L'auberge Mexicano

In this movie, a straight laced American moves into an apartment bordering the ghetto in México City with a cast of seven other characters from México, Germany, France, Italy, and England.

Leonardo, the Italian, 26, philosophizes and speaks the language of love. His girl friend, whose name is unpronounceable, is visiting from Belgium. They met in Spain while studying abroad three years ago and only speak Spanish with each other. She speaks French, Spanish, and a little English, while he speaks Italian and Spanish. They can only communicate in Spanish and are the modern international couple.

The funniest thing about everyone is that they speak Spanish with their own accents. For example, if I didn’t know any better I would think Morgan, la Francesa, 23, was speaking French, that Leonardo was speaking in sing-song Italian, and that Manuel was speaking Méxican. Es interesante.

CULTURAL REFLECTIONS:
The rich and the poor. They are like night and day, like Webster and Shaq, like our president’s brain and that of an orangutan, like D.F. and Manhattan. Although I have not been to a “poor” neighborhood, every single cabbie has said, “if you want to live, you should avoid (insert lengthy list of neighborhoods here).”

So, I guess I should draw the distinction between places I have been: the rich and “middle-class” areas. The wealthy parts of town, like Polanco, are spotless. No really, streets and sidewalks clean enough to eat off of. Everyone is well dressed and in suits. In the middle-class neighborhoods I stick out dramatically even in my cheap suits, the trees lining the side-walk act as trash receptacles, and the taco stands are plentiful.

You can buy Gucci, drink Starbucks, and try on Armani in Polanco. In Escandon, my neighborhood, you are lucky if you can find Wrangler jeans, eat McDonalds, or drink Nescafé. The distribution of wealth resembles that of much of Latin America: there is virtually no middle-class and the rich and poor are extremes on the spectrum. Corruption, power, and education equal enormous wealth, and without two out of those three, you are selling gum and cigarettes to motorists at stop lights.

So many questions. Why is it that all old Mexican ladies carry more than they can physically bear? They are too tough. I asked a lady if I could help her with her bags, she drew them closer, glared at me, and walked quickly away. Perhaps it is just as simple as the fact that the words my friend’s have been teaching me don’t mean what they say.

The food. Did somebody say tacos? Did somebody say cheese, salsa picante, and grease? Why do Mexicans love Subway? Is it Jerry Fogales winning personality? Is it their fresh vegetables? No, I think it’s the only food you can buy that isn’t saturated with grease or covered with cheese. But I love it. Cheap eats, like $1 to $2, for a meal is right up my alley.

Transportation. The metro is much nicer and cleaner than I imagined. And a ride costs less than 20 cents! Holy canoli! And yes, for those Washingtonians, you must have realized that la Capital de México stole our subways name. La capital a la capital.

Side Notes:

Well, the Yahoo Groups idea failed miserably. 26 of the 165+ signed up. I thought you people were of a modern generation. I thought you would be able to click on a link and sign up, but I was mistaken. So, all of you, even those not desiring to read lengthy emails with humor from México are going to receive emails anyway.

If anyone wants to send me some goodies, perhaps a burrito from Chipolte or anything else that I can’t get here please send it to:
Kip Pastor
Constitución 32
Colonia Escandon
11800, México, D.F. C.P.

There is also a house phone, but it is not private and you have to call international.
(001) 52-55-5515-7548. I leave my house at 7:45am and return somewhere around 8pm. And you shouldn’t call after 10:30pm EST. So there is a very small window when I will most likely be cooking or eating. But feel free to give me a buzz sometime.

Although I now know James Taylor was singing bitter sweet, more bitter than sweet, reflections in his song, I still love the song and it will remain an anthem for this experience.

Shout Outs: Gotta give it up to Miguel Basanez otra vez, my savior; Gregory for a pre-birthday wish, Happy Birthday!; all those cats writing me emails; and for those homies still looking for a place to live, you know who you are. Holler.