First Day of Christmas Vacation

We’ve made landfall at District Federal, and I’m forming my first impressions of the fabled capital; fabled in that it should provide a divergent and more authentic view of Mexico. The airport was clean and efficient, and like Monterrey, consumed with the obsession of providing a “good first impression.” Our cab was very clean and quick, if not overpriced (250 p). Our little hotel room is quite comfortable and close enough to the necessary amenities and attractions. Oh, yes, on the way to the hotel we were passed by what can only be described as a rancid meet truck; large hunks of meat piled precariously en route to what I can only assume are the heartiest or unluckiest consumers. We will venture out this afternoon to Franz Mayer Museum, the markets, etc.

The Franz Mayer Museum is essentially the personal collection of said namesake, donated to the people of Mexico. The collection spans all manner of style and genre, the most impressive of which were wooden inlays, silver church liturgy, and several Mexican 16th century paintings (I suppose I should say Spanish Colonial era paintings). It was quite a marvelous place, and the galleries seemed to stretch on endlessly, unfortunately time did not. We had to hurry through the ceramics and furnishings; however, I saw enough to consider this collection to even be the equal of the Monterrey National Museum. I took some pictures of the wooden inlays and the garden in the centre of the plaza. Apparently, the building used to be used as a public hospital for women (prostitutes). A rather grim reminder of this heritage was the remaining wall tiles indicating bed numbers and wards.

Prior to this museum visit, we visited a cathedral graveyard museum. We actually stumbled upon the thing and were surprised to learn that it held mostly deceased generals from Mexico’s War of Independence. All throughout the day we walked and occasionally waded through local makeshift markets, especially around the Belle Artes. The merchandise was primarily rubbish; however, I developed a powerful craving for the street food as the day wore on. We did attempt to view the Belle Artes museum, but unfortunately it was closed today—perhaps tomorrow.

For supper we wondered some very busy streets before settling on “Madero Red,” a pleasant thriving hole in the wall. Most conveniently it had a numbered menu which led to comparatively few linguistic challenges. The hostess insisted upon some of her own selections which we gladly capitulated to. By the time we returned to the hotel that night we were well fed, exhausted, but anxious for another day of adventures—bull fighting lies ahead!.