Stannous Flouride's Book of Truthiness

Today, my last day in Mexico, I spent visiting the once grand city of Tula. A Toltec city whose central civic and ceremonial structures covered 17 sq. km.
I climbed my last 2 pyramids there. I think nos. 12&13 or 13&14, I have to check.

During his lifetime, Diego Rivera amassed a collection of over 60,000 pieces of pre-Columbian Mexican art. By far the largest collection in private hands and at the time larger than the entire holdings of INAH in all its museums.
More than once Frida complained about his spending money they didn’t have to buy ‘one more special piece.’
She certainly loved it all as much as he did and appreciated that he was buying it to keep it in Mexico and out of the hands of foreigners.
His intent was always to have it made available to the public and when he could finally afford it he began designing this beautiful museum.
Its buildings are a well-executed blend of Mayan, Aztec, and Mixtec architecture made of local volcanic stone. He designed the mosaic ceilings, even inventing the technique for their creation. The name is Nahuatl for ‘place of the waters.

It was completed after his death by architects Juan O’Gorman and Heriberto Pagelson and Rivera’s own daughter, Ruth. 

Stand opposite each other at the middle of Parque Lincoln, separated by about 20m in space and 103 years in time. I took a few minutes from taking these pictures to clean up around both statues.
(I regularly pick up trash in parks and at historical sites here, just as I do at home and everywhere else- it’s my mom’s fault)

It’s a nice, warm, sunny day and all the museums are closed so I decide to go check out Parque Lincoln.
It’s the area where my daughter was supposed to work a couple of years ago on an AIDS education project.
It’s where a lot of embassies are and the streets have a rather interesting selection of names.
I crossed the Nile, Danube,Mississippi, and Tiber Rios and walked on Darwin across Schiller, Shakespeare, Kant, and Poe Streets.
I walked down Masaryk to Isaac Newton at Galileo before shady tables across the street caught my eye.
I’ve walked some 3 km and developed a bit of a thirst so I came over, snagged a table facing the street and said, “Solo in cerveza, por favor. ¿Tiene Indio?” “Si. ¿Grande o chica?”
I had no idea what I was ordering when I said “Grande, por favor.”

With my handy 9-inch razor sharp box cutter:

So yesterday I’m coming back from the wonderful museum that Diego Rivera built for his collection of pre-Columbian art. It’s raining, I’ve walked about 2km before finding a rickety autobus that will take me the other 4-5km to the last station on the Metro line that will take me back downtown.

Now I’m not afraid on the Metro. I realize that the reason everyone stares at me is because I’m a giant blonde gringo.

I’ve never sensed any hostility. In fact, many of the wonderful Mexican people I’ve encountered on public transit here in Mexico City and in Merida and the Yucatan have been friendly and helpful. But I am alert. Always.

When I was preparing for my trip I read several articles about traveling here and one suggested, because they might get confiscated at a check point, not carrying anything like the usual Victorinox Swiss Army Knife and Leatherman Mini-Tool that are always in my pocket at home (I am a hardware guy after all). But to just buy a cheap one after you get here. The boxcutter filled the bill nicely and has been quite handy a few times.

So, soaked and a bit bedraggled, I finally made it to the Universidad station, the last one on the line. As I got to the middle of the platform I spotted five guys who were trying but failing to look like they weren’t together.

One, who definitely gave off an Alpha vibe, checked me out and said something that made the rest turn and look at me. This, of course, might have meant nothing, but I am cautious and so I took up a position with my back against a free standing sign with my shoulder bag in front.

It was then, looking ‘casually’ around that I noticed that two of the louts had moved to my other side. My wallet and phone were in a zipped pocket and my credit card and ID in another pouch under my shirt. There was nothing of any great value in my bag but losing its contents, my sketchbook and postcards and lunch, would be a drag.

So I casually pulled the boxcutter out of my pocket and extended its four inch (11cm) blade with its notably loud clicking and began to use its tip to slowly and methodically ‘clean’ my fingernails while pointedly ignoring the group.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the two on my left had re-joined the leader, were talking, and as group they moved off down the platform. And I moved to another spot in the opposite direction.

Now I’m not saying the sight of my little blade, however sharp, was a deterrent. If they had planned to cut my bag’s strap and run then they were likely just as well, if not better, armed.

But I do believe that, as was my intention, it sent a message that was not a naïve and inattentive tourist, an easy mark.

Would I have used it if I had been assaulted?

Probably not. But I learned a long time ago that the only way to ‘win’ a fight is to make it not happen.

I spot this interesting building which, from the industrious workers I see carrying stuff out of, appears to be undergoing major renovation.
But the gate is open and I can see a courtyard so I enter and approach the police guard and only then do I notice the many frescoes that cover the ceiling and some of the walls. He knows it is by one of Diego’s contemporaries, Bujol.
But not the year. Judging by the subject matter and inherent commentary I’m guessing the late 1930s. Around every corner…

I thought that after climbing the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan my pyramid climbing days were behind me but my desire to get out of Mexico City brought me to Cholula and the chance to take on the biggest EVER ANYWHERE.
Not only was it awe-inspiring in sheer magnitude it had several other unique traits as well.
Entry began through several hundred meters of tunnels that had been dug to explore the interior of the pyramid and allowed me to see small sections of the three earlier pyramids that had been built over.
And, as mentioned below, from the top I got to see a smoking volcano. And then got a bit wet when those fumes condensed the moisture in the air into rain but it’s only water. But it’s FUCKING MEXICAN VOLCANO RAIN!!
And I think that’s pretty damn cool.

I’m adding a few pictures from the site’s small museum to show the scale model. On one side is a small green door shape where I entered the tunnels underneath.

These images were all taken within a few blocks of where I’m staying.
It’s called Zona Rosa. It has clearly gone through numerous changes and is bustling and thriving today.

What I thought was an approaching storm is actually the fumes of the volcano

Across the street from my hotel there was a nice little taqueria named ‘Hellfish'(a Simpsons reference) where I had become a regular.
I had given one of the bilingual children’s books from Last Gasp to the owners’ son. Along with the contents of several Mexican Star Wars boxes. And become friends with Samantha, the Winnipeg refugee and server.
This morning at 6am, because their landlord had not paid his taxes, they were ousted and the landlord’s parking lot was cleared and sealed behind a welded wall of steel. As I said, kind of a drag.