We are back in Mexico City after half a week away. On Wednesday we fly back to the States. Meanwhile, here are a few Mexico tidbits on a borrowed computer (thanks Linda!):
Smallish white poodles are 10 to a block around here (the Escandon neighborhood of Mexico City), falling on a scale of cleanliness anywhere from Brightly Fluffy to Crusty Mud Dreads. This morning we came across one with small pink bow hair clips fastened to its ears, and Val noticed that by god its toenails were painted a matching pearlescent pink. We got a good look because it was crouched in one spot, busily eating dog poop off the sidewalk. No humans observed in attendance.
My favorite candy bar so far is one called Deditos de Carlos V, which more or less translates as: "Cute little fingers of Charles the Fifth." It consists of narrow chocolate-dipped cookie bars.
In the evenings a haunting flutey whistle arises from the dark street seven storeys below. It's the call of the knife-sharpener, letting us know he's in the neighborhood. If I had any knives of my own here I would run down to see what he does. In the Merced market for lunch I had a quesadillota (like a big quesadilla, kind of) filled with squash blossoms and a kind of sweet black fungus that grows on corn. Dad and I saw a gleaming vermillion flycatcher perched on a bush in a backyard field in Cholula.
We spent most of Easter Week in Cholula. Cholula is a town we camped in when I was a kid, built in a wide, fertile valley around the foot of an enormous anomalous hill that turns out to be the biggest pyramid (by volume) in, I believe, the world. The conquistadors, in a successful effort of one-upsmanship, built a pretty gilded church on its top, supplanting the Cholultecans' religious buildings. The pyramid is too large to reasonably excavate -- not to mention much of the town is built on its earth-covered flanks -- but some of its stepped sides, plazas and altars have been exposed and can be toured. Also, in efforts to explore the pyramid's inner, concentric layers, archaeologists have bored more than SEVEN KILOMETERS of tunnels into the "hill"side, and some of these can be visited as well. Then you can climb paths to the church on top for a tremendous view of the surrounding countryside, all the way to the volcanoes (including the legendary Popocatepetl and Ixtacciwatl) bordering the valley.
We visited the museum, we examined the exavations, we climbed a bazillion stairs and admired the gilded church and extravagent view, and then on our way down down down the stairs we passed a vendor, an oldish woman with long braids tied together and an assortment of snacks spread out around her on the cobbled landing. Pistachios; peanuts coated in chili powder; corn nuts; that sort of thing. Val liked the tone of her pitch and detoured over to look. The vendor lifted up each plastic bag with its rolled top, throwing out the names enticingly: Sugared pecans... pistachios... chili nuts... camarones... Camarones caught my ear: it means shrimp. Shrimp? I looked in the bag. Land shrimp, maybe: they were grasshoppers. Beady eyed. Toasted. Red with chili powder. We bought a buck-fifty's worth and brought them back to the hotel where Val offered them to Dad. Without flinching he ate one. (Pronouncing it "not as salty or crunchy as the ones in Oaxaca, which I like better.") We've been carrying them around for days as I try to get myself to eat one, just to know. And to be able to say I did. So far the hand is willing but the mouth stays shut.
10 points and a camaron to those of you who read this far.
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