On the coach at 9:30am, heading to the City of Gods. The multiple layers, the mountain in the background and the buildings in the midground and the motorway in the foreground is nothing different to any other urban city. But I think I like this image despite its mundane-ness, because it mutes the heat I was feeling that day. These days I’m enjoying living in the present moment however this comes at risk of missing opportunities. Taken from my window just before the coach turned into Teotihuacán I missed so much of what could have also been included in this picture because I enjoy sleep.
The City of Gods
If you exclude the thousands of tourists local and foreign who visit on an hourly basis, then going to Teotihuacan literally feels like you are stepping into history. A reconstruction of what once was a civilisation pre-dating Eduardo Cortes and the conquistadores, this place attempts to retell the story and the lifestyle of the inhabitants which to my knowledge derived from expert tourguides (plural because I ended up visiting more than once) the first settlers let alone creators of the city remain a mystery. The Aztecs found it like this and made it their own after the inhabitants left due to food shortages (according to one of the theories).
I don’t know why, maybe it’s my love for history and migration stories that have existed throughout humanity’s existence, but something about physically being here and hearing the narrated theories behind the meanings of the Avenue of the Dead, Pyramid of the Sun and Moon and the Temple of Quetzalcoatl absolutely fasinated me. The responsibility of ensuring the stories are as close to the truth as they could be, is huge, when in reality everything is theorised. Unless you were there you’ll never know truly know the complete experience. Up until this moment my knowledge was scarce. Now? I’d love to take a course on Mesoamerica - or at least read a book about it.
Red & Yellow.
Seeing this combination alongside the Coyoacán side streets stopped me in my tracks because they’re the two colours I gel with hard. Blue never sat right with me. Of the 3 primary colours, Red&Yellow give me unrelenting comfort whenever I encounter them on textiles, buildings, and visuals. Warmth, heat, joy, passion, optimism. They give me those things. The car more of a general visual aesthetic, I’ve always wondered whether our attitudes to life would change in London if we were able to paint our houses the colours of the rainbow, in areas outside of Notting Hill, instead of blending in with the industrial victorian background that the city once was. Would we be putting ourselves out in the open for passersby to see? Or does colour not hold that kind of power?
Danza
I would see the square filled with Señors and Señoras in every mini-zócalo that I visited. Family members, young and old would accompany them in basking among the sounds played by the community band, dancing a traditional dance called Danza, which pre-dates salsa and even son. It’s common among the elder generation. Their flamboyance and nostalgic presence taking them back to when this style dominated social settings makes this pastime worth spending the time enjoying and reminising along with them. It was a community day out, neighbours, passersby, everybody was welcomed. All you need is music and rhythm and you can fit right in. The collectivistic feeling that manifests itself internally everytime I pass one of these cannot be described, only experienced, and longed for.
Postcards from el Pueblo Magico
The vibrancy of the blues, whites and beiges and the soft grains brings a a sense of European nostalgia. Once a colonial town, Taxco was once known for mining silver, with its legacy of hosting copious amounts of silver for jewellery and silverware still evident when you go to visit today. It’s charm is very evident as you walk along the cobbled streets, every turning capturing my eyes.
Street and cityscape photography was my introduction to photography, and still remains the one style that I find so much joy doing. I love the look of building architecture, the way houses are designed. You can tell the history of a place by its aesthetics. Or can you? By one glance I would have thought this was somewhere in Spain, until I realised that I’m as physically far away from Europe as the residents and their ancestors have been for the last 250 plus years.
PoPo
We went in anticipation for Popocatépetl to erupt. It teased us instead. An volcano that usually squirts out lava on an almost daily basis decided to lay back this time round. Popocatépetl, a volcano with a twin, Iztaccihuatl, is the second highest peak in Mexico. Up until this point, I had never been in such close proximity to a volcano. It was breathtakingly cold, but also very mystical: the sounds of nature surrounding our lodge felt very reminiscent of the campsites I used to seldom frequent when I was young. For one night only, sleeping alongside Popo was intimate and full of wonder.
In the shadow of the night, I remember seeing the stars illuminating the sky as if it were giving us a private light show. I thought to myself, there’s no way I could even attempt to capture this. A friend was teaching me how to photograph Popo at night, something I’ve never attempted to do and rightly so - it’s hard. It requires the technique, the use of the infinity focus, and a decent lens. Me being me I decided to wait until the dawn to attempt anything worth editing in post. There was something about the morning sky that was so hopeful. The sun ray’s golden glow kissing the foreground made for an alright snap, a reminder that a new day hints at a new frame of mind, a new attempt at something after engaging with trial and error the previous day, as well as a fresh new gaze to alter or magnify your visual perspective of the landscape.
Up up here we go
I used to work in a think tank a couple of years ago that focused on research about London's urban fabric, sometimes providing case studies of other urban cities' provision of public transportation, their funding models, among other things. Since then, I have this thing of wanting to ride on all forms of public transport that a city has to offer. Something about just seeing how people commute across different contexts for some reason fascinates me. It might be the inner social psychologist in me, or maybe I'm too tired of seeing the same people on the dusty London Central Line. Idk.
I'm almost convinced that this city has more alternative modes of transport than any other urban city I know. You have the mini bus, the big bus, the metro, the metrobús.. I was going to say it's probably missing a tram but then I remembered that the trolebús is the tram.. I think. anyway. Here is the Cablebús, connecting the eastern part of the city with the centre, in a more convenient manner.
Wad
The beautiful thing about Mexico City is the ease of connecting. Local, or foreign, the warmth exudes in abundance. You take in an inhale, and as you’re about to exhale on the 4th count someone will pop out from nowhere to say hello, introduce themselves, and before you know it, you’ve clicked.
In a global metropolis where the minority within the minority are the minority, the British-African that I am still managed to coincide with African-Americans in a city that we both despite having little to no connection in, felt more at home than ever. Through a friend I was introduced to Wad, a career coach from the States with Sudanese roots, bouncing between Condesa and Coyoacán during her 2 month stay in Mexico. Currently on a world tour, bouncing between lands across countries and continents She’s currently looking for a somewhere to lay her roots.
Uprooting is no easy feat, the move to somewhere unfamiliar. New experiences, new people, new languages. You’ll be pushed out of your comfort zone and forced to ask for help. I’m reminded of the uprooting that every child of immigrant parents had to do in the 90s to make a better life for their families. Now in the 2020s, history is repeating itself, but in a different light, it’s the children of those migrant parents who are longing to move away from the land that our parents flocked to, to find a new and improved life for ourselves. We’re just continuing the trend.
La Cena
A late night dinner, we found ourselves knee-deep in a range of different discourses - relationships, the supernatural, the natural, music, feminism, birthday plans, among other things. As I sat and absorbed attempting to aide my listening skills, every once in a while I’d chip in with a nod, or a “es verdad?” “ah, entiendo”, having understood the general gist. In the end, my brain became foggy and I found myself in observation mode, taking in the ambiance, the soft music lingering in the background, the tacos al pastor, the dos equis. After a long day prior at Mt. Popo, the brief stopover at Puebla was to recuperate, for my roommate who was celebrating her birthday and continuing the prep for round 2, and for me to explore a now very familiar place.