Aaaaaaaaaand... go!
My friend Lise, attempting to console herself about her impending return to Canada after a mere six months in Mexico, wrote herself a list of things about this country that she would absolutely not miss for a moment. This included, but was not limited to, the relentless noise, the aggressive men, and the inclusion of tubas in all traditional music.
Now, on several of these factors, she might have a point. There are certainly a lot of tubas in the music, although I, for one, find this charming in a Walter Ostanek kind of way. And, yes, the meat here does tend to be on the fatty side, at least in the tacos, and this would be all the more distressing for a vegetarian such as Lise.
But she missed one. A big one. My big one.
The traffic.
Mexico City traffic defies logic. This is not a simple equation of poor civic planning (those silly unforeseeing Aztecs) coupled with vehicular over-saturation, this is poor civic planning combined with vehicular over-saturation magnified a thousandfold by that heady Mexican vigour that enables Mexican parents to pile their young children into the back of their pickup truck and for window cleaners to lean over the roof ledge without a harness. Mexicans make Montrealers look like demure grannies out for a Sunday drive through the country.
This is... MADNESS.
I am growing hostile with my morning walk to work. It is a step-by-step process, each level requiring increased courage and recklessness.
First there is Avenida Chapultepec, a four-section, ten-lane, honking, howling monstrosity. It is a living game of Frogger, save the ability to jump on top of the logging trucks for safety. The first section is generally easy, the second not so bad. The third is where I recently wandered confidently through the parked cars only to be smacked by a speeding motorcycle. The fourth gives me nightmares.
Then there is Paseo de la Reforma, a.... wait for it... four-section, ten-lane, honking, howling monstrosity. It's actually not as bad as Avenida Chapultepec as there is - gasp and awe - a crosswalk that most drivers seem to acknowledge across the inner two sections, but the outer two sections are a frustrating game of spot the gap.
Finally, there is Tolstoi, the smallish street at the base of my office building that unfortunately links two major streets and thus is a swirling mass of moving metal at all times. It's one-way, with cars turning left across my pedestrian path. It's short so you don't have much warning when a car is going to turn left. It's high speed.
Walking to work means taking my life into my own hands on a daily basis.
The problem is that vehicular traffic is king. At a corner? You do not have the right of way. At a crosswalk? You do not have the right of way. At a crosswalk with a red light and stopped cars and a little blinking man telling you to go ahead? You absolutely do NOT have the right of way, don't even think about it.
Forget violent crime and poisonous toxic - THIS is the real danger of Mexico City.
Three lanes morphing into four, five... six.
Microbus drivers climbing the curbs to get around stopped cars.
Motorcycles and scooters whizzing through the gaps, knees millimeters from mirrors.
Merging culture that involves just go, the oncoming cars will move out of the way.
HOOOOONKING.
Mexico is noisy? There's the primary culprit.
The light at Tolstoi is long, in favour of the people turning left. Inevitably, the people waiting to go straight through on Tolstoi will get tired of waiting. And start honking. At a red light.
No, not honking. Not beepbeepbeep pay attention to me, I'm getting impatient to go, but as if the driver has had an impatience-related coronary and collapsed on his steering wheel, releasing one long continuous blast of noise that will continue without interruption until the stoplight has made note of his displeasure and dutifully changed to green.
My old boss, Michael, once remarked to me that, once I'm comfortable here, I will get over my fear of driving and fit right in.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Not on your life, Michael. Or, rather, not on MY life. Walking is dangerous enough, thank you very much.
I guarantee I have learned some terrible habits for whenever I finally leave Mexico.
Now, on several of these factors, she might have a point. There are certainly a lot of tubas in the music, although I, for one, find this charming in a Walter Ostanek kind of way. And, yes, the meat here does tend to be on the fatty side, at least in the tacos, and this would be all the more distressing for a vegetarian such as Lise.
But she missed one. A big one. My big one.
The traffic.
Mexico City traffic defies logic. This is not a simple equation of poor civic planning (those silly unforeseeing Aztecs) coupled with vehicular over-saturation, this is poor civic planning combined with vehicular over-saturation magnified a thousandfold by that heady Mexican vigour that enables Mexican parents to pile their young children into the back of their pickup truck and for window cleaners to lean over the roof ledge without a harness. Mexicans make Montrealers look like demure grannies out for a Sunday drive through the country.
This is... MADNESS.
I am growing hostile with my morning walk to work. It is a step-by-step process, each level requiring increased courage and recklessness.
First there is Avenida Chapultepec, a four-section, ten-lane, honking, howling monstrosity. It is a living game of Frogger, save the ability to jump on top of the logging trucks for safety. The first section is generally easy, the second not so bad. The third is where I recently wandered confidently through the parked cars only to be smacked by a speeding motorcycle. The fourth gives me nightmares.
Then there is Paseo de la Reforma, a.... wait for it... four-section, ten-lane, honking, howling monstrosity. It's actually not as bad as Avenida Chapultepec as there is - gasp and awe - a crosswalk that most drivers seem to acknowledge across the inner two sections, but the outer two sections are a frustrating game of spot the gap.
Finally, there is Tolstoi, the smallish street at the base of my office building that unfortunately links two major streets and thus is a swirling mass of moving metal at all times. It's one-way, with cars turning left across my pedestrian path. It's short so you don't have much warning when a car is going to turn left. It's high speed.
Walking to work means taking my life into my own hands on a daily basis.
The problem is that vehicular traffic is king. At a corner? You do not have the right of way. At a crosswalk? You do not have the right of way. At a crosswalk with a red light and stopped cars and a little blinking man telling you to go ahead? You absolutely do NOT have the right of way, don't even think about it.
Forget violent crime and poisonous toxic - THIS is the real danger of Mexico City.
Three lanes morphing into four, five... six.
Microbus drivers climbing the curbs to get around stopped cars.
Motorcycles and scooters whizzing through the gaps, knees millimeters from mirrors.
Merging culture that involves just go, the oncoming cars will move out of the way.
HOOOOONKING.
Mexico is noisy? There's the primary culprit.
The light at Tolstoi is long, in favour of the people turning left. Inevitably, the people waiting to go straight through on Tolstoi will get tired of waiting. And start honking. At a red light.
No, not honking. Not beepbeepbeep pay attention to me, I'm getting impatient to go, but as if the driver has had an impatience-related coronary and collapsed on his steering wheel, releasing one long continuous blast of noise that will continue without interruption until the stoplight has made note of his displeasure and dutifully changed to green.
My old boss, Michael, once remarked to me that, once I'm comfortable here, I will get over my fear of driving and fit right in.
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Not on your life, Michael. Or, rather, not on MY life. Walking is dangerous enough, thank you very much.
I guarantee I have learned some terrible habits for whenever I finally leave Mexico.
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