked and stirred into sauce.
Very necessary: chiles
The not-so-secret ingredient: chocolate
The story goes that some nuns created this mole in Puebla back in the 17th century, when they received a surprise visit from some archbishop or other, and found themselves with nothing delicious on hand to serve him. Well, they went for the kitchen sink approach, and turned a long and varied list of ingredients into the thick, dark sauce that we call mole.
Apparently the ingredient list has simplified a little over the years, but you’ll still need 20-ish little piles of seeds and stuff to turn your “I made my own mole” dreams into reality. It’s famously labor-intensive, which means it’s often made in huge batches, and also means you will never, ever find me slaving over a vat of mole on a Sunday afternoon. I prefer to continue my restaurant-to-restaurant and market-to-market gastronomic tour, sampling other people’s moles, thank you very much. And really: thank you, very much. To Mexican cuisine in general and those nuns back in Puebla, for giving us the culinary delight that is mole.
Reportedly, where it all began. The kitchen in the Santa Rosa convent in Puebla.
Oh, by the way, I’m not the only one singing mole’s praises. Check out this Lila Downs song, La Cumbia del Mole. She had both Spanish and English versions of the song on her album La Cantina. She’s singing about Oaxaca, the land of 7 moles.
Forget the swine flu… Mexico has come down with metal fever.
This weekend Metallica is playing in Mexico City for the first time in ten years, and metaleros are stoked. So stoked that the original two concerts were sold out within an hour or so, and a third date was added, which also sold out promptly. As far as I can tell, that makes DF second to only Copenhagen in the number of concerts planned on the current tour. Copenhagen, btw, gets 5 nights.
Now, I haven’t thought much about Metallica myself since they were big in my middle school days. But metal in general seems to have kept the fire burning here in Mexico– it’s certainly more popular here than anywhere I’ve ever lived. Of course, I’ve never lived in Copenhagen. But two of my coworkers are going to the shows this weekend, and one of them even went when they played here 10 years ago. He’s also had the latest Metallica album cover as the desktop image on his computer for the past 3 months. I’m telling you, the metaleros of Mexico are stoked!
And now… the metal has landed. Lars and company arrived in DF yesterday. So, 10 years of pent-up metal energy is releasing at the Foro Sol tonight, Saturday, and Sunday. Ready, Set, ¡Qué heavy!
One of the things I love about this city is that there’s never a dull visual moment. There’s always layers and layers of colors, contrasts and crazy stuff…
Like this little scene around the corner from my house.
I’d like to think this is an alien polar bear ruling the world in an alternate universe. But that’s just my take.
La Novicia Rebelde has been showing here at the Teatro Insurgentes for a little while, and every time I walk by, I have to wonder what Julie Andrews would think of such blatant re-branding.
A friend pointed out that the play’s name en español kind of gives away the story. Pretty much the first act, I’d agree. And it almost turns “How do you solve a problem like Maria?” into the flagship song, rather than “The Sound of Music” itself. Hmph.
But it is one of my favorite re-namings I’ve seen so far, gets points for creativity. It’s interesting to see which names stay the same in Mexico, which get a straightforward translation or just a slight tweak, and which names undergo a complete makeover.
Just a few examples:
“James and the Giant Peach” saw its hero renamed: “Jim y el Durazno Gigante.”
“90210″ looks the same, but is pronounced “Noventa Doscientos Diez,” or sometimes nicknamed “Beverly.”
“Twilight” was straightforward: “Crepúsculo.”
“Law and Order” too: “La Ley y el Orden.”
“Slumdog Millionaire” got a verb: “Quisiera ser Millonario” (I’d like to be a millionaire).
“W.” became the rather more editorial “Hijo de … Bush.”
Then a lot of shows and movies just keep their original English names but get a slightly new accent. Such as one that we’re still waiting for here in Mexico… Star Trek, otherwise pronounced as Estar Trek.
In Mexico, you can buy stuff everywhere. You might not necessarily come across what you want, when you want it, but the vendors of the informal economy are always around with something to offer. From batteries to lottery tickets to cups of Jell-O, bootleg DVDs to the roving pen salesman, there are always plenty of wares to choose from.
Today I just want to celebrate the things you can buy out of the back of pickup trucks…
Fruits and veg!
Plants!
Okay, this is in Chiapas, but definitely deserves a nod: fresh banana chips!
And that’s just scratching the surface. There’s a pickup that comes around the neighborhood regularly, with a recorded voice playing over and over on the loudspeaker announcing its merchandise: used refrigerators, mattresses, tables and chairs, washing machines. Like a portable garage sale, with free delivery!
You can get sandwiches from a pickup, wicker baskets from a pickup, handmade furniture from a pickup, used clothing from a pickup, and so much more. I used to have my own little pickup truck, and I never put it to nearly such good use as this. But if I ever have one again, I’ve got a few ideas.
I have some coworkers who tend to get into very heated discussions over what you might call pendejadas… Which, if you consider that a pendejo is an idiot, I’m gonna translate pendejadas as idiocies. It’s more like shooting the breeze really, but with each side accusing the other of spouting puras pendejadas– aka, pure idiocy.
I’ve been told that at least one of these discussions has ended in tears. The topic? Whether it’s better to spend all weekend holed up with your significant other or to “go out and do stuff.”
The other day, over Chinese take-out in the kitchen at work, I was treated to some pendejadas about rock en español. The departure point for discussion was a general consensus that it’s a shame the best known Mexican band in the rest of the world is Maná. That Maná is going out and representing as the crowned princes of Mexican pop/rock. But who would be better?
The ensuing discussion went something like this:
Café Tacuba, obviously. (Other heavy-hitters of Mexican rock.)
No way, man, Café Tacuba is chafa, chafisima (low quality).
Yes, but Café Tacuba are better musicians.
Well, Café Tacuba are probably the best musicians but they don’t necessarily put their musical talents to good use. Like, they mostly use their powers to produce mediocrity.
Well, the best drummer in all of Latin America, hands down, is Alex Gonzalez from Maná.
No, dude, how can you make such an unequivocal statement, when there are so many drummers you’ve never even heard play– for example all the drummers around the Caribbean who’ve been playing since they were 2 years old, and way more talented than anyone in Maná, but we just don’t know who they are.
But you just said Maná was the best.
Nope, all I said was they’re better than Café Tacuba.
Well, probably the Caifanes were the best of all anyway.
Murmurs of agreement around the table. End of discussion.
My personal take on the debate? Well, it’s somewhere in between comparing apples and oranges and six of one, half a dozen of the other.
The thing about Maná is that they’ve been reliably producing the same pop sound for about million years (started in ‘78, went big around ‘90). However, they’re widely disparaged by anyone with an iota of cool in their body, due to the utter schmaltziness of it all, but the fact remains that they put out some super-catchy melodies. And I bet that if you took a random sidewalk poll here in Mexico City, you’d get about 95% of people to sing you the chorus to at least 10 different Maná singles.
Here’s a Maná sample, Clavado en un Bar:
Café Tacuba, on the other hand, is a little more of an enigma. They’re deliberate genre-shifters, and have come out with rock en español, pop ballads, norteño music, folk music, punky stuff, ska-ish stuff, and hip-hop-ish stuff. You never really know what you’re gonna get, but they’ve had some good songs along the way. I wonder if, because they’re hard to nail down, they’re a pretty good metaphor for Mexico itself. Hmm. (Insert travel guide introduction to the diversity of Mexico’s people, environment, culture, and cuisine here.)
One of Café Tacuba’s most popular songs is the norteño-style Ingrata:
As for the Caifanes, I’m afraid I must plead near-ignorance, except for their cover of the Cuban cumbia, La Negra Tomasa, which is a good one.
Anyhow, I found this particular discussion on rock en español to be more educational than many of the usual lunchtime pendejadas about, for example, the pros and cons of Coca-Cola.
Every morning I wake up to the ch-ch-ch of the señora sweeping the sidewalk around my apartment building. You would think that the cars revving and honking and going unmuffled down the eje (traffic artery) a half a block away would be the sound to wake me up. But I think I’ve gotten semi-used to the traffic because it’s so constant: I fall asleep to it, I wake up to it, sometimes I do yoga to it, etc. The sweeping, however, happens once a day, without fail, every morning around 7 o’clock.
And similar sweeping is happening on sidewalks all over the city. Most businesses and residences have somebody sweep the sidewalk directly outside their building every morning. Parks and public places get their daily sweep from city employees (who, by the way, keep their face masks on all year round, to protect themselves from the dust they’re stirring up). Street vendors sweep or mop their section of the sidewalk every morning before they set up, like this lady getting the area ready for her taco cart.
Everywhere you go, somebody’s sweeping. It’s like a national obsession… not quite on the level of soccer, but I would say definitely higher up than the actual, official national sport. Oh, what is the national sport of Mexico, you ask? According to my research, in 1933 the government declared the Deporte Nacional to be charrería, which is a rodeo-type equestrian event. I have yet to see any evidence of this charrería, or meet anyone who’s mentioned being a fan, but maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places. Check out the pics in this video, though. Looks action-packed, and the women do it in frilly skirts!
Well, sweeping certainly doesn’t get as much glory as other sports here in Mexico. I’m sure the sweepers don’t get paid nearly as much as those pro futbolistas, and they don’t get to wear chaps like the charros. But heck, if they’re gonna call curling a sport, I’d say sweeping qualifies too. And the lady who goes for it every morning below my bedroom windows is a real champ. Ch-ch-ch… Buenos dias!
After effectively shutting itself down and getting disturbingly quiet for a couple weeks due to the “swine incident,” Mexico City is getting back to its normal chaotic self.
People are eating tacos on the sidewalk, going back to school, working their normal 12-hour days, waiting in lines around the block to go to the bank, and taking their lives in their hands to dash across the Circuito Interior. I’ve also seen quite a few illicit kisses on the cheek– something the government is still advising against.
Metrobus in the morning
Wednesday morning, crossing the street
But when you take the delicate equilibrium of “normal” DF living, and add a little weather to the equation, it’s always interesting to see the chaos intensify.
Rain in the DF usually brings with it a high probability of power outages, a likelihood of mostly-full cabs, and a 100% chance of jam-packed public transportation.
It rained on and off yesterday, and the bus ride home last night was a demonstration of sardine-packing at its best (as in, worst). Wet, squirmy sardines, trying to get in and out of the can at regular but decidedly disorderly intervals. Just chaos as usual.
And amidst the elbows to the back, the stepping on feet, the people breathing heavily on my forearm, and the strain to not get into any too-compromising situations, I think I heard Mexico City whisper in my ear, “I’m baaaaaack.”
Some cute new decor on the bus: "Health is in your hands!"
