Impressions Of Mexico City

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Our flight back to the States yesterday was a real stinker on paper. For some reason, there are very few connecting flights from Ixtapa back to San Francisco and due to this vicissitude our itinerary included an almost eight hour layover in Mexico City. 

When we booked the trip I was dreading this leg of the journey, however as time drew closer the decision was made to make the most of the situation and find an appropriate way to explore the city for a few hours rather than camp out in a foreign airport (that turned out not to have free wireless – oh the horror).

We caught a cab downtown to the historic Centro and did the Turibus for a few hours, then hopped off and grabbed some lunch at a fairly upscale shopping district before catching a cab back to the airport. Not a ton of time to see the sights but I was left with some distinct impressions and some photographs to remember the moment. Please allow me to share a few of both with you in the brief paragraphs below. 

Impressions of Mexico City

Chipped paint flakes off rusted bars.

At one time this french balcony was surely the scene of a romantic interlude.

Time has reduced the building to a mere shadow of it’s glory.

 

A pack of feral hounds rip apart a plastic garbage bag.

Bells tinkle from the ice cream vendor peddling his wares

as children play with a soccer ball in a nearby dusty alley.

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Twisting turns emblazoned with graffiti and street art interspersed with regal promenades.

Well kempt medians with palm trees painted white.

There is a certain pride displayed in the way the citizens of the poor neighborhoods

stride with heads held aloft.

 

Travelling to the west one cannot help but see the royal and cultured bones to this sprawling city.

Jazz music plays in the taxicab, public parks are plentiful with modern art and statuary paying respect to new artisans and past patriarchs.

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Once within the historic center, there is even more pomp and circumstance.

Workers are dressed immaculately, far nicer on the whole than in American cities. Even street vendors and bodega owners wear shirt sleeves and crisply pressed slacks.

 

Women are light skinned and beautiful, men are dapper and worldly. My outfit of khaki shorts, flip flops and golf shirt left me feeling shameful. I changed into long pants and shoes.

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Buildings in the business district were yet ever more impressive and there was a vibrant energy that invited one to explore the shops, restaurants and museums. 

I found myself wistful that I only was allowed a seven hour interlude in this fair city. Unsure if or when I will ever return, but left wondering what other treasures were left unerarthed and that I may never know in Mexico City.

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