3/30-4/1 – Tenancingo to Mexico City, via volcano. Plus more good food.
On Monday the obstreperous grackles woke us up at dawn. We shared a honeydew melon in our Tenancingo hotel room and then drove back up the mountain to Tenango de Arista, where we were foiled again in our efforts to visit the pyramids by the surprising fact that they were closed on Mondays. Gnashing our teeth in disappointment, we wove our way out of town and began the drive back to Mexico City. In Tenango’s outskirts we passed a man on a bike who was wearing a beat-up down coat despite the sunshine, and ferrying a variety of dusty bundles. His basic look was that of a bike hobo, an unusual sight in Mexico. The look was made all the more unusual when I noticed as we passed that he was also wearing a plastic purple clown nose, tied to his face with string.
On this as on other mornings we sometimes passed a tractor plowing a small field, fifty egrets following along behind it in a decorous double row, hunting for breakfast in the fresh dark furrows.
Mexico City is ringed with volcanoes and we plotted a course back to town via the Volcán de Ajusco national park, which abuts the city on the southwest. The pine-forested volcano reaches nearly 13,000 feet, and the pass is maybe 1,000 feet lower, which it turns out is ample height to induce altitude headaches, even if you hurry. Descending from the volcanic park, we mustered the remains of our focus, held our breath, shut our eyes, and hurtled onto Mexico City’s circumnavigating highway. A harrowing 25 minutes later we popped out like flotsam from white water exactly where we meant to be, and found our way, panting, back home.
At the gorgeous sublet apartment it turned out that we had missed the owner, Jay, by a mere couple of hours. (A professor in the States half the year, he had returned to DF for spring break.) We were greeted by the conscientious housekeeper, Margarita, who was in the process of obliterating any evidence of Jay and already rearranging the furniture the way my folks prefer it. There followed a bit of an ordeal returning the rental car (don’t rent from Budget in Mexico City) and a truly spectacular lunch in a local seafood dive.
In the afternoon we collapsed to nurse our headaches. This was more peaceful after the demolition crew vacated the kitchen at 5:30, promising to be back the next morning to do some more thumping and install new electrical wires. For dinner we went downstairs to the street and bought quesadillas spitting hot from a woman with the hands of a magician, who tied up spoonfuls of salsa in plastic baggies for us, like goldfish you win at the fair. There were about 15 quesadilla fillings to choose from and we had mushroom, potato, chicken and corn-fungus, stuffed into tortillas and sizzled up in a big metal wok along with a dozen indistinguishable others. But unerringly she fished ours out and minutes later we ate them upstairs in the lovely apartment. A breeze blew across the cactus garden on the balcony and wandered inside, bringing with it the incessant murmur of the enormous city. There was fresh mango for dessert.
On Tuesday we awoke fully recovered and spent a happy last day in the city wandering through some lovely parks, birdwatching. In the evening we went out for dinner with our personable neighbor, Rafa, strolling among the pretty, crumbling Art Deco houses of the Condesa neighborhood. To my surprise we had veggie wraps for dinner, and they were memorably delicious.
And on Tuesday it was time to go. Dad and I made our farewells in the street when the taxi picked him up at nine. I spent a few hours getting lost in Condesa, buying fresh bread in a panadería and my last cheese, avocado and mango in the local market. I made sandwiches for the plane, I shut and locked all the windows, I took a last look from the balcony at the jacaranda trees shedding violet flowers all over the quesadilla shop. Then I put the key on the sideboard, closed Jay’s door behind me, and began the long trip home.
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