México, México

El DF... what comes to mind when you hear its name? Smog? Over population? Quesadillas that don't necessarily have queso? Protests? Rubbish? Congestion? All of those answers would be valid. Mexico City is one of the largest and most populous cities in the world, but unlike Tokyo or New York (I imagine, never having been to either), the capital lacks a sleek, streamlined feel. Like in most large cities, people always seem to be in a rush, often not even looking when they cross the road in the city centre, just wandering across.

However, at night Mexico City takes on a different vibe in the build up to Christmas.  The streets become packed with those more interested in dilly-dallying as they take the kids to see the Christmas displays and events in the zócalo, the central plaza. Fake snow falls in this main andador, pictured above, floating out of the buildings above. The crowd slows to a standstill, taking photos of themselves in the "winter wonderland" that surrounds them. Although it is winter, the snowy ideal of Christmas has to be manufactured here. People can't just feel snow fall; fake snow is spewed from buildings onto the footpath. Snowmen can't just be built here; a snowmen building area is put up with man-made snow and moulds provided.  Kids can't just go sledding here; an iced slide is constructed.  Mexico, so keen to live up to the Christmas expectations of kids and adults alike out does itself in trying to appease them. Consumerism, extravagance and exuberance; Mexico at it again.

El Cumpleaños de Lupe...

The anniversary of the sighting of the Virgin of Guadalupe, almost five hundred years ago.  Perhaps the most incongruous and colourful event in Mexico, Lupe's birthday is a huge deal for many Mexican's, particularly those who undertake pilgrimages to sites such as this basilica in Mexico City.  I have talked about the Virgin Guadalupe before, here and there, but before this recent birthday of hers I had never seen her worship to such a scale.

Many people came to the Basilica dressed in a shirt or dress bearing the image of the Virgin while others have her portrait strapped to their back, or carry her image as a statue all day; any tangible way to prove the strength of their devotion to la reina de México.  My favourite were the kids with the Virgin capes and the Virgin stamps on their faces.

Prior to this, I had been unfamiliar with the idea of Christianity wrapped so thoroughly in feathers and shrouded in incense.  A paved expanse surrounding the main, circular church which is somewhat reminiscent of a circus tent, was filled with scenes like this one: feathered, colourful people dancing their praise to the Virgin in a haze of incense.

The contrast between the sombreness of the church and the brightly coloured, feathered people dancing is striking.  It reminds me of how the Lupe was used to legitimise the Catholic church in Mexico, to strengthen Spain's hold over the newly found land, but seems to show rebellion as well.  It shows Mexicans accepting her, and thus the Spanish religion, on their own terms.  With all the colour, flourish and jazz that they can squeeze into their devotion, Mexico has truly made Lupe, and this pedacito of Catholicism their own.

Los Conflictos De Los Toros

Los toros... An event at once horrifying, grotesque and an intricate game between man and beast.  A violent dance that is not even close to being fair, with the odds stacked against the bull.  Trotting in, the bull appears somewhat confused by the open arena and the eager crowd.  He's slowly weakened, poked and prodded, tired from charging around the arena.  Only after this does the real dance begin.  It is a shame: the best bit only happens after the bull has been worn down and injured.  Having said that, with a skilled toreador, the dance can be truly breath-taking.  A furious bull, charging, turning in tight circles, following the cloth, or turning firstly in one direction and then doubling back on himself, going where the cloth leads him: it is genuinely astonishing.  And even more so, when after this tight dance between enemies the toreador turns his back on the bull and walks away, arms upraised to the praise of the crowd.  How can he trust his opponent that he has been tormenting not to run him down?  I don't know, but for some reason the bull doesn't.  Maybe the bull doesn't understand it is a fight to the death.

It is really an emotionally confusing event.  The setting itself buzzes with excitement, the stabbing and the deaths of the bulls seems tragic - and even more so when the crowd celebrates it.  I often found myself on the side of the bull, cheering against the crowd, cheering on the underdog who didn't even necessarily know what he was fighting for nor the rules of the game.  But the archaic attire, the bold colours, the food vendors - all build an enthusiasm which sometimes left me sickened - enthusiasm for violence and death?  Like the gladiators of ancient Rome: in the end it is a spectacle.  Shocking, unsettling, exciting and above all else: dramatic.  I am glad we saw the two startling and conflicting faces of the event, but I have no need to go again.  And although once was enough for me, it wasn't enough to  understand the event, something I'm not sure I could ever achieve.  Despite all the associations with los toros - masculinity, sexuality, risk... I can't get past the violence at its core.

México... de nuevo

Everything seems at once familiar and foreign.  Returning to a place that you once knew well, that was dear to you... It is not something I'm practised at.  It is strange, walking through streets that were once familiar, remembering isolated places but failing to recall how they interconnect.  A giant and unrelenting case of déjà vu.  Knowing places but not how they are situated in space.  Stumbling over words in a language left dusty.  Seeing phenomena that feels as though you had watched a documentary on it a year or two ago, not as though it were a reality you lived.

That is the unsettledness that has plagued me since returning to Mexico.  And while it is dissipating more and more everyday, it is slightly unnerving that it was ever there: almost two years ago I fell in love with this country.  Shouldn't it feel more natural, being back?

I arrived shortly before Día de muertos, and on going out to celebrate...it was not how I had remembered it.  I had forgotten that Oaxaca, where we had celebrated Día de muertos the year before, was very different to Guadalajara.  Where Oaxaca was indigenous, superstitious and extravagant in its celebrations, Guadalajara seems to treat the occasion as more of a big costume party.  Guadalajara takes the holiday and dresses it up in a cosmopolitan outfit.  Maybe the surprise of this was exaggerated for me because I was still getting used to the idea of being back in Mexico.  I think I had been dreaming of reliving my memories instead of making new ones; that was a mistake.  Nothing stays the same, even less when it is on the other side of the country.  Mexico, I'll give you another chance.  No more biases.  Lo prometo.

La Quinceañera del Parque

This photo always makes me giggle.  The quinceañera: Mexico at its most extravagant and ridiculous.  I didn't even know that dresses like this actually existed in real life before I arrived in Mexico.  Walking through the streets of Mexico City, I passed a store that sold quinceañera dresses.  I couldn't help but stare they were so... flamboyant.  Shaking my head, I told myself that it had just been some kind of fancy dress shop.  I managed to go on believing this for about three weeks, until in Guadalajara I found myself walking around "that part of town".  All up, there were about twenty stores selling these outrageous dresses, each one seeming crazier than the last.  There were all kinds of ornamentation: wings, leopard print, sparkles, but mostly there was plenty of poof.  This was when I knew that it was probably not just your average fancy dress.

It turns out the quinceañera is a girl celebrating her fifteenth birthday, when she is seen to go from being a kid to a woman.  Just like that, a flick of the switch.  Of course, this idea in itself is not so strange, after all in Australia we have debutantes.  I just love the idea of the quinceañera so much because it does the typical Mexican; it takes what is a fairly normal custom and then seems to have taken a step back, asking itself - but how can I make it more.... jazzy?  The result is a ritual which combines the church and community with a bursting forth of exuberance that seems to hit you over the head, leaving you wondering where it came from?

The quinceañeras are one of my favourite parts of Mexico; they pop up from nowhere when you least expect it.  For instance, this photo was taken on a casual picnic in the park; but I've also seen the girls posing in front of fountains and even once on a roundabout.  That they can just appear, so unexpectedly, is what I love about Mexico.  It takes the extreme, the extraordinary, the ridiculous and makes it the everyday.  Life in Mexico is really quite dream-like: dramatic, colourful, startling and sometimes scary things happen, but no one misses a beat, everything just keeps going on.  - Did you see the girl in the giant purple dress lying on the grass with people attending her skirts?  - Oh, what? The quinceañera? Yeah, I think so.

La Calle Por La Noche

Oaxaca, in the days leading up to Día de los Muertos.  Maybe it was just my imagination, my own excitement for Día de los Muertos, but there was an energy, an electricity in the air, and particularly at night, when people would come out dressed up, or in a parade.  I remember thinking shortly after arriving in Mexico, that while it is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night.  Maybe it is because everything seems to take on a kind of mystic quality, like the borders between the real and the unreal, reality and dreams seem to blur.  There is more potential at night; greater possibilities, choices and events that would never occur during daylight hours.  This is, of course, exaggerated to a completely different scale around Día de los Muertos, when the divide between the living and the dead realms is meant to be at its weakest.  Everyone seemed to be buzzing.  Although it may have just been that my vision was distorted by my own buzzing, shaking everything, I don't really believe that.  Sitting at this food stall I could feel the excitement tugging at me, drawing me back to see what was happening around the zócalo.

What I wouldn't give to be back there now, instead of working on an essay for Uni.  Even take away the excitement of Día de los Muertos, what could be more enticing than the carelessness of walking down a deserted street late at night, drawn by the scent of frying meats and tortillas?  Like a moth to the flame, not just drawn in by the smell, but by the well-lit stall against the dark night.  The carefree days of late night tacos.

Buddha Goes to the Beach

Along the malecón of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, lie a range of sand sculptures, onsite lighting making them even the more striking at night.  I find this sculpture itself out of place in Puerto Vallarta, a highly commercialised, tourist town, hinted at in the lit up buildings in the background.  The malecón is not designed to be a peaceful walk at night alongside the incredibly detailed sculptures and statues.  Even more so than in less touristic places it springs to life at night, with a seemingly endless trail of food venders, toy and trinket sellers, and performers.

There is too much peace in the sculpture to fit.  It's also not very Mexican.  But I think the sculpture, standing taller than I, deserves my forgiveness this time.  I wish I could  keep so composed facing the constant threat of being washed away.  Maybe if I stretch my ears and grow some bonsai trees it will help.  I think I'll do that.

Lupe II

I've already discussed the Mexican virgin Guadalupe in another entry, so I won't be re-hashing that.  I just love the intensity of this photo; the sheer volume of religious iconography, the prominence and centrality of Guadalupe and the brightness of the colours and in particular the flowers.  What else is so great about this is is that it was located in a small, roadside restaurant in Oaxaca.  By small I mean that while it wasn't small in size, it did have a definite quaint feel about it, particularly in the way that the waitress/cook/owner (I guess), an elderly woman, would simply come and ask you what is was that you wanted to eat, without providing a menu.

Such intense and concentrated imagery in such a relaxed, everyday setting.  Religion is a funny thing sometimes.

México en una cajita...

I went to a function today, a homecoming celebration/debrief here in Melbourne, Australia, for students who had recently returned from exchange.  It was about reverse culture shock, using the exchange experience to sell yourself to employers and future directions, basically.

When I think of how Mexico seems to Australians, this picture is what I think of, as well as Taco Bill's, drug cartels, tequila and sombreros - as in ridiculously large, straw hats.  Although that had never been my summary of Mexican culture, there is no way I want to revert to someone who even makes those distorted associations, let alone believes them.  I was shuddering internally when the speaker even mentioned 're-assimilation' and 're-integration', but maybe that is in part due to my studies in Anthropology.  Ideas of a culture should never be condensed into a mass-produced package and shipped off for consumption.  Ironically, I took this picture for my boyfriend, who had set me the task of taking photos of normal, everyday things in Australia that would not seem normal to him.

Part of my aversion to ideas such as 're-assimilation' clearly stem from not wanting to give up ways that I have changed, to revert back to the 'original me'.  But, on the other hand, seeing again how Mexico is portrayed in here, makes me cringe at the ways that similarly I, as part of my own culture, am represented in some packaged-format as well.  I mean, this was obvious to me when I was in Mexico, and basically whenever I would mention Australia to a Mexican I would get a comment about kangaroos.  Maybe in this way I feel double packaged: originally in Australia, then shipped off, adjusted, and shipped back in a shiny, new Mexican wrapper.  I just wish wrappers weren't necessary.

El Esqueleto De Bob Marley Está En La Calle

I never exactly understood why I like this photo... It probably has to do with the tackiness of the Bob Marley hat, casually thrown on the dummy, like it was really hip...  the elaborately decorated skull in true Mexican fashion... But mostly with how out of place it seems in the quaint beauty of this street in Guanajuato.  Maybe its out of place-ness speaks to me, because I've always felt that way myself; a stranger in a familiar place.  Maybe because it hints at standing out, but remaining in hidden; unknown and disguised, bringing the magic of a masquerade ball to the street.  Maybe it is because it shows the ever present and radical contrasts in Mexican society - from the cholos to the fresas; two extremes together as one.  But who knows, maybe after all it is just a funny hat?

Transitions

I actually took this picture a bit over a year ago, just before I left for Mexico.  I'd just gotten a new camera, by far the fanciest camera I'd ever had, and took this one while fiddling with the functions.  At the time I was staying at my aunty's for a couple of weeks after my lease ended and I'd moved out of a share house with friends, all the while waiting (and organising myself) to leave for Mexico.  The year in Mexico came and went, an amazing year in so many ways.  But now I'm back I find myself in the same boat, but reversed.  Now I'm waiting for friends to move in with.

The messiness of the transitions really seems to emphasise the end of an era; to rub it in, and not just skin deep.  But maybe, just maybe, as I was looking down the lens from the balcony, I wasn't seeing the end; but what came next, what was lying in wait for me in Mexico.  And maybe I just need to look a little further to see what is waiting for me here.





But seriously, don't go into share housing if you're planning on moving a lot.  If you have a choice, that is.

Guadalajara, Guadalajara...

I took this photo in maybe my first complete day in Guadalajara, over a year ago now.  I hadn't yet come to know the city's quirks or understand its charm.  I was unaware of the unreliable and unpredictable public transport system, of the street food and tapatío specialties such as tejuino and jericalla, and the almost unchanging weather.  Still unaccustomed to the lack of punctuality and the lack of haste of the people, I settled into this foreign city and made it my home.  The architecture, the traffic, the food, the people, the Mexican slang, the no pasa nada attitude... while there were still surprises along the way, over time everything became more or less natural, expected.

For just over a year I called Guadalajara 'home', and let its charms entice me.  Having just made it back to Australia (like an adopted child, I have started to think of Australia as my 'birth home' rather than my actual home)... things don't feel the same as when I left them.  Everything seems to come with a certain superficiality, maybe even sterility... but maybe that comes from the whole first world thing.  Slowly the differences are becoming less jarring, but I don't think the 'Lucky Country' will ever be the same for me again...  Maybe I left my heart in Mexico.

Serpentine Streets

The scales of the sleeping snake that is the street below, form from the glittering of paving; wet from earlier showers.  A passing taxi bringing life to the serpent, forming a head maybe, as he shuttles along, kicking up water from the snake's back, letting it fall in his wake.

Perched up on the ledge of the building beside the serpentine street, while the echoes of the fireworks reverberated, maybe not through the damp air that seemed to hang over the evening, watching, but through the people for whom the burst of light were also bursts of hope for the coming year.  I watched the lying serpent wake and sleep with passing cars over and over, as my boyfriend held me, not trusting me so close to the edge.  New Year's Eve 2012...

I hadn't realised that in Mexico, New Year's Eve is more of a family affair, despite the warnings of my boyfriend.  The idea just seemed so foreign to me, that subconsciously I'd instantly rejected it.  The quietness of the streets was eerie, and the intermittent rain and the heavy clouds above, waiting impatiently to dump their heavy loads on whoever happened to pass below, ominous.  But the distant fireworks seemed to be trying desperately, yet weakly, to offer promises for the new year.  It's yet to be seen if those far-off sparks of hope will last out 2013.

Monstruos Andan Por La Calle

Waking up, groggily, vision still slightly blurry, to an alien invasion... is what I think of when I see this photo.  What isn't really shown is that the being in the corner, while having a human face, has the body of a turtle and the legs of an octopus.

We were walking back to my place, my boyfriend and I, late at night, after having been to a Radaid performance in el centro.  They're always surprising: how many of them will be there (it's a regular gig and there are eight of them), how they will play their instruments... I won't lie, there were even a couple of instruments there that I'd never seen before.  Still on a bit of a high from that (they'd been pretty amazing, intense), I stopped to take some photos, before we started climbing over the monsters.  My boyfriend was proudly seated on one, riding it like a horse,  my camera strap the reins, when a small, dirty man came and asked for money for his diabetes medication.  Jumping down from his mount, we kept on wandering home, despite the man's call to me of, "no te conviene".

I don't know why, but desperation, rudeness and manipulation... I always find them haunting, like their acts echo throughout me, eventually fading down to a whisper, but starting out as a loud call bouncing from one part of me to another.  In their wake they leave a certain hollowness inside until they wane to a vague memory.  I'm hoping that eventually his call will be completely over-written by the image of my boyfriend sitting majestically on his monster in front of the church.

Still Waters

La Huasteca Potosina... a small area of sprouting jungle in central Mexico; a mixture of natural and man-made wonders...

I had made it there with a bus load of exchange students from school one long weekend.  It was the first (and last) trip that I went on with the school, for good reason.  There was a looooot of time on the bus - it was pretty far away from Guadalajara, and all the sites seemed to be a good distance apart.  There was also the music choices on the bus which, unfortunately, did include a video of an entire Shakira concert.  But the thing that I disliked the most was that by the end I didn't feel like I had ''gotten to know'' la Huasteca - we were shipped around in the bus, I never knew where we were or where we were going.  Having said all that, it was a good trip, and we did see some amazing things, I'm just not really into large group trips or tours.

This one was taken at one of the first stops on the trip: waterfalls and calm pools of turquoise waters nestled into the jungle.  Whilst all of our group headed down to the otherside of the pool, in their bikinis/swimmers and their brightly coloured life jackets, where the water was more still, these two local boys were jumping off the rock face into the water gushing down at them.  There was a notable contrast between their carefree reckless diversion compared to the overly cautious tourists - and I know who looked like they were having more fun.

The Mother's Visit

I was just finishing my semester abroad, and my undergraduate degrees, when my mum threw together a last minute trip over to visit me.  I actually hadn't even finished my exams before she arrived in Mexico.  So she spent a few days in Mexico City before coming over to see me in Guadalajara.

In the last few days that she was over I took her to Guanajuato.  I hadn't spent so much time with her in years, and by the time we arrived in Guanajuato I was beginning to tire of some of her tricks.  She doesn't speak Spanish, and wouldn't even attempt to buy anything for herself if I was there with her.  She was scared to try food when she didn't know what it was.  She would always walk behind me in the street.  She would never suggest a place to eat, but would just say, ''Wherever you want,''... which, given that I myself am terrible at making up my mind, isn't much of a help.  She was, at least, suitably impressed by the quaint beauty of Guanajuato.  We had been up these stairs of the university during the day, and up to the lookout, but I had wanted to see it at night.  So we wandered around and around, with me leading and getting us slightly lost, through the winding, narrow streets, passing the underground tunnels, until we stumbled across it again.

I always hold that while Mexico is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night.  I think it is partly the quality of the light, its yellowness, as well as how the streets seem to come to life.  Guanajuato was no exception.  I particularly like this one for the ring of light which seems to give it a surreal quality, like the photo, or reality, has been twisted slightly.

Border Business

A few days ago I was in Belize, the sole purpose of the trip being a border run as my tourist visa was about to expire in Mexico.  I had caught a local bus, paying for the Corozal-Chetumal trip.  The bus was old school: brown vinyl seats, air conditioning that looked like someone had installed an old system designed for a house...  And most of the other custom (all, apart from me, as far as I could tell) was local, people visiting friends, but mostly Mexicans that had gone shopping the the Corozal Free Zone - a compound just over the border that only contains stores that are duty free).

I was a bit edgy about going through immigration, particulary on the Mexican side, as I would be getting my third visa in under a year.  I passed through the Belize immigration with the man at the desk barely glancing at me, as he continued with his conversation in what I guessed was Kriol.  Although I was a little disorientated leaving the hall, I found the carpark where a cream bus was parked.  I was cursing myself for having forgotten the colour of the bus (as buses that ran this trip all looked the same apart from their colour), but it turned out to be the only one there.  Crossing over the river, we quickly arrived at the Mexican immigration.  This was a lot busier.  This time there were queues and forms to fill out (as you would expect at immigration).  I passed through with only a couple of questions... however, it seemed that I had taken much longer than everyone else on the bus.  A couple of times I asked where the buses would be, and quickly found the street where they were parked.   As I walked down the street I kept asking myself - what colour was it again?  But I couldn't see any buses that even looked a similar style - they all looked like tour buses.  I wandered back up and down, fixing my attention on the buses, before I let myself believe the inevitable truth - the bus had left me at the border.

Swearing under my breath I headed slowly back to the corner, where the "street of buses" started, trying to work out what I was going to do.  All of the other buses looked like tour buses, a few taxis were lined up closer to the corner... but I wasn't keen on the extra cost of taking one...  Looking across the street I saw this clunky looking, small bus with green windows that was painted in the same way as the taxis: white with a yellow stripe.

It was on that bus that I took this photo.  The woman in the corner was with some friends who had crossed for some duty free shopping, and were merrily gossiping.  I think it is the blandness and the contrast with the green windows that makes this photo interesting, while the woman adds a human element to the rigidity and starkness of the immigration formalities.

Graveyard Tunes

We were heading out of the cemetery in Oaxaca a couple of days before Día de Muertos, after having spent a couple of hours surrounded by innumerable candles and listening to choirs and a small orchestra perform.  As we were leaving, we heard the unmistakeable call of a mariachi band.  Following the notes we stumbled across them, and a small gathering clustered around a couple of graves.  We had only been there for a minute before a man came up to us offering mezcal.  My boyfriend, the non-drinker, pretending to be tough, accepted although it was fairly horrid.  He was then taken aside to talk to an old man while I watched the mariachi.  Later he told me that the old man had hired the mariachi to play at the graves of his dead family.

What I liked about this was that we had spent so long listening to the polished musicans hired by the city to perform, but on slipping away we encountered this; something that was felt much more real, more important, more personal and much more Mexican.

Lupe

 

Guadalupe, Mexico's own Virgin, has a habit of turning up in the most unexpected places: caps, shirts, necklaces, tiles, notebooks, bowls, lighters, fake fingernails.  This one was a recent spotting in Oaxaca.  I like this one because of its sneaky appearance and because it looks kind of like she is bringing light to the darkness.

Through Someone Else's Eyes

We were in Oaxaca recently, my boyfriend and I.  We were sitting in a cemetery, waiting for a choir to begin their performance for the Día de Muertos celebrations.  Niches lined the outer walls of the pantheon, graves, empty and occupied a like, all 2,400 of them bearing a candle.  As we waited for the performance to begin, my boyfriend trying to nap on my shoulder, I looked around, out across the grave yard, back over the niches.  I was doing this until I realised that I could see the niches through  the glasses of this man seated in front of me.  I like this photo because it is like seeing the world through someone else's eyes: a slightly contorted version of what you see as your own reality.