Mexico City

Flying into Mexico City at night was beautiful. The city has 23m people in it and flying in the orange grid of glowing lights stretched to the horizon in every direction (every direction I could out of the side of the plane anyway). There are small mountains speckling the city scape which have no buildings on them so at night they contrast with the surrounding glow as jagged black shapes in the vista.

I landed and went through customs at about 2am. There was only one cab and he took me to Mexico City Hostel near El Zocalo (a giant square in the middle of the city). I was pretty excited to be using Spanish again after so many years, and I have to say my grasp at the moment is pretty utilitarian, but after a big night on the piss (last night) it's much better.






Getting to know people

A bunch of guys from the hostel went out last night and ate taco's. Around here they are pretty small, but if you eat 15 of them you will be full, trust me. Then we got on the sauce. There's a few photos of us all at a club on Tuesday night.






Me and some German guys from the hostel






It's the fashion!

One of them was a Canadian guy who had completed a degree in Literature (haha) and has been driving around in a Combi surfing for the last 6 months. He was a top bloke-anyway he and I left the club we were at and walked down the street to find something more interesting. We walked past 3 drunk guys outside this bar, who sledged us. We had a word to them back and the next thing we knew we were downstairs in this empty bar drinking shots with them.

They were a bit older-mid thirties I'd say. One had slicked back hair, a deep tan and was dressed in a white-beige suit with a pink shirt and sky blue tie on-done up fully despite the fact it was 3am. His name was Roberto. Like most of the locals he was shortish.

What a great way to learn Spanish and spread English. The conversation went something like this:
Me (in spanish): I want a drink, do you have something STRONG?
Roberto(in English): What do you drink, you Aussie bitch
Me (Spanish): I don't care, stop fucking around
Roberta (English): You liking the Tequila?
Rick (Canadian guy-in Spanish): Of course not, it is fucking horrible!
Roberto (English): Cheers-bitch!
Me: Salud!
Rick: Salud!
Roberto proceeds to not drink his shot (they are huge here by the way-about 60ml)
Me (Spanish): We are waiting for you-shit of a poofter!
Roberto (English): Hey Fuck you man! (drinks his shot)
Rick (Spanish): Suck my balls!
Roberto (English): Hey Fuck you man!

This went on in various forms for a few hours. We were drinking this red stuff out of a jug-pouring it into glasses and shotting it/ It was one third cranberry, one third vodka and one third something rancid. Anyway it's great to make friends with the locals.

This guy claimed he was in the Italian Mafia and I believe him because I want to-even though his friend thought the claim to be pretty funny. We spoke a lot about Italy because I can sometimes pretend to be from the North and he believed me and thought that was excellent.

He told me how he'd had a girlfriend from New Zealand who was "fucking crazy bitch man." What did you expect mate?? Just kidding.

The great thing about having a conversation with only 200 words at your disposal is that you never run out of things to talk about. Communicating the most basic thing can take 10 minutes. It really is a lot of fun.

I found a gym in Zona Rosa. The name sort of gives the game away-the Pink Zone but I trundled along for something to do. I met Salvador who was keen to strike up a conversation, and suggested I come for drink tomorrow night with his mates, if I didn't have anything else to do. Sweet I thought, hang out with the locals. But when he said bye he touched-no-caressed my elbow and squeezed it gently, and I swear he pouted slightly. Ever seen a short, hairy bearded fat man pout? The word is incongruous!