|
[Mexico] Mexico City
|
morgue
|
Nov 18, 2005 08:37 PST
|
Mexico City is a huge, thronged metropolis crowded with activity and
distraction. It was built by the conquistadors on the site of the
city of Tenochtitlan, of which very little remains, so complete was
its destruction; thankfully, the traditions of the native peoples were
not similarly destroyed. In the great square in the centre of the
city, the zocalo, there was a small group of people with drums and
around them at least a hundred others danced in a circle, traditional
and ancient dances. These weren't the costumed incense-burners found
elsewhere, seeking tourist money - these were ordinary people in
ordinary clothing, taking part in a fierce dance with hundreds of
years of history. They were still going when I walked past a second
time two hours later, seemingly without letup. Their numbers had
swollen still further.
In Mexico City I went to see the lucha libre, the wrestling. Mexican
wrestling is a distinctive tradition, mixing the showpiece staged
battles of the American counterpart with an ancient cultural interest
in masks and costumes, and a healthy dose of comic-book superheroics
to boot. The wrestlers are gigantic, seven feet tall and nearly as
broad, and the heroes all wear masks and capes. (Most of the villains
wear similar outfits, but a bare face is nearly always the sign of
true villainy.) The contests they engaging turn on remarkable
aerial feats, these huge warriors launching themselves from the top
rope of the ring into their target below and somehow flipping over
like Olympic divers in the air; they have the flexibility and flight
of Chinese acrobats, only ten times as large and pretending to fight
each other. The crowd, over ten-thousand strong, cheered and whistled
for the heroes and booed and roared at the villains. The final match
of the evening was between Santo Jr and some wicked opponent; Santo Jr
is the inheritor of the reputation of the most famous luchador of all,
Santo, who crossed over into movies and battled wolfmen and flying
saucers. Throughout his life and career, Santo never revealed his
face. The match was a close one, as they always are, but the tables
were turned on Santo Jr when his mask was ripped from his face,
forcing him to cover it with his hands; while he was defenceless, his
opponent pinned him for a three-count and then, kindly, restored his
mask so he could put it back on and take the microphone to berate his
victorious opponent's cowardice. The choreography was smooth; not one
of the thousands of fans in attendance caught a glimpse of Santo Jr's
face throughout.
The next night I developed a feud of my own with a wrestler, at least
a retired one; famed luchador Super Astro retired to set up a sandwich
shop, which he decorates with the masks of his fellow luchadores and
photos of him in his heyday. Sandwiches (tortas) are a basic meal in
Mexico, and Super Astro's shop boasted an enormous sandwich that you
could have free of charge if you could eat it in fifteen minutes; my
Canadian companion Marc tried the junior version, half the size, and
pronounced himself defeated an hour later having made it two-thirds of
the way through that.
But the feud wasn't caused by the size of the sandwiches; it was
because my sandwich gave me food poisoning. I'd had, I think,
uncommon good luck in Mexico regarding my health and well-being, but
that luck well and truly came to an end that night. Food poisoning is
not fun. I've never had it before, and I never hope to again. (At
one point I rolled up my t-shirt and looked at my belly, and I could
see it pulsing from the spasms of my stomach. It was like a second
heartbeat. Weird.)
So, that's it, Super Astro. You got me - but you're in my arena now.
Everyone - when you're in Mexico City, don't eat at Super Astros!
Don't do it! No matter how much you like Mexican wrestling!
Hah, that's right, Super Astro! Your business will be on the ropes
once this email gets forwarded throughout the internet! I guess the
old saying is true... the pen is mightier than the flying scissor
neck flip after all.
[I'm just back in Edinburgh! One more morgueatlarge email to send,
describing my last stop on the road...]
|
|
 |
|
