Green lasers and donuts: Mexico City for New Years
Dale and I arrived in the capital before dark. From the plane, Dale got the view of the slums and smog, while I heard disaster travel stories from the woman next to me on the plane (She’d been scheduled to arrive home the day before, but now would not get back to Ottawa before January 1).
We got a fairly cheap cab to the Zócalo. We had to walk across the plaza to the hostel, though, because the streets around it were all closed.
The youth hostel is located directly behind the cathedral. Beds in a communal room with bath run about $14 a night. We figured that it was not worth it to get a better place because we only planned to sleep a few hours before our next flight out in the morning.
The Zócalo is what they call the central plaza in Mexico City. For the holidays, they built a ice rink in the middle of it with vendors all around. Cops were everywhere. We had to check it out. The voice on the loud speaker announced that this was the largest ice rink in the world. Dale and I shared a laugh at the false factoid and left.
We walked looking for a restaurant in the historic center of the city. Instead we passed 4 Seven Elevens in a 5 blocks. Between Sevs, I spotted a Dunkin Donuts. We had our first app: donas. One of the only open shops was a place called El Molina—a pastry shop. The plack on the wall informed us that the place was founded in 1928. I had Nescafe and Dale had a dry, star-shaped thingy.
We located the Metro station and spent our 2 pesos on a one-way ride to the Zona Rosa—the pink zone—a somewhat seedy area known for its clubs and gay bars. We weren’t looking for the gay scene, only a neighborhood we knew would be lively. We did not really have a plan for the night, only a loose idea: walk around and find some bars.
After briefly taking the wrong way, we turned around and headed toward the Paseo de la Reforma from the Insurgentes metro stop. Reforma was completely closed for at least 10 blocks. People packed the wide avenue. More cops. There was a stage at one end with a green laser beam pointing to a large Palm tree at the other end.
We returned to the Zona still thinking about dinner. We went back to one place we saw on our way in and sat down, only to learn 10 minutes later that their kitchen was closed.
Back on the street, a man offered to find us a club, but we said we wanted food. He pointed to a woman who walked us a half block down the street to a taquería with a spinning wheel of pig meat outside. I ordered the plate of greesy beef with cheese on top, while Dale had the pork tacos. We pounded two beers each and headed on, thankful for having discoverd another Mexico City institution.
The bar down the street caught our attention with an authentic version of the Doors. A live band crowded onto a tiny stage. The street was under reconstruction and closed to traffic. The bar tables spilled out into the street. A wooden pallet balanced over a recently poured concrete ditch. Rusting rebar protruded six inches out of the ditch walls. The safety risks were apparent only to us.
Pink Floyd followed the Doors. I ordered whiskey. Dale continued with a dark draft. The band played a second set of American covers. The year ended with screams and fireworks. We caught a cab back.
