Teotihuacan Pyramids and our sore glutes...

Standing atop the Pyramid of the Moon w/ Pyramid of the sun behind

(Sorry for the delayed posting on this, but it's been a rough couple weeks.  If you want to start from the beginning of our trip, click here)

Even though we were exhausted from only a few days of frantic sightseeing, Trish and I managed to get our lazy asses down to the lobby in time to meet our private guide, Carlos San Roman.  He suggested the 7:30am meeting time so we could beat the Sunday crowds to the pyramids at Teotihuacan.

Carlos proved to be an excellent, and surprisingly tall (6'3"!), guide.  Though perhaps a bit dry in his delivery, he had a seemingly unlimited knowledge of pre-historic Mexico.  Though I'll admit, during the hour-long car ride I'd drift in and out of listening during his lengthy and detailed explanation of ancient Mexican history.  Don't judge.  You try staying alert during a 7:30am lecture on pre-historic peoples.  And besides, I was too mesmerized by the scenery passing by - the endless northern suburb of Ecatepec, where the homes are literally built into the hills, stacked on top of each other.

Oh, and did I mention we just barely missed dying in a high speed car chase on the highway?  It doesn't do much for the nerves hearing a siren and then turning around just in time to see a car spin across the lane and smash into the middle barrier directly behind you at 70 mph.  This must be business-as-usual in Mexico City, since Carlos didn't blink an eye.  He just calmly pulled to the shoulder at the next toll booth, rolled down his window to inform a policeman and then continued on with no further mention of the incident the rest of the day.

I'm glad we took Carlos' advice and arrived early.  The site was nearly empty so we got to explore the southern end of the Avenue of the Dead virtually tourist-free.  In the distance is the Pyramid of the Moon.

Here I go, trudging up one of the many shorter mounds surrounding the public square (Ciudadela).  Those damn pre Mesoamericans sure had long legs (or extremely tight glutes) if those high steps are an accurate indication.

After trudging the mile-long walk up the Avenue of the Dead (Carlos somehow failed to mention he could drive us to the next destination), we reached the larger pyramid, the Pyramid of the Sun.  See that little speck dead center in the white cardigan?  That's me about two thirds of the way from the top.

After my climb, we decided to take a breather and head to the Teotihuacan Museum.

One of the large murals hanging on the front facade of the museum depicting Mexico's history and mythology.

The museum was the perfect place to take advantage of Carlos' encyclopedic knowledge.  Instead of reading the placards, we let Carlos fill us in on the various artifacts - the ultimate lazy tourist move.  Above are ceremonial braziers.  I thought they were pretty so I made Trish take a picture.

These unfortunate fellows were human sacrifices to the Gods.  They were buried together in a mass grave.

Here's the view from the Pyramid of the Moon looking south to the Pyramid of the Sun (far right).  With Mexico City's high elevation and those crazy-steep stairs, I was sweating like a meth'd up crack whore in July by the time I reached the pyramid's first platform.  Because of the deterioration on the pyramid, tourists aren't allowed any higher.

Trish and I strike a pose in front of the Pyramid of the Sun.  As you can see, there are literally no railings on the Pyramid and according to Carlos, nobody's ever fallen.  I find it hard to believe some frustrated mom's never "accidentally" pushed her screaming eight-year-old off the side.

Trish decided to take a breather on her way to the top, but decided that if she wanted to waste her day on the stairmaster, she'd have stayed at the hotel.  So after this picture was taken, she made her way back down to solid ground.

Pretty steep, huh?  See tiny Carlos and Trish (hint: next to the arrow)?  Believe it or not, there were, like, 90-year-old grannies trudging to the top.  Again, no one's ever fallen?  Sounds a bit suspect to me.

Here's my shot for the GAP Mexico City catalog.

Fun with the iPhone!  Trish takes this panoramic shot of the square in front of the Pyramid of the Moon.  Carlos and I are mesmerized by something in the distance.

Here's the view looking south down the Avenue of the Dead from the Pyramid of the Moon.  I can't believe we actually walked that entire length when we could've driven.  Oh, Carlos.

Trish sports her new, sassy native look.  And before you report us to the NAACP, the Mexican clerk dressed her up like this and insisted we take a picture.  Way to perpetuate those stereotypes, Mexico!

Climbing pyramids sure does work up the appetite.  So we left the tourist crowds behind and settled in for an al fresco lunch at a nearby restaurant.  This tasty carnivore's delight was the perfect end to a strenuous morning of stair-climbing (cheap, too - about 100 pesos ($9)!).  Incidentally, a busload of Scandinavian tourists were seated around us and several of them ordered... wait for it... hamburgers!  4000 miles from home and you order a hamburger?

After a couple of power naps (both in the car ride back from Teotihuacan and at the hotel), Trish and I decided for one last "hoorah" in old Mexico City.  Sunday is apparently everyone's day off because the city was bustling with people.  It was also the first time we'd seen people taking pictures.  Emboldened, we decided it was OK to whip out our phones for a couple of touristy shots.  Above is the fancy Palacio de Bellas Artes (Palace of Fine Arts).

With our weekend jaunt to Mexico City coming to an exhausting end, we wearily trudged back to the hotel, ordered room service and fell asleep to re-runs of CSI: Miami in subtitled Spanish.

More pictures here.

Our final day of travel hell...

Mexico City or bust...

A poncho and sombrero is not a good look for me.

Everyone's been asking how I chose Mexico City for my President's Weekend mini-vacation.  To be honest, it was random.  I was trying to think of places that would feel foreign and exotic, were less than a 5-hour plane ride from NYC and had a really good dollar exchange rate.  Et voilá - Mexico City!  And given our unusually brutal winter, it didn't hurt that our trip would coincide with the beginning of Mexico's summer season.

From people's surprised reactions, you'd think I'd planned a trip to Columbia to tour the cocaine fields.  I'm not denying that certain precautions would need to be taken (I'd have to leave my diamond-studded clutch at home) but Mexico City is a major metropolitan area.  Could it be much worse than the sketchiest parts of the South Bronx or Harlem?  Besides, I've been to Manila, Rio and São Paolo.  I know sketch when I see it.

To take full advantage of my three-day weekend, I took Friday off from work as a travel day.  Trish booked us some cheap early morning flights (somehow we managed to talk our friend, Chris Grimm, into driving us to Newark at 5:30 in the morning) and we reserved a hotel near the historic central district (Hotel Emporio Reforma).

Taking heed of online warnings, we also decided to book a private driver for the airport transfers to and from our hotel.  Why take the chance of spoiling a perfectly good vacation with an unscheduled kidnapping, right?

The arrivals gate in Mexico City was chaos.  Just loads of people waving and screaming in Spanish and holding up name signs.  Thankfully, we found our driver right away.  After a polite handshake and perfunctory “hola,” he literally grabbed our luggage from out of our hands and sprinted into the crowded terminal.  Dear God, were our skeptic friends right?  Would we be stranded with no clothes and no cash, forced into the underground sex trade by a wealthy drug lord, arrested and thrown into a jungle prison and our sad situation re-enacted by C-list actors on an episode of Locked Up Abroad: Stupid Tourist Edition?  Or was I perhaps over-reacting? 

As it turned out, our driver was just a brisk walker.  Trish and I awkwardly raced after him but managed to slow him down long enough to stop at a 7-11 to buy some water and make change for tips.

Traveler’s note:  If you visit Mexico City, have plenty of change in your pockets because the service workers here are like your bratty nieces and nephews, always looking for a handout whether they deserve it or not.  Except here, instead of moping and slinking away when you refuse, they kidnap and hold you for ransom.

We eventually got to the van, which was parked at a nearby hotel seemingly miles away from the terminal.  Too tired and sweaty to complain, we jumped in and soon found ourselves weaving in and out of the crazy Mexico City traffic.

At first glance, the palm trees, slightly run-down buildings and all the brown faces reminded me of a slightly dilapidated Miami circa 1980.  Then we hit a slightly more ghetto area and I was reminded of Mexico City’s third world status.  Thankfully, our hotel was located in an upscale neighborhood on a major thoroughfare.

After checking in and unpacking, we headed to the lobby to grab a map.  Refreshed by our new surroundings, we decided not to relax, but instead head straight out to explore the city.

As hardcore New Yorkers, Trish and I decided to hoof it to the historic central square, the Zócalo, about a 20 minute walk from our hotel.  The government happened to be holding a military exhibition and recruiting event so the usual empty square was filled with tanks, trucks and armed militia.  Not exactly the most soothing sight for a first time visitor. 

Not wanting to risk recruitment, we high-tailed it across the street and ducked into the beautiful Metropolitan Cathedral to soak in the Holy Spirit and grab a couple of rosaries as gifts for the 'rents.  

Fancy, huh?  We couldn't get any closer to the altar because the church had been rented out for a wedding that evening.

Mesmerized by the glitz, Trish and I rested our tired tootsies in front of one of the many dazzling shrines located throughout the cathedral.  I haven't seen this much bling since The Jersey Shore went off the air. 

 

One of the fancy carved doors to the cathedral.

Trish strikes a pose in front of the Palacio Nacional, just across the square from the cathedral.

Emboldened by the disappointing lack of grit and crime, on our walk back to the hotel from the Zócalo Trish and I decided to venture off the main boulevard and explore some of the busier side streets.  Heck, it's a Friday night and we're brown, so we blended in quite easily with the partying masses. 

Our first off-the-beaten-path find was Casa Churra.  We stepped right up to the take-out window where lovely Maria (names have been changed to protect the innocent) served us up chocolate and dulce de leche churros.  The restaurant had a full dining room as well, but we had already gorged on tortillas at Vips, a popular Mexican food chain akin to our Denny's.

Trish makes an oh-no-you-don't face in front of Casa Churra's menu board when she sees me eying her churros.

With the completion of churro-palooza, Trish and I rolled down the street and stumbled wide-eyed into a magical land of bread and pastry otherwise known as Pastelería Ideal.  Talk about your carbo loading. 

 

Still brushing the churro crumbs off my distended belly, I grabbed a tray and some metal tongues and started piling on the empty calories.  Ideal works like the Asian bakeries in NYC's Chinatown.  You grab what you want and then take everything up to the counter where they wrap up your goodies and charge you per item.  Of course, nothing was labeled so we sort of randomly chose any item slathered in butter, cream or sugar.

With our 10 pounds of baked goods snuggly wrapped up, we headed toward the direction of our hotel.  Mexico City is laid out like the West Village, no real grid system.  So it was a bit tricky finding our way back.  Along the way we passed through Chinatown (cute, but super small) as well as some seedier side streets where spits of unidentifiable meat were roasting, just waiting to be carved up and fed to the hungry masses.  In my head I could hear the ominous opening strains of Sweeney Todd.  No mystery meat tacos for me this trip, thank you very much. 

Exhausted, we hit the sack early so we'd be rested up for our first full day in Mexico City.

Mexico City - Day 2...time for some art

Saturday, February 16
(Click here for Day 1 of our Mexican adventure)

Having made it through our first night in Mexico City without developing a case of the third world squirts, Trish and I got our tired asses up early Saturday morning to try and beat the tourist crowds.  Since we had a specific itinerary planned out, we decided to forego the Gray Line bus and just jump in a cab.

Scarred for life by the movie Man on Fire, my head danced with images of sweet little Dakota Fanning getting kidnapped and held at gunpoint by Mexican drug lords.  There's no way I was going to end up some billionaire coke dealer's bitch.  So instead of hailing a street cab, we decided to pay a little extra for one of the hotel's licensed tourist taxis.

Thankfully, a cab ride in Mexico City is nowhere near as expensive as a nasty NYC yellow cab.  And after some fairly tame negotiations in broken Spanish, Trish and I were able to secure our driver for 200 pesos an hour (that's roughly $16 US - eat that NYC cabbies!).  Our first stop...

...the Coyoacán district to visit artist and muralist Diego Rivera's studio/house which has been converted into a museum.  We arrived just as it opened and literally had the entire place to ourselves.  Here, like most museums in Mexico City, you can pay an extra fee to take pictures inside - flash-free, of course.  I think it was around 50 pesos (about $4 US).

Rivera and Kahlo were like the Kristen Stewart and Rob Pattinson of their day, except with talent.  Given their tumultuous relationship, Rivera built a separate apartment (connected only by a bridge across the roof) for Kahlo during one of their many periods of separation.  Mexicans sure do like their primary colors, don't they?

These super creepy dolls were displayed in Rivera's bedroom overlooking his bed.  Dude obviously had a super freaky dark side or one sick sense of humor.

Some of the many shelves of pigments Rivera used and mixed for his artwork.

Walking into his main studio, we were greeted by this army of ghoulish, larger-than-life papier mache figures.  Not exactly welcoming.  For reference, the tallest figure (red devil) is probably around seven feet tall.

 

It would appear Mexicans have a certain affinity for death and morbidly disturbing imagery.  Take this wall o' skeletons also hanging in Rivera's studio.

 

More creepy dolls.  I sense a theme here.

Rivera's palette and brushes.

 

Trish and I strike a pose outside the entrance to Rivera's house.  We just wanted a shot next to the nifty cactus fence.  

After waking our napping driver who waited in the car while we explored (ah, the joys of a third world country - cheap labor!), we headed to our next destination...

Mexico City - Day 2 continued...more art & what else, tacos!

(Click here for Day 1 of our Mexican adventure)

After spending the morning appreciating art and satisfying our voyeuristic tendencies at casa Rivera, Trish and I decided to take a tourist break and engage in some retail therapy.  Since all the travel guides raved about El Bazaar Sábado and since we happened to be in Mexico City on the one day during the week the market's open, we decided it must be destiny.  We had our driver, Jeeves (not his real name, as I can't remember it), drive us to the cobble-stoned San Ángel neighborhood to pay a visit to this Saturday-only market that features traditional and upscale Mexican arts and crafts in a sprawling centralized shopping area.  Think NYC street fair except with fine art rather than five-dollar pashminas and sunglasses.

We didn't take many pictures because the artists were really sensitive about having their paintings and artwork photographed.  I wasn't about to take the chance of getting into some ugly confrontation that would end with me being hauled off by the police to become someone's prison bitch for the sake of a blog post.  I'm not that committed.

With our travel budget tighter than spanx on a Kardashian, we headed straight to the most ghetto looking part of the market - a collection of rickety tables under an old tarp. I know you're not supposed to judge by appearances, but if there was a bargain to be had, it would certainly be here and not in the fancy shmanzy Spanish colonial villa next door.

Sadly, after a fairly uninspiring afternoon perusing the various booths (is there really any occasion where a brightly striped, Mexican poncho is appropriate?), we decided to just window shop and enjoy a taco in the central courtyard.

With the artist's back turned to us, I took the opportunity to snap a covert shot of the art-strewn walkways at El Bazaar Sábado.

After slipping this little chiquita a couple pesos, she let us take her picture.  She's about to throw a freshly pressed tortilla onto the grill for our dining pleasure.

Seriously, a couple pesos can get you anything in Mexico.  We paid our taco girl to take a picture of us from her vantage point.  Below us are the bowls of yummy fixin's just waiting to set our intestines on fire.  And speaking of food, who's that cute Mexican tamale hovering over my right shoulder?

Delicious.  I'm literally inhaling that beef taco.  Notice the spicy, oily goodness dripping onto my plate.

Though most of the fine art (sculpture, paintings and furniture) was gorgeous and comparatively affordable, it was still way out of our budget.  We didn't leave empty handed, though.  Trish did some impressive haggling with a jewelry vendor and made off with a couple of funky over-sized rings.  And me?  Just stuff a taco in me and I'm good.

On to Frida Kahlo's house!

Frida's house...

Sticking to our budget, we left the bazaar empty-handed.  We found our driver fast asleep in the car, literally parked halfway onto the street, blocking traffic.  I guess the parking stripes in Mexico are optional.

With a few sound taps on the window, we roused Pedro from his siesta and headed to Frida Kahlo's house and museum, appropriately named La Casa Azul.

We asked Pedro to get a shot of Trish and I in front of Kahlo's house but somehow he managed to completely frame us out of the shot.  Not even a cut off head or anything.  Weird.

Kahlo's childhood home (and were she also returned to live before her death) has been converted into a museum dedicated to her life and work.  Some of the rooms have been converted into galleries, but many rooms have been left intact including her studio.

Girlfriend definitely had a dark side.  Above is a sculpture Kahlo created of herself, complete with unibrow, back brace and bloody distorted legs (she suffered from childhood polio, so her right leg never fully developed).  This life-sized daily reminder of Kahlo's every physical flaw hangs in her bedroom.  What a delightful sight to wake up to every morning.  No wonder she suffered from depression.

Who's that handsome devil?  Oh, it's just me hanging out in the house's central courtyard.  The world would be a much happier place if more houses were painted bright blue.

It turned out that during our visit Vogue was sponsoring a special exhibition - Las Apariencias Engañan: los Vestidos de Frida Kahlo (Smoke and Mirrors: The Dresses of Frida Kahlo).

No, these aren't medieval torture devices.  These are a sampling of the various braces and corsets Kahlo needed to help support her back after a trolley accident left her with a broken spinal column.

Childhood polio left Kahlo with an underdeveloped right leg so she had her shoes built up so that her legs would match.  Miss Thing had a serious streak of bad luck when it came to her health.  I guess suffering really does create great art.

Some of Kahlo's signature frocks on display.

Straight out of an S&M catalog, this outfit was designed by Jean Paul Gaultier and inspired by Kahlo.

These fancy frocks, also inspired by Kahlo, are Givenchy originals.

All that art and shopping sure works up the appetite.  I usually keep a wide berth of Western fast food chains while in a foreign country, but the signage outside Burger King for the King Dog both disgusted and fascinated me so I had no choice but to stop in for a sample.

All hail the flatulence-inducing power of the King Dog!  Ketchup, mustard, fried onions and cheese on a sesame seed bun.  

After a brief siesta in our hotel room bathroom it was time to head to bed.  Tomorrow is our last full day in Mexico and we've booked a private guide to take us to the ancient pyramids first thing in the morning.