And now my feet are dirty… again

I’ve been in Mexico City for a week now, which means that in a few more months I should be used to all its noise and people and traffic and food and smells and noise.

There are 22 million people in Mexico City (that’s also the population of all of Australia), which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that every single one of them takes the same metro line to work as I do. Many metro lines reserve the first few cars for women and children only, which is great, unless you forget about this and get into one of the later cars exclusively populated by men.

The upshot of such a large population is that every night feels like Canada Day. Not so much in the sense of ra-ra patriotic celebrations, but in the sense that there are always a ton of people on the streets and in public parks and squares. There are vendors selling ice cream and churros, as well as buskers, clowns and tourists.

During these events a favourite pastime of the Mexican couple is to sit on park bench already populated by a Canadian and proceed to attempt to suck each others tongues out of each others faces while the Canadian cringes in horror.


I’ve found an apartment in Coyoacan, a bohemian neighbourhood to the south of the city famous as Frida Kahlo’s former stomping ground. Indeed, her famous blue house (now a delightful museum full of her gruesome paintings) is only a ten-minute walk away.  I’m living with two Mexicans, a French girl an Australian, as well as a dog, countless spiders, cucarachas and a single dead scorpion. Together we make a rather handsome bunch.

I’ve been reading the Alquimist in Spanish, which is rather ridiculous since it was originally written in Portugese. My Spanish is coming along swimmingly, unless an important part of learning a language is being able to understand people when they speak to you. In that case I’ve still got a ways to go.


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