I forgot to note a new, more exciting anniversary. I’ve been here a year. And while it feels inextricably linked to the drama that preceded it, it stands a bit on its own as an important piece of owning my life, of seizing it, and of realizing dreams. And I’ve learned so much.
I’ve learned that there’s a whole other tense in Spanish called subjuntivo, though it does not roll off my tongue. But I love it’s concept- a way of conveying, a wish, uncertainty, or a dependency. I’ve learned that I bend too far in romantic relationships, though not so much on how to counteract that. That tomatoes can grow on trees, but not quite how to eat that variety. That the modernization theory of development is deeply flawed, but not what should take its place. And mostly, I’ve learned to be here, to be uncomfortable, and I’m working on showing myself grace while still helping myself show up how I want to.
This solitude itself doesn’t scare me, but I am scared of being alone forever. Of not living with someone again. I have no idea if this needs to be romantic. There’s amazing things you can do and achieve all by your onesy, there’s friendships that see you through, but I miss someone experiencing life with me. And I’m also rather scared that one gets too rigid in one’s ways and it may just get harder and harder to make the space another person takes up. And I feel like a shit feminist for this.
I find myself waking up and crying in the sweetness of Leo. Immediately upon waking up, he becomes my little spoon, cuddled up against me seeking pets and giving the occassional lick. He is insistent and utterly disarming. And it makes me sad to have 2/3 of the family I expected. It makes me sad that Mike doesn’t know this amazing pup. It makes me feel both blessed in that its such a sweet and pure moment that’s reflective of the most important animal relationship I’ve ever had, and then also deeply deeply tenderly sad at what’s been lost.
My therapist has tasked me with building a list of things I need in a relationship. My initial list was, admittedly, geared toward everything Mike did not give me. The plus of the dating is that I am now also thinking of the things he did give me that others most definitely do not. And the further plus is that it encouraged me to think about what all my various relationships are comprised of.
This week was going swimmingly! I had a really great Spanish class where I felt like I finally internalized some part of the subjunctive tense. I made forward motion on a rather enormous database project. Liz scheduled La Ermita del Silencio for this weekend and I’ve really wanted to go there. I am in love with having a large fridge. I made some sausage and lentil soup. I had a truly excellent meeting around ways to re-engage in volunteer work at Xochimilco, I completed my first test at school and felt good about it, i went to Juan Cirerol’s concert here in Mexico City that was in a cozy bar venue I will definitely return to. And there were punk cowboys singing songs with acoustic guitars. It was brilliant. And then I made out with someone.
Regret is not the right word here, but I am now feeling like I need to extricate myself a bit, which I’m very out of practice at. I’m not super sure if I’m just not there yet or this just really wasn’t it. And it’s real annoying. I’m just really struggling with not being able to be over it. And I know it takes time, but it feels like I’ve been working so hard for so long at experiencing my emotions, trying new things, finding new purpose, engaging in the world around me. This may actually be where this move is biting me in the ass a little. It’s hard to feel “at home” here. So my last home remains with him. Truthfully, it’s been hard to find ties that bind here and I suppose a year is really not long enough to effect that grounding. But frankly, the whole damn thing feels not fair.
But I still had an excellent weekend, despite heftier than usual crying sessions. Sometimes the world gives you what you need. Maybe always, but you forget to look.
Friday was a day of productivity. I slept in till close to 8am and I view sleeping in as productive cause it’s not in my wheelhouse. Did a little work. Had a great conversation with Sara about the chinampas and helping to support a funding opportunity for the Ejido (communal land) to install solar in their market, create a dry toilet, and build a stage. I’m gonna be diving into a bunch of work Sara has done around strategic planning.
Afterwards I dropped Leo off and school and headed toward the mechanic’s to pick up my bike. On the way I walked past el Museo del Objeto del Objeto- you guessed it- Museum of the Object of the Object, which I’ve had curiousity about based on name alone. So I went for it. $3 later I entered an exhibit of the alphabet. It’s set up with an image or multi media piece or collection with a word and definition below, in the style of a dictionary.
A is for afecto- Any of the passions of the soul, especially those of love or affection, but also anger or hate. Toward something or someone. Love without much scandal, but equally powerful.
It was a small and strange museum. I felt not quite cool enough for it, but thoroughly enjoyed it.
From there to the bike shop was a hop, skip and a jump, and I have to say, bike mechanics everywhere are the same. This Mexican wore a black t-shirt, black cargo shorts, tattoos, long black hair in a pony tail, sinewy. And really kind. It was so important to him that I understood how everything worked. Which mostly meant that I retained that the gear shifter is called “shifter”. But now I have a rideable bike! With a basket and a bell! It is definitely more cruiser and is soooo heavy. Fortunately, there’s bike parking in my building.
Saturday, I went on a classic Liz adventure, advertised at 13 km (8 miles) and winding up at 21 kilometers (13 miles). This was back up in the Iztaccihuatl/Popcatepetl wilderness and it felt like coming to a beloved friend. Michelle recently posted about energy and reading so many small moments and spaces in life as love, as receiving and symbiotic, and that sentiment resonated in reconnecting with this wilderness. I’ve always loved the ocean’s ability to make me feel small and part of something grand and large, to make feel welcome and wrapped in a shared complicity and I’m beginning to feel that way about this mountain.
We were a small group this round just me, Liz & Shawn who is in Mexico City for 6 weeks doing Spanish immersion before heading back to the US. This hike was to La Ermita del Silencio. We started at Paso de Cortes, where the visitors’ center is and had lovely weather. It was crisp and beautiful and blue at 9am when we rolled in. Popo was unusually quiet just emitting occassional poofs.
We stayed between 11,800 ft and 12,800 feet the entire hike, actually starting downhill into the pine forest. We kept trekking downward with mini uphills until we came upon a campground area with a small lake, horseback riding, and some stands. For 20 pesos we passed through to see the waterfull. A short walk through the woods in area that definitely felt like summer camp and we came upon Cascada Apatlaco. Mexico City is bereft of water. Seeing water nowadays is a bit like magic. It replenishes me.
We continued on our gentle descent and eventually a river ran beside us, not wide, but moving quickly in a ravine to our right. We began seeing cabins and houses with incredible views of Popocatepetl. Often whimsical in design, they sat on the steep hillside. And while I can’t actually imagine being this isolated, the free air, the sound of water, Popo puffing away in view, surrounded by trees and quiet was enticing. The lack of it here it makes it all the more precious. And I think the quiet contentment this spaces give me, tell me clearly that Mexico City is probably not a forever solution.
It’s also kinda hysterical and so alien to hiking in the NW. We have been hiking for a long time, we have gone, I don’t know, probably 5 miles into the wilderness at this point and here we are with cabins and a dirt road way. We are on occassion crowded to the side by an SUV. We turn our faces away from the dusts as groups of motorcycles pass us.
A short bit further down the road we arrive at La Ermita del Silencio, the Hermitage of Silence (Ermita definitely sounds better). La Ermita was built by the Spanish friar Jerónimo Genovard Gunard in 1986 as a space for reflection, meditation, and quiet and while the monks who once lived there are gone, it’s still used a religious space for retreats for prayer. In fact, you have to be Catholic to stay there. The buildings, walls and pathways are comprised of stone work and inlaid ceramics with domes of stucco. The detail is stunning.
Built up into a hillside, you enter at the lowest point and pay your small fee to see the grounds. Apparently, you aren’t allowed to take pictures, but no one told us for a bit, so I have some pictures. There were multiple occassions of people taking pictures and posting it on Airbnb as a place to stay and the caretakers kept having to contend with folks showing up, with reservations, to stay there. So now, no pictures. If you initially thought, ah, no pictures in a sacred religious space, well me too, but alas no. Each level of the space is small, occupying a building or two, with stairs crisscrossing the hill to the next section. In the middle a small waterfull is diverted into fountains as it tumbles down the mountain. It feels medieval, fairy tale like.
The chapel is lovely. We took off our shoes to enter, which was a little slice of heaven in and of itself, and spoke in whispers. It’s not grand. In fact, it’s a rectangular, almost lodge like building. It’s got dark stone floors and walls with ceramics doves of peace inlaid every foot or so. Stained glass windows line the sides. The lectern is one step up and of the same stone. but behind it are floor to ceiling paned windows with an incredible view of the mountain providing the only source of light in the space. There is a low vaulted ceiling with dark exposed beams hoisting a chandelier that is way too big for the space. It’s one of those iron round ones that should have candles. It’s attached via pulley system and you get a small thrill of danger looking at the antiquated pulley on the side of the wall. The room is open, with a dark built in bench along the walls housing occassional meditation pillows. It felt strangely cozy.
After exiting the chapel we went up to the next level and saw the corridor housing the monks’ rooms. Their doors are hobbit like, cream color with a brick red trim and curved. And frankly, not very big. I think I could probably fit through without ducking, but also it would be close enough that I would likely duck a little. We kept going up the stairs. The Ermita gets less developed, and in fact piles of stone and rebar indicate that new construction or reparations are on going. Wildflowers start to line the edge of the steps.
And finally you come to a landing at the end. It’s a circular space, maybe 15 feet in diameter. Stone benches border and a column of arches frame the rotunda. Jesus sits on high and Popocatepetl stares back. We had a snack and headed out.
We continued along the road/path coming upon more cabins and then we had to cross the river. Apparently the usual log crossing had been washed out or moved or something- in a nutshell no longer there. This is a not uncommon challenge here, hiking is not a widespread activity, though popularity has been growing, and the systems that support are rudimentary at best. Also, because there is money to be made in these spaces, they’re deeply corrupt. In the parks we visit, this frequently means an extra charge to head up to a viewpoint or watching illegal logging and nepotism runs deep, so all the vendors in the park are generally related. But does not pose any real danger. And apparently, the money is insufficient for trail maintenance.
The river wasn’t wide, maybe 5-6 feet, but it was moving fast and definitely at hip level. We went up and down embankments looking for a good place to cross and finally found an old fallen tree. It was actually quite wide and pretty sturdy, so despite the few branches blocking the path, we all made it across easily. And then we basically just walked back up and up and up. This time we were along a more formal roadside that was newly developed. It was hot and kinda exposed and dusty. While not constant, cars were not infrequent. But there were some great views of Popo.
We finished the hike mid afternoon. Stopped for some of the best trail quesadillas I’ve had on the way out and then sat in traffic for forever cause Formula 1.
Mexico loves F1. And the city has a track and event space named in honor of two Mexican F1 legends, the brothers Rodriguez. To get to the Izta-Popo park, you must the Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez. This is also where Shakira played (longest return ride ever, prompting us as a collective to blame all traffic on Shakira) and where Corona Fest is held. The Mexican Grand Prix is held the weekend before Day of the Dead which means the city is freakin PACKED. I stood a ungodly amount of time in line for my bread yesterday. So, avoiding Rosetta, for the next week.
I think Shawn was very frustrated by the traffic and I think it’s a testament to my time here that I wasn’t. I’ve given up on affecting change in that space. But rather than a 2 hour car ride, it was more like 3.5 hours, and while it always takes a bit longer to get back in the city, this was excessive.
The next day, Leo and I ventured to Mercado 100 and bought some tomatoes, zucchinis, and chard. We then head to Cardín Pastelería for a pan de muerto. They had classic, cardamom, and guayaba. So obviously we had cardamom. Pan de muerto comes stuffed (relleno, think chiles) or unstuffed and I always favor the latter. Rosetta remains my fav, but this had nicely crunchy crossbones. The hint of cardamom could definitely have been stronger to my taste, but in fairness, it’s pretty rare I don’t say that regarding cardamom. The bread, while still tender, had a bit more chew than I favor. The little sugar crystals atop were perfectly balanced by an enriched but not very sweet interior.
I then tried to find Mama Lola’s Birria, which is apparently, situated in a food court of sorts. The stand was there and no one was near it. A big pot sat on the stove, but was not simmering. So after a few, I gave up and headed home. On the walk home we admired hibiscus season and the ever increasingly number of Day of the Dead decorations. I never thought I would truly like the sight of marigolds so very much.
But it turns out I do. The Aztec Marigold or Cempasúchil, which I believe is a distinctly Mexican name for the plant, grows wild and was also important in indigenous cultures. It’s widely believed that it was used medicinally and it’s been found adorning images of royalty. This time of year they are every where here. Chains of them are laced together and drape over doorways, you can’t go 10 feet without seeing a plant for sale, their petals are used to decorate altars. And en masse, their glory is clear, just that bright orange everywhere.
Yesteday, for the first time, I rode my bici to Spanish class. Oh, how I have missed bike riding. I nearly cried in my delight. There it is again, these tears that spring from happiness. It’s like everything just feels too much, too intensely, too overwhelmingly and like I need a physical demonstration of the emotion exiting. Hence crying. But one does feel a little silly regularly crying at happiness or beauty or a tender moment.
Nevertheless, It was so fabulous and felt so good. I do have mixed feelings about having a heavier bike with a basket, rather than my more streamlined little street bike, but I rather suspect this one will serve me better here.
Tacos of the Week: Lalo’s
Late night eats post concert. An excellent 1am taco al pastor. Lalo’s is located in Cuauhtémoc, a neighborhood just north of Avenida Reforma, where the often mention Angel of Independence is situated. It is bright and kinda loud and apparently open late. The pastor had a nice flavor, with a good little crunch on the edges and a generous slice of pineapple. Salsa options were not as great as other locations. But all in all a win. Yes, the picture quality defintely the reflects the time of day. I apologize.
Year One Project 
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