I estimate I walked for eight hours yestreday. I slept hard last night.
I will review yesterday: I woke at 6 and was out as the sun began to rise in the streets. I walked to a large plaza where a 30k run was beginning from. I stood along side the runners, and took of with them. I ran for fifteen minutes or so before I came upon a group of morning-going street food vendors, setting up for the day. I admired their set-ups and enjoyed some heat from their stoves. I was cold. I ducked into a church to thaw for a bit and caught some of the morning service I sat near the back and was not given a flyer with lyrics on it like everyone else in the church it seemed. I believe I radiate tourist, if a bohemian one. The congregation sat and stood sat and stood, I left strategically at the initiation of a standing round. I walked back toward the hostel to get some more sleep. On the way back, I stopped in another cathedral, for more warmth and more visual stimulation. Man, the pews were sparsly populated. I wonder what churches will do when theri coffers run dry. Will they become more fantastic for to encourage attendance? I think yes. Ive attended start up churches with rock bands and in-ear microphones- ones that you can smell desperation in the sending out of the offering plates. What I appreciate about the catholic churches is their consistency, like a McDonalds hamburger- you know what youre going to get. Anyway, on I went back to the hostel to sleep more.
I woke for the second time around noon and set out on a mission to find a backpack, as mine had developed a large opening in the bottom of its front pocket. I walked for miles and explored many small shops. It occoured in my consciousness that this whole downtown area (and I was more honestly saying this whole country, because its funny) is like a giant flea market. There were shops in the street for as far as I walked, there were shops in the subway stations. At times I would enter the facade of a building of shops and go thorugh an upstairs-downtstairs-left-right-left-right-turnaround collection of stores. I would exit o some other street entirely. What made it seem like a flea market was the redundancy of merchandise. What made the endeavor interesting was the architecture and the odd shops peppered in. My search came up relatively fruitless, though I did stop in to a restaurant for an interesting lunch. I ordered something which I did not recognize on the menu. What came out was a mole dish with rice and tortillas and a hollowed out..something. It was slathered in mole sauce and upon probing witha fork, mostly bone. What was this cavernous thing? As I picked with my fingers meat from the bone, I grew concerned. My lunch had become a grizzly excavation, and my imagination ran wild. The structure at times resembled a tortoise shell, then the skull of a dog. What have I done? I found a rib bone, then another on the other side- this was the back section of a chicken! I wonder what the translation entails, a chicken carapese? Chicken back? I washed down my chicken back with a delicious horchata. I was very full, and took a walk to the large plaza where the race had begun that morning. I took a seat under a large sculpture, then assumed a reclined posture, soaking in rays from the late afternoon sun. I reclined more and my eyelids grew heavy- a proper siesta impending. I noticed a cop with a shotgun accross his chest approaching. He wanted to know if I was alright. I laughed, said "si, gracias" and thought about my bizzare lunch. I became a coash cow iin that plaza, for students of a university who were profiling tourists for to conduct interviews with en ingles. I obliged to four interviews before feeling exploited. They each asked what I liked about Mexican culture, which put me in my head about what happened to this land upon the arrival of columbus, pizzaro, et al. How now do I separate Mexican culture from Spanish culture? The people, I said, cant go wrong with the people- and it was true- thats whats good here mostly- the people, the openness, the lack of pretension. On these long walks Ive had conversations with a handful of strangers, that are curious of me, as I am of them. THe language becomes secondary to intent. A couple in the middle of the night the other night asked what I was interested in taking a picture of (I was taking a picture of a modern apartment complex, built behind an eighteenth century gateway). I replied that I liked the architecture and in a few go-rounds they were offering to smoke me out, offering places to go see, etc. I turned down their offer to smoke because prior to coming here I was issued a ticket for possession, and had opted for probation to see my way out of the charge.
Another gentleman wrote a list of museums for me to visit into my sketchbook. I ended up giving him a hug, Aaron. He was an airplane mechanic.
The day grew long. I found a shop with second hand clothing and I bought a jacket to stay warm. I guess were at 6000 feet of elevation. I did next to no planning before comoing here, which has resulted in me wandering around the shops in the downtown area. I like it, though. After Ringling, I am thrilled to not have an itenerary and to wander the streets of an unfamiliar place. My first night arriving here, I came in late. I didnt know the address of my hostel, only the cross streets, which boots on the ground, turned out to be not enough. I walked by a woman knocking on a large door, suitcase in hand, and I asked "Hostel?"
"Si, Hotel." I followed her into the doorway into a cavernous lobby, the secondary light came from a strand of christmas lights, a full scale nativity scene graced (and I used grace liberally in this case) the far corner. The primary light came from an old lamp on the conceirge counter. I was notified that there was no room in the inn. I stood still, momentarily out of options. The only sound came from a fatigued aquarium to my right, a periodic gurble from the aerator. Three goldfish swam in lazy spheres. I thought about the addage of a goldfish growing only to capacity of its space,"Wait!" (I was), "We do have one room still. Its a double." "Si, bien. Yes Please." I wrapped myself in swaddling cloths and turned off after a marathon of a day.
I met alphonse in the hostel lobby. He was a mechainc for excavators. He was Norwegian on paper and in blood, Hed been travelling for eight months by that point. He asked me if I was a hiker. I get asked this a lot. I told him no, but I do like to travel to cities and walk accross them. (thats gotta count for something, right?) Hed just hiked the Pacific coast trail through from the mexican border, up into Canada, which took him just over four months. Since then, hed flown down to panama city, Panama, and has traveled north via bus from town to town, exploring central America. He said he was ready to be home.
Im having some truble geting to drawing, could I be burnt out from school? Usually graffiti helps me get out of this funk. Ive been drawing a bit, but compared to my walking, marginal.
I found a good backpack today. I woke up a little later , but at least today, I wont have to go back to sleep in order to make it to the evening hours.
