I wander aimlessly for days around the bewildering mass of concrete that they call 'el DF'. I am rooted here by indecision, the clamouring pile of worthy destinations too great to choose from. Despite my natural reaction to ditch this lung-rotting place, something deep inside tells me to stay. It is not long before I discover why.
Just when I am about to give myself up to the rolling chance of the dice, my first taste of real Mexico arrives, red-lipsticked, green-shorted and eyes full of life's secrets.
She bounds into my life with a series of coincidences that starts with her son, the curiously-named Albert. Just when we think we've lost him forever, he taps on my friend's shoulder amidst the madness of a busy street. We surrender to the unlikelihood of it all and follow him obediently to Calle 20 Noviembre, a shining ribbon of hot traffic carving through the hectic metropolis.
I slide into her battered green Volvo, sweaty skin sticking on fake leather. Her curly head peers round the driver's seat, teasing out my vital statistics, to which she cries "Julia Roberts!" and cackles hilariously. Any doubts I may have about getting in this random car dissolve and I know immediately I am in good hands.
Albert sits stoically in the passenger seat and to my left are squeezed the two Belgians who led me here. They too have vowed to travel on coincidence and it is the combination of all our fortunes that find us here now.
We speak in Spanglish. I am getting better every day but still lack some of the basics. I did write one word down this morning - 'La Gruta'. I don't know why I chose this word out of the thousands still incomprehensible to me, but it is my intention for the day to find out what it means.
The drive is hairy to say the least. My hostess - whose name I am still unable to pronounce and therefore to remember - thinks nothing of wildly changing lanes, chatting animatedly on her phone or spectacularly reversing back up the motorway toll road. I find out later she is a highly respected doctor and it does not surprise me. There is a deep intelligence in those sparkly eyes that make me feel safe and I am happy to leave my eyes glued to the side window.
Palm trees line the highway like soldiers. The city goes on, and on, and on.
The entire Valley of Mexico is crammed full of concrete boxes, some painted nursery school bright, others made even greyer by the ever-present smog. It squats over the capital like a doting mother. In theory we are ringed by mountains but she keeps the secret well; all I can see in the far distance is her protective haze.
This manmade ocean is undoubtedly a vision into our future. The thought makes me shiver.
As we drive we pass a huge sign saying 'La Gruta' - the second time today I have seen this word. Another small indication of something bigger than us that relaxes me even more.
After an hour or two we grind to a halt. Our destination is Teotihuacan, the site of the two biggest pyramids in Mesoamerica, both of which we climb at thigh-burning speed. Unlike most of the remaining sites like this, which were the inhabited predecessors of today's concrete jungles, Teotihuacan was built solely for the worship of gods. It is my first encounter with an ancient site like this and I am overcome with awe at its size.
The view from the Pyramid of the Sun is vast and shimmering. I wonder how many thousands of prisoners lost their lives at this spot, victims of the Aztec's core belief that the world required human blood as fuel.
We watch the sun melt into the horizon from a ledge on the top of the Pyramid of the Moon. The entire site turns a dusty orange and I am suddenly thousands of years old. I close my eyes and tune into the energy as best I can. Things start to make a little sense.
All the leaping leaves us hungry. Our tiny host leads us to a restaurant in the cool depths of a cavern to munch nachos and firey salsa.
It is called La Gruta.
My inner smile widens. Apparently the word means 'cave' and I wonder what place this has in my overall game. I can feel a current of something carrying me onwards and resolve to trust more in whatever it is that led me here.
We stop in a tiny warren of a town in search of a panetaria (bread shop) and find not only the most deliciously crunchy tortas but also a fizzingly vibrant saint's day celebration, which coats the tiny streets with all manner of stalls and ear-piercing entertainment. I am asked to dance by a laughing boy with bad breath. His attempts to induct me to the twirling ways of the Mexican dance fail miserably, leaving me to retire with my malcoordinated giggles to mis amigos y mi tequila.
The five of us bounce around the town, wide-eyed underneath brand new sombreros. Our finale is an explosion of the coolest fireworks I've ever seen. We stand underneath racks of flaming, spinning shapes and firey hoops that rise vertically like UFOs, spraying white and red, before exploding in showers of retina-branding sparks.
More than once I am hit by flaming debris. I don't care. It only burns the memory more vividly into my mind.
Back at the hostel I lie awake and shuffle the day's events like cards. Calm settles on me like the warmest blanket. For the first time since my arrival, I am excited about tomorrow.
I am a big believer in the world bringing you exactly what you need, as long as you trust that it will. Sure enough, just when I craved direction, a day of serendipitous inevitability is placed in my lap.
Faith in my journey is restored.
Just when I am about to give myself up to the rolling chance of the dice, my first taste of real Mexico arrives, red-lipsticked, green-shorted and eyes full of life's secrets.
She bounds into my life with a series of coincidences that starts with her son, the curiously-named Albert. Just when we think we've lost him forever, he taps on my friend's shoulder amidst the madness of a busy street. We surrender to the unlikelihood of it all and follow him obediently to Calle 20 Noviembre, a shining ribbon of hot traffic carving through the hectic metropolis.
I slide into her battered green Volvo, sweaty skin sticking on fake leather. Her curly head peers round the driver's seat, teasing out my vital statistics, to which she cries "Julia Roberts!" and cackles hilariously. Any doubts I may have about getting in this random car dissolve and I know immediately I am in good hands.
Albert sits stoically in the passenger seat and to my left are squeezed the two Belgians who led me here. They too have vowed to travel on coincidence and it is the combination of all our fortunes that find us here now.
We speak in Spanglish. I am getting better every day but still lack some of the basics. I did write one word down this morning - 'La Gruta'. I don't know why I chose this word out of the thousands still incomprehensible to me, but it is my intention for the day to find out what it means.
The drive is hairy to say the least. My hostess - whose name I am still unable to pronounce and therefore to remember - thinks nothing of wildly changing lanes, chatting animatedly on her phone or spectacularly reversing back up the motorway toll road. I find out later she is a highly respected doctor and it does not surprise me. There is a deep intelligence in those sparkly eyes that make me feel safe and I am happy to leave my eyes glued to the side window.
Palm trees line the highway like soldiers. The city goes on, and on, and on.
The entire Valley of Mexico is crammed full of concrete boxes, some painted nursery school bright, others made even greyer by the ever-present smog. It squats over the capital like a doting mother. In theory we are ringed by mountains but she keeps the secret well; all I can see in the far distance is her protective haze.
This manmade ocean is undoubtedly a vision into our future. The thought makes me shiver.
As we drive we pass a huge sign saying 'La Gruta' - the second time today I have seen this word. Another small indication of something bigger than us that relaxes me even more.
After an hour or two we grind to a halt. Our destination is Teotihuacan, the site of the two biggest pyramids in Mesoamerica, both of which we climb at thigh-burning speed. Unlike most of the remaining sites like this, which were the inhabited predecessors of today's concrete jungles, Teotihuacan was built solely for the worship of gods. It is my first encounter with an ancient site like this and I am overcome with awe at its size.
The view from the Pyramid of the Sun is vast and shimmering. I wonder how many thousands of prisoners lost their lives at this spot, victims of the Aztec's core belief that the world required human blood as fuel.
We watch the sun melt into the horizon from a ledge on the top of the Pyramid of the Moon. The entire site turns a dusty orange and I am suddenly thousands of years old. I close my eyes and tune into the energy as best I can. Things start to make a little sense.All the leaping leaves us hungry. Our tiny host leads us to a restaurant in the cool depths of a cavern to munch nachos and firey salsa.
It is called La Gruta.
My inner smile widens. Apparently the word means 'cave' and I wonder what place this has in my overall game. I can feel a current of something carrying me onwards and resolve to trust more in whatever it is that led me here.
We stop in a tiny warren of a town in search of a panetaria (bread shop) and find not only the most deliciously crunchy tortas but also a fizzingly vibrant saint's day celebration, which coats the tiny streets with all manner of stalls and ear-piercing entertainment. I am asked to dance by a laughing boy with bad breath. His attempts to induct me to the twirling ways of the Mexican dance fail miserably, leaving me to retire with my malcoordinated giggles to mis amigos y mi tequila.
The five of us bounce around the town, wide-eyed underneath brand new sombreros. Our finale is an explosion of the coolest fireworks I've ever seen. We stand underneath racks of flaming, spinning shapes and firey hoops that rise vertically like UFOs, spraying white and red, before exploding in showers of retina-branding sparks.
More than once I am hit by flaming debris. I don't care. It only burns the memory more vividly into my mind.
Back at the hostel I lie awake and shuffle the day's events like cards. Calm settles on me like the warmest blanket. For the first time since my arrival, I am excited about tomorrow.
I am a big believer in the world bringing you exactly what you need, as long as you trust that it will. Sure enough, just when I craved direction, a day of serendipitous inevitability is placed in my lap.
Faith in my journey is restored.
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