Travels thru Latin America: First week in Mexico City

I should have been traveling to Mexico City, instead I was glumly nursing a Corona beer in Crouch End, wth Jenni and reviewing the days' events; unbelievably my glasses frame broke just as I was preparing to go to the airport! Jenni heroically rushed me to the opticians, then to Heathrow to no avail; I missed the flight with an ill fitting temporary frame perched on my nose.

Luckily, I was able to book for 2 days later, giving me time to sort out all the last minute things that had been glossed over in the mad rush and managed to get my original specs refurbished to boot.

First impressions on the taxi ride to the hostel. A drab town with a lot of concrete buildings in

tersected by massive streets. Although partially true, actually Mex Cit DF is a colourful, loud, and vibrant city. Straight away on checking in to the tiny hostel I started chatting to Teté who had just started her trip and knew noone. As we stepped out to walk to the Zocalo (main square) I was struck by the flowering jacarandas and the leafy tree lined Avenida Paseo de la Reforma.

Completely different to my first impression and such a pleasure to walk down.

The Zocalo itself, crowded and noisy with¨Indians¨ doing dances for tourists, innumerable sellers, and rent-a-shamans, who were cleaning the auras of their clients (99% women) and telling their future

Very striking is the Mexican search for an identity. It first became apparent seeing Diego Rivero's mural in the Palacio Nacional. So thoroughly did Cortes and the church crush the Aztec culture (surely the most treacherous house guest ever), throwing down their structures for use as building materials and burning the codices compiled by the first priests, that pre Hispanic culture is something of a puzzle to be painstakingly uncovered; so much is conjecture. The tragedy is that Cortes himself was amazed at the architecture and the conduct of people he found, but that didn't stop him from seeing them as an enemy to be completely subjugated and crushed, their culture to be eradicated. One can't help feeling this terrible sense of loss wandering around the sites and museums...

To me, this was a complete revelation. In the wake of the repudiation of the Spanish colonial yoke there has been a vacuum, a yearning for identity which has had to be manufactured by and large. There is a tremendous pride in the national identity, but with some 60% or so of Mexicans living below the poverty line, it is largely notional. The spiritual compass was smashed. leaving the indigenous people by and large disempowered. The richest man in the world (Mexican) is of Lebanese origin. After the centenary of independence in 1910, there seems to have been a concerted effort to forge an identity. Diego Rivera seemed

to have a tremendous sensitivity and knowledge of symbols as well as huge talent, which helped synthesise the chaotic swirl of the local history. A huge curiosity with pre Hispanic history and artefacts is distilled in the museum he designed, Anuahacali, with alabaster windows the light is mystical and the arrangement of the artefacts by sacred element, each corner corresponding to earth, water, wind or fire. The ceiling designs paying homage to the ancient symbols... walking through raised goose bumps.

Nowhere was the vibrant spirit more apparent than at Frida Kahlo's house, the incredible synthesis of life and creativity that they both shared... seeing their work materials, the objects they surrounded themselves with and their art. She has to have been one of the most remarkable and courageous women who ever lived. The sheer tenacity to keep creating and painting when she was immobilised after surgery. The sheer sensuality and sexuality of her art in spite of her handicaps are totally inspiring.