Mexicalways

Coming from one Latin Country to another felt like going from one (party) fiesta to another. Panama is full of people walking from one place to another, large groups standing, passing time talking with no sence of urgency or order. Then hop onto Mexico City; the air sounds of the desil trucks causing traffic jams at 2 AM. As we wait to open the door of the airplane the airport looks like we just pulled up to the titanic, stories of porthole like windows streching further than I can tell on either side. The guards whistle to me, check my bag to make sure it is mine; someone dressed pedestrian clothes is rushing up to check my paperwork is correct. If I didn't know the language I would have been sure they thought I was livestock.




Driving around the Destrico Federal is as chaotic as the airport, even at 2 AM. All of the buisnesses are closed but the streets are filled with cars and trucks taking left and right turns from the middle and side lanes. After a couple of missed exits we make it back to Buenavista to the cement five story apartment building my aunt lives in, to rest and get ready for the next day of adventure.



Before leaving on my trip people asked me; "Why Mexico City?", and in the first couple of hours I asked myself the same question. Getting out of the parking lot we are instantly met with traffic that did not end. At each stop light you could buy a; bubble making saxiphone, fresh sqeezed OJ, calling cards, get your windows washes, maybe a Mani-Pedi. When you park on the street or lot there is someone there to help you into your spot, that is smaller than a new york city apartment, and protect your car, or scratch it, depending if you pay him or not. Then we were also met with protesters, forced to go the wrong way for three turns, you don't have a choice to go to that neighborhood or not. To drive in this city my mother says everyone is in a rush, I say you need endless amounts of pacients and my aunt said courage.

After hours of disconbobulazation we parked and went for some lunch. Mexico is the home of my passion for tacos. At the Restaurant de Rita they have at least three different type of tortilla. With a packed restaurant the kitchen was a parade of smoke with dough needing, frying, plantain smushing, freshness. We got flouta's; rolled into a tortilla is chicken and cheese, they are lightly fried and then place under a guacamole salsa, lettuse, cheese, and sour cream.




I ordered Hurache; a thick masa dough hardened on a smokey street grill, topped with re-fried beans, cheese and two thin pork chops. As I took a bite of my friends steak that had been pounded thin, grilled quickly, melted in my mouth, the anger and frustration of driving melt away as well. To respect the chaos that is everything around you it allows you to enjoy all the hard work the people put into everything they do. They make easy things very difficult, but also make it taste amazing.




Ask any business owner who is the hardest workers and they will say either single moms or Mexicans. Mexico is a country of competors, they understand hard work, and they want the best/cheapest for themselves. If you put all those factors into any equation you get Mexico, when you put food into that equation that means fresh homemade food for cheap. Day one out of forty five complete and exhausted.