The Return to Mexico City

When I came to Mexico City, there was music reverberating in my head - a song from my dreams - but as I wandered Avenida Insurgentes, the sound faded. I thought about the Metro instead. One day, I went to Zocalo in the rain. There were endless streets of shops with anything one could want: dresses, shoes, underwear, food (of course), trinkets, cowboy clothes, crafts, electronics, jewelry, baskets. The stalls went up and down alleys. It was a market en masse. There were people en masse, too, crowding on the Metro, pushing against me so that there was no need to hold on as the train moved. Falling was impossible.

Another day, I rode the Metro to Candesa, and walked without a map. I wound through the streets, past El Universidad de los Americas, past an aqua duct, until I saw a golden angel floating above a grassy knoll, cars circling around it. I stopped for a chocolate drink in a rich, hip barrio. There were clubs blasting music, storefronts filled with half naked mannequins (male and female), a casino, dense, green tropical plants. The streets were a patchwork of repairs. Some were completely torn-up, making it impossible for cars to penetrate the neighborhood, so the tourists thronged right down the center of the roads, just like a block party.

Before I knew it, to my surprise, I was back at the aqua duct, and as the light faded, I found the Metro station again. When I emerged, it was dark, and I struggled for some twenty minutes to orient myself and find my way home. The city streets seem threatening at night with no cell phone or map. People seem unkind. I remained calm. I went back to my last known point (the Metro exit) while searching for the next landmark, Barranca del Muerto (Ravine of the Dead) and the hospital. I had to do the process a few times. Logic, I thought, there's a simple solution here. Finally, it hit me, I exited on the opposite side of the street from where I entered. The relative directions were right, but they were transposed, like looking in a mirror.

There was a goodbye moon in the sky as I was driven to the airport early in the morning, and the airport was full of holes, like the gateway to Pepperland - "the Sea of Holes into the Sea of Green." Maybe it means the green of North Carolina: a return to leafing trees, pollen, and allergies, but also family and a new home in Durham.