Earthquake Memories

I was in the 1985 Mexico City earthquake, which was a devastating 8.1 on the Richter scale. I cannot begin to imagine what an 8.9 earthquake feels like.
This current disaster in Japan reminded me of that terrifying morning.
On September 19, 1985, at 7:19 in the morning, I was awakened by my bed swaying as if it were on a boat in the ocean. I could hear my mom and my sisters outside, so I left my room and found them all standing beneath the doorway to my mother's bedroom (my dad had died the year before). We lived on the 10th floor of an apartment building and conventional wisdom was that that's where you stand, I don't know exactly why, but it has something to do with the supporting columns of the building. Nobody had ever heard of a contingency plan or emergency supplies or anything. The first thing that grabs your mind under the circumstances is that there is not much you can do, except wait it out and hope and pray the walls don't flatten you.
My mom attempted a few brave yet feeble jokes but, as this thing kept getting more intense, soon she was praying. If at the beginning the ground was swaying, at a certain point it started shaking. Every Mexican (we are all amateur experts on earthquakes) can tell you the difference between oscillatory quakes (swaying) and trepidatory quakes (shaking up and down). This one was both. At the time, I was a confirmed agnostic, but I could hear myself praying for this thing to stop. In the end, the quake lasted almost four minutes, which is an eternity. Besides the terrifying fact of the Earth moving below you, and you being totally powerless to stop it, I will never forget the sounds the building was making. The walls and columns were creaking loudly from inside, the windows were rattling and there was a hum of everything shaking everywhere. It was like noise and eerie quiet at the same time. Lamps, tchotchkes, everything sways and slips and bumps, but in our house nothing broke or fell down. We lived in an area with harder soil than downtown DF, which is built on a dried lake bed, has softer soil and always suffers much bigger damage in earthquakes. We turned on the TV and saw the morning news anchors sitting at their desk swaying and shaking, trying to remain calm and proceed with the news that an earthquake was in progress. Then the signal was lost. When that happened I got very scared. Later on, we found out their building had collapsed.
After what seemed forever, the thing stopped. There are many mini and not so mini aftershocks after a quake, but the feeling is so intense that you may feel the ground moving even if it isn't. It's like when you have spent many hours frolicking in the waves in the ocean, and at night you still feel like you are there. One way to corroborate is to look at the ceiling lamps. If they are swaying, it's still going on.
I went to the window and saw nothing unusual. All the tall condos surrounding us were intact. Everything seemed normal except for people, some in their pajamas, standing on the street looking rather dazed. It was then that I remembered that the day before I had met my architect friend Arturo for coffee and we talked about earthquakes for a long time. We talked about quakes because it was an unusually, oppressively hot day. One of us said, "let's hope this doesn't mean there's gonna be a quake". When the shaking stopped I ran to the phone and tried calling him. I don't remember if I was able to reach him. Phone service was spotty or down. When we turned on the radio, we started hearing about the horrific devastation downtown. Many buildings collapsed. Because it was still early, many people were still at home. Many government buildings, including the enormous General Hospital, collapsed as well, no doubt aided by shoddy construction. My high school chemistry teacher, a sweet woman, died in a government school. The government response was incredibly clueless and incompetent. The president of the country went MIA. Some idiot in the government said we didn't need help from the US. So citizens started taking matters into their own hands. They organized food drives, and many immediately went to the devastated scenes to try to rescue people from the rubble. I went to a food drive at the Red Cross, where we made thousands of tuna sandwiches. Later I learned that some of the donated food was being sold to displaced victims by enterprising crooks.
The next day there was a powerful aftershock (7.5) in the afternoon. I was at the house of a friend. I called my house and the maid told me my mother and my sisters had gone to my aunt's house. As I drove home I saw many people on the street afraid to get back into their houses and buildings. That night, my sisters and I decided we weren't sleeping on no 10th floor. The three of us took refuge at the house of a friend of my sister, a one-story house at ground level, nothing but the ceiling to fall on top of our heads in case of disaster. We must have looked crazy, but this seemed positively reasonable under the circumstances. We left my mother to fend for herself.
For months after that, you could be sitting with people in a room and at the lightest swaying of a curtain or a lamp, people would freak out. I went around our apartment closing open windows so as to avoid the scary spectacle of a stray swaying lamp.
To this day, very occasionally I still have vivid and vertiginous dreams in which I am in that apartment or in a tall building and the building bends down and threatens to fall with me inside.
Courage to the people of Japan.

Juay De Rito

Once in a while, a catchphrase (I think they are called memes nowadays) captures the public's imagination, like Where's the Beef, remember?
The most recent case happened in Mexico as television anchorman Joaquín López Dóriga interviewed Sir Anthony Hopkins live about his latest movie, The Rite.
López Dóriga's English leaves much to be desired (apparently he more or less understands, but can't speak for shit), but for some reason no one thought to have a capable translator on hand. So this guy is talking to Hopkins in Spanish as if the actor is Cervantes himself, putting Hopkins in the very uncomfortable position of not understanding while trying to act gracious, and the first question he asks is the now infamous "Juay De Rito?" Translation from English into English: Why The Rite?
Twitter exploded. Juay De Dis, Juay De Dat? Juay Ask Juay?  The mashups didn't take long to appear. There seems to be a new one every day.
Mexicans have a very ingenious sense of humor. Now that You Tube exists, it will take us to the heights of hilarity. Here are two examples:

And continuing the tradition of making fun of poor Hitler and his downfall, jir is Jitler and Juay De Rito:

The subtitles made me cry with laughter. I can't do justice to Hitler's answers because the vernacular they use is impossible to translate accurately. But believe me, it's hilarious to hear Hitler speaking Mexican vernacular in your head:

Soldier:
The interview with Sir Hopkins has been confirmed.
Hitler:
Qué a toda madre! Awesome! Find the best (the most motherfucking) and most competent interviewer we have... I don't want us to look like those idiots at Televisa. We are better (más chingones) than them...

Now, besides the fact that it is a bit of a disgrace that a well known journalist like López Dóriga can't speak English, what is interesting is that this struck such an embarrassed national nerve, to which people reacted with the biggest collective joke in memory. People made fun of him with reason, because he reflects, not only a shaming ignorance, but worse, what we know we are capable of and dislike in ourselves: a useless flair for amateurish improvisation, which makes us look like hicks in front of a foreigner (never mind that he is starring in a crappy, tacky movie. He is a Sir).
In any case, this one is for the ages. It's the joke that keeps on giving. And we have to thank López Dóriga for providing us with years of laughing caustically and uncomfortably at ourselves.
Apparently, not without a sense of humor himself, (if indeed it was him) he tweeted:

 

"So now you know. If someone needs a simultaneous translation service, do not hesitate to call me".

La Gran Tenochtitlán

La Diana from the terrace of the King Cole Bar, St. Regis, Mexico City. 

It's a nice terrace, but the hotel feels way too corporate and generic for my taste. However, a michelada and a blanket hit the spot just right.

Pulquería La Hermosa Hortencia in Plaza Garibaldi

From the upper echelons of the posh St. Regis, to the lower depths of the now swanky pulquería, which boasts outdoor sitting. Of course, there had to be the one drunk ambassador to Garibaldi who saw us and slurred a welcome in Inglish. There is always one.

At the humongous Mercado de Dulces at La Merced

This is one place where it is entirely possible to walk in and never be seen again. Not because anything bad will happen to you, but because it is an infinte maze of stalls that never end. The biggest sweets and candy market in Mexico City. Here is where all the candy vendors and hawkers, from the guys selling on the street, to the mom and pop stores, come to buy their candy. There are endless stalls of traditional Mexican sweets, like alegrías and pepitorias and candied fruit, and then more endless stalls of fabulous Mexican chazerai. A Borgian (as in Jorge Luis) infinity of sugar, salt and chili.

Then right next to it is the humongous Merced food market, with rows and rows of amazing dried chilies and spices, fruits and vegetables... and even a forbidding aisle of the infamous Catemaco witches, who have these elegant and creepy looking mahogany cabins where they perform limpias (they clean up your bad luck and/or bad vibe) or tell you the future. To be honest, I was scared to take a picture. They are all sinister cons.

A woman performing a cleanse right on the Zócalo.

The Mayor of Mexico City, Marcelo Ebrard, has been doing lots of stuff to turn the city into a more urbane place. There is a limited bicycle program in the colonia Condesa like the one in Paris, with the difference, as a Mexican proudly pointed out, that no one has yet stolen a bike. Half the city is under construction of more bus lanes and on Sundays a big chunk of Reforma Avenue is closed to cars and open to people on foot, bikes or skates. Of course, the motorists nag and complain, but I think it is great that Ebrard insists on showing the citizens of el D.F. that the city is more than a hell of pollution and traffic but a magnificent place they can enjoy together.

La Lupita in the restroom of La Botica. Times have changed.

And Then There's This:

The headline: Headache.
Note the photo of pregnant woman next to decapitation. That's Mexico for you.

Mexican Feeding Frenzy

Tuna Sashimi Tostadas at Contramar

Crepas de Flor de Calabaza at Casa de las Sirenas

Mezcal Variety at La Botica

Apple with Tamarind and Chili. Best Chazerai ever. 

 

 

 

 

Orange with chili, fava beans with lime and chili to go with the michelada and the mezcalito

.

 

The best tacos de carnitas ever, only Saturdays and Sundays at the Mercado de Medellín

El Cardenal and their huevos. Best Mexican breakfast in the world.

I ordered poached eggs in black bean broth with queso fresco. Divine.

Huevos Hacienda de Puebla. Yum, whatever that means.

Pilgrimage to the Pozole at the small food market in Coyoacán. Best Pozole in the Universe.

The classic Margarita from 1945 at swanky San Angel Inn.

Salsas and limes for the tacos

 

 

Amazing tacos al pastor at El Califa de León

The tacos al pastor at El Huequito. Some say best in town. Different and delish.

Quesadillas de queso Oaxaca y flor de calabaza at El Cardenal.

Someone should write an illustrated encyclopedia of Mexican food. It would have to be like 500 tomes. In the interest of science, I volunteer to sample every dish.

Halloween Vs. Day of Dead

Spooky holiday deathmatch!
And the uncontested winner still is the Mexican Day of the Dead! Both holidays, I assume, arise from the same Christian holiday of All Hallows Eve, or Día de Todos los Santos, in Spanish. I'm a Jew, so don't think for a second that I am about to give you the historical context for this asseveration. I'm talking out of my ass. But I can still tell you why Day of Dead kicks Halloween's ass. If this starts the next Mexican-American war, so be it.

Basically, there is a very simple reason: Day of the Dead, which I assume, also out of my ass, has been going on in this continent longer than Halloween, has not yet reached a stage of commercial apotheosis in which its original meaning is totally lost under the maniacal ringing of the cash register. Yes, you can buy pan de muerto, Day of the Day bread, or sugar or chocolate skulls with your name or that of your loved ones inscribed on them, but most of the money spent on Day of the Dead celebrations goes towards buying bunches of cempazúchitl, the orange flower that decorates the altars to your beloved dead, and the stuff that goes in said altars, which is the stuff the dead used to love when they were alive (mostly involving tequila, mezcal, cigarettes, Japanese Mexican peanuts and other sundry pleasures and vices). No need to be gouged on a green itchy wig and a cheap Tinkerbell costume at Ricky's.

Moreover, the Mexican Day of the Dead tradition is a fascinating combo of the indigenous cult of the dead of the Precolumbian cultures with the Christian tradition that was shoved down their throats later on. Whereas Halloween has long ago lost its connection to its original intent, whatever that was, Day of the Dead insists on getting emotionally and spiritually close to the actual dead, not just look like them.  Besides, in Mexico, people are natural artists. They make things with flowers and paper and cardboard, not just plastic made in Taiwan.

Unfortunately, Halloween has made enormous inroads all over Mexico. I spent Day of the Dead in Oaxaca several years ago and kids were dressed as mummies or ghouls and trick or treating for cash, as opposed to candy, which comes in handy when you actually have issues getting enough food to eat. But the beautiful, deeply personal, deeply heartfelt tradition of Day of the Dead prevails.

That's my hero, Benito Juarez in the left bottom corner.

Yes, there were some obnoxious rich Mexican juniors after midnight in the cemetery who hired a band of Mariachis and were disturbing everyone with their drunken hollering (and, of course, if the humble people honoring their dead were as annoyed as I was, they did not show it). But to walk into a cemetery late at night and see the graves lit by candles surrounded by these gorgeous flowers, and see the families sitting at the graves, bringing their dead their atole (sweet corn porridge), and communing with them, that certainly beats the hordes of drunken idiots tottering about the Village in New York City. I'm no party pooper. I used to hate Halloween when I was a child, but I like it in New York because the grown ups get dressed up. I think it's lots of fun. But it has become pointless. And isn't it richer when celebrations actually have a point?

Halloween masks in Oaxaca

"I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round..."

Grave at the cemetery. 

 

The entrance to Oaxaca's cemetery at night

 

 

 

American plastic ghosts decorate a grave with Mexican panache

"You are dust and to dust you shall return"

 

 

A humble cemetery during the day.

 

 

The Mexican 5 de Mayo

Tirar la casa por la ventana, throwing the house out the window, is an expression that means that you spent a bunch of money for a celebration, which was clearly the case in yesterday Bicentennial festivities in Mexico City.  For those of you who are confused because no one in the States was plying you with margaritas in the middle of September, Mexico celebrated yesterday and today the 200 anniversary of its independence. This is actually the important date in which you want to guzzle those Coronas.
I have always been deeply suspicious of patriotic sentiment, as scoundrels always abuse it for nefarious purposes. But in this case I was curious to see how Mexico was going to celebrate, particularly at a time when it has been deeply hurt by a violent war with the narcos. I think President Calderón wanted to send a message that Mexico is alive and well despite the war on drugs. And the spectacle was lavish. I hope Hillary Clinton was watching. Her declarations about the drug dealers being an insurgency were really stupid. 1. It's not an insurgency when many government and law enforcement officials are on the narcos payroll. 2. The narcos don't want to overthrow the government. They just want to be able to do their business as usual. And you have some nerve to complain, when the demand for drugs is insatiable in the US. 
There was widespread criticism of the millions of dollars spent on this extravaganza, and I think it is fair to complain when there is still so much poverty and inequality in Mexico. The bicentennial is bread and circus for the people, but without the bread. However, I wonder in my naiveté if this extraordinary display is also a necessary statement that Mexico is not a failed state and the narcos, despite the chaos and hurt they create, really are and should be ostracized from Mexican society. They have nothing to do with most Mexicans and they don't deserve to be part of the country or its celebrations.
Mexicans are always extremely self-deprecating in quite a negative way about their own capacity for achievement. On one hand we are deeply proud of our culture and our considerable achievements, on the other we never trust anything to work out as planned. Our penchant for impractical surrealism is legendary.
I'm sure I was not the only Mexican who was flabbergasted at the fact that the celebrations seemed to go off without a hitch and in pretty good order. They looked pretty nifty. And they were joyful, despite the media's insistence to the contrary.
The parade in itself was a hodgepodge. Some of it was tacky and painfully imitative, some of it actually quite cool. The illuminated Zócalo looked awesome. I loved the giant traditional Mexican toys, I loved the colorful parade of dancers in regional attire, and the slide show on the cathedral (I especially loved that it was on the cathedral). I think for once there were way too many fireworks.
I suggest floats depicting giant Mexican food dishes for next time. 
There were some huge duds, like that stupid colossal statue of a guy with a mustache and some of the aerial acts that were trying too hard to be like someone else's Olympic games. I also don't understand why, if we have the most amazing popular music that everybody knows and sings with all their heart, they commissioned awful pop shit for the occasion. Hearing 50,000 people sing along to the song México lindo y querido, made me realize it would have been so much cooler to have a public singalong of the greatest Mexican songs with mariachis, instead of those ridiculous opera singers. I think Moncayo's classical piece Huapango would have given goosebumps to everybody, as when the mariachis played La Negra during the parade. The best song ever written. Period.
President Calderón looked rather ridiculous when he almost tore the flag off of the flag bearer, but he gave a good grito (where's my Viva Juárez, dude?) and then steadfastly refused to smile during the entire proceedings.  Our politicos are nothing if not overbearingly, ridiculously solemn. On the other hand, if you have to account for 28,000 deaths, it's best not to display too much levity. His wife seemed to be having a great time, though. She seems as natural and spontaneous as he is stiff. Their kids apparently were told not to smile under any circumstances.
What was disgraceful were the two retards from Univisión that were providing the most inane, ignorant commentary. The ocassion would have benefited from someone like Jorge Ramos or Maria Antonieta Collins, or someone with at least half a brain, instead of surgically enhanced tits. The broadcast was a total mess. If there is something I hate more than Televisa, it's Univisión.
I realized, as I watched on TV, that after almost 20 years of living abroad, there is much of Mexico that I'm disconnected from. I am not very aware of its local politics or the subtle and not so subtle shifts in the public mood.  I don't really know if it has changed much recently. But I know it is a fantastic country.
200 years ago we liberated ourselves from Spain. 100 years later, we had a revolution to bring justice and equality to the more downtrodden. There was great progress but not quite. We had a one party rule for 70 years. Now we are at a crossroads in which it's time to evolve. Shed our dependence on corruption, mature as a democracy, update our laws and learn to respect and uphold them and be more just with those who have less.
Happy birthday, Mexico!

Viva Mexico

This is my homage to Mexico on its birthday. ¡Felicidades México!
Now act your age, and behave.

 

 

 

                                        ¡Salud y viva México, cabrones!