How is Mexico City? I heard you’ve been having a really good time there. I heard that you got in the metro one morning and you didn’t realize that there was a special section for women because it was really crowded and when you go on the metro you realized you were 4 feet taller than everyone else and they were all giving you dirty looks.

I hope the hostel I recommended for you is nice. I forgot to tell you it’s next to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Mexico City but kind of thought you might like it because it gives it that “gritty” “authentic Mexico” kind of feel. There’s nothing more authentic than coming back from a night on the town and thinking you’re just going to have a quiet night at the hostel when a guy pulls a gun out of his pocket and asks you (albeit in really nice Mexican Spanish) to PLEASE give him everything you have immediately so he and his friends can use your pesos to buy caguamas and your cell phone to locate the party they’re going to later that night.

I probably should have done this a long time ago but I’m going to do it now. My TOP FIVE pieces of advice for staying in and navigating Mexico City:

1) Don’t be tall and blond. If you’re tall and blond you need to make sure you’re sitting down at all times and also, if possible, wearing a wig. Maybe also get some sort of mask too just to throw everyone off.

2) Speak perfect Spanish. This way you’ll always know how to get where you’re going and if you get lost people won’t even think you’re American they’ll just think you’re some super tall light skinted mexican and want to be your friend. So instead of not knowing some of the words know ALL the words and if someone is speaking really fast make sure you understand them and chuckle and say softly, “No mames, cabron…” and kind of trail off. This is very key to your survival.

3) Eat tacos al pastor at 6am in the morning. Washed down with coke. This will give you that edgy gritty feel we were talking about earlier.

4) Go to the neighborhood “Tepito.” You’ve been to Coyoacan and you’ve been to La Condesa and Polanco, right? Well you’re missing out. Big time. Tepito is where you need to be. You know how Polanco has Bentley dealerships and Louis Vuitton stores? Well Tepito is almost exactly like that except there are no Louis Vuitton stores and if you’re wearing anything that costs more than three dollars you will probably be stabbed in the stomach. My friend Luis claims you can buy anything you want there. Including pandas.

5) Another really cool part of Mexico City is Puerto Escondido. It’s more of a suburb though actually. To get there just go to the bus terminal by the Taxqueña metro station and bam! 16 hours later you’re in Puerto Escondido. You won’t even feel like you’re still in Mexico City. You’ll feel like you’re at the beach.

I hope this list of tips helps. Again, I’m sorry for not sending it earlier. Share it with your friends. And please bring me a panda bear back from Mexico.

Your friend,

Mark

“Well ya shot man fuh Cobra, tell bout it!”

Corey walking on a bluff near Coyote Cal's in Erendira, arguably the coolest hostel in all of northern Erendira.

Riding in the back of a pickup truck in Northern Baja.

Corey does not smoke cigarettes. He was just holding it for a friend. In his mouth.

All distances in centimeters.

Cat.

Me just outside La Push, WA.

Finger.

Corey with Victor, the proprietor of the hotel we stayed at in Santa Rosalia and who I may have likened to a jockey in an earlier post. I will undoubtedly go to hell for my disparaging remarks, and Corey probably also for wanting to have his picture taken with Victor so he would look like he was 8 feet tall. It must also be noted that Victor, approximately 30 seconds before this photo was taken, was driving heaving behind the hotel maintenance shed.

Corey. Oranges.

An island near Playa Coyote.

Corey cliff jumping at Sol de Mayo. I think Sol de Mayo might have been the highlight of the trip.

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Gummy worms I bought from a guy on the straight (street). They tasted like cardboard and feet.

Renting bikes and riding to Playa Coromuel.

A strange fountain near the mild springs in San Bartolo.

Unknown beach on Isla Espiritu Santo

HOW TO GET THERE: Borrow your parents’ car and drive south to Olympia. Become super bummed when you realize Olympia is way further than Tacoma than you remembered, and briefly consider just driving all the way to Portland. Once in Olympia, park. Walk down the invariably rainy streets dodging the city’s equivalent of AVE rats, and duck into the first coffee shop you see that’s pitch black inside and has a barista dressed like an elf.

Here we were on Christmas morning:

San Diego.

He laughs and I sort of laugh but am mostly tired and becoming more tired with every sip of my chamomile tea.  I’m in the middle of nowhere in Tijuana at a coffee shop and Carlos has decided we’re going to be best friends and he introduces me to his friends as they walk into the shop.  He’s extremely nice.  He speaks to me in Spanish even though I’m sure his English is great and tells me about the shootout in 2008 between rival drug cartels that lasted 40-50 minutes in which the police didn’t even attempt to intervene, a “masacre”, a “baño de sangre”.  This year has been fine though, he says.  Just some muggings.  Though this neighborhood is bad, because this this is where the migrants are dropped after getting deported from the US.  Recently he heard of a guy getting stabbed repeatedly in the stomach with a screwdriver over a jacket.  

The girl in the coffee shop is the one who actually mentions the screwdriver.  She’s cute and laughs at how Carlos paints the city, afraid he’s scaring me to death.  But Carlos is just a talker.  He tells me about the nice parts of the city, like Calle Sexta, where university students, artists, philosophers and writers hang out, young people proud of their city who also envision a better future.  These kids are proud to be Mexican.  They play in rock bands and go to parties and couldn’t care less about “el otro lado,” except for how much it fucks Tijuana up with it’s insatiable desire for drugs and the weapons it exports.  But that’s not enough for them to give up on Mexico and move across the border to Chula Vista, a city replete with pawn shops and fast food where the next night walking to dinner I feel more unsafe than I have ever felt anywhere in Mexico, thanks in large part to a guy sitting on the ground wearing a wife beater and bandana who looks like he would gladly relieve me of my wallet and give me a forceful pat down in the alley.  Tijuana is cool.  Tijuana literally and figuratively rocks.  It’s night life is vibrant and full of students and seems to have more bands per capita than just about any place in Mexico.  One of Carlos’ friends is in a band.  Three, actually.  He’s extremely güero and I try to imagine him speaking English which isn’t hard since he peppers his speech with phrases like “¡Qué psycho!” and “Está cool”.  He’s constantly smiling and nodding his head under his shaggy hair and tells me the next time I come to Tijuana his casa is my casa.  

I look around the room at these guys from Tijuana, laughing and enjoying the afternoon in their friend’s coffee shop.  I could live here, I think to myself.  I could hang out with these guys and discuss literature in Spanish in coffee shops and go to parties and listen to Rico’s electro-funk band on the weekends.  I could even convince the cute girl she’s in love with me and start a whole life here.  But Instead I pay Carlos 14 pesos for the tea and give my email address to Rico (who’s thinks it’s rad I don’t have Facebook which in turn makes me think he’s rad) and head into the Tijuana street where a kid is kicking a soccer ball with his sister outside a quiet apartment complex and the freshly cut crabgrass reminds me of my grandparents’ home in Bakersfield.  I will not start a life here (for now) but I will come back and I will take Rico up on his offer.  Tijuana is a city that is vastly misunderstood.  It’s not just shootouts and drug wars.  It’s also chamomile tea and chess games and whiling away afternoons in coffee shops.  It’s shaggy-haired electro-funk rockers.  And it’s easily the coolest part of San Diego.