THE TOURIST (SECOND VERSION)
When I was younger, I lived like writers Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski. There was no dearth of alcohol, drugs and women Odd-ball characters fascinated me. In my novels, short stories and poems I have written at length about the excesses. I have never been good at resisting temptations. Will the alcohol, drugs and sex come back to haunt me at the end of my life? At my age something has to be waiting around the next corner. I may meet my end because I ate too well.
In the days when the Palm Lounge was my favorite watering hole, I would be sitting at the bar when an old codger would take a seat next to me and relate his life story. I would listen fascinated. I wanted to learn and the best teachers in those days in my estimation were graduates from the school of hard knocks. Since it was also the most popular hangout for sporting events, I would join others in the cool cantina in contrast to the heat outside to watch the big games and the great fights.
I still go to the bars, but I mostly go alone. Besides small talk with a bartender or a waitress, I have no desire to chat with anyone. I attentively watch the sports on the television because I admire athletic prowess, but I could give a damn who wins or loses.
There are many writers who did their best work in foreign countries and large cities. Miller penned Tropic of Cancer during his stay in Paris while Bukowski looked for his inspiration in the seedy joints of Los Angeles. They had a special affinity for the downtrodden and found in these losers insights into life that motivated them to produce their best prose.
I'm too old for those adventures. I haven't abandon my thirst for alcohol and my desire for sex punctuated by an occasional joint to infuse interest into a boring day. There was an unexpected evening of coke. I have never done much coke because I have too much anxiety. Coke unravels me. As my three readers know, I am addicted to Xanax. I want to be calm at all costs. I drank last night with Adela's oldest son Moctezuma and I popped a Xanax in the morning to escape the nervous edge that I assume is a form of the shakes.
But the moment was worth the drunk. I have known Moctezuma since he was five months and he is now 50. If he and his brother Cuauhtémoc aren't like sons to me, they is at least like nephews. Drunks can be spiritual moments. There is an upscale restaurant called Mi Tierra in the colonia. We ate dinner over a couple of beers and then kicked it up a notch with Cubas. We shared a warmth in our conversation that once again sealed our friendship with an exclamation. Adela and the rest of his extended family consider me their gringo uncle.
Life in Colonia Jardin Buena is similar to a stable marriage. There is a comforting routine to my daily existence here. With the diurnal rains, the colonia is rich in vegetation. It is laid out in a rectangular shape approximately ten blocks by five block. There are main thoroughfares on all sides, but no roads pass through the colonia.
Deadend streets serve as parking lots with large gates that open and close. The houses are two and three storys behind high walls with broken glass, spikes or barbed wire across the top to prevent anyone from scaling the barriers and entering premises. The most intriguing aspect of the colonia are the interior sidewalks that present a maza before one's learns the various routes. Instead of walking on the sidewalks along the outside streets and making perpendicular turns, one cuts through the colonia to your destination.
These sidewalks aren't only for the residents. There are numerous stands and small shops selling everything from fresh chicken to serving food. There are several beauty shops as well as Ma & Pa stores whose stalls are stocked with the essential as well as large coolers packed with milk, juice and beer. Fresh vegetables and fruits are sold everywhere.
I rise early to go to the gymnasium. I have such a orderly schedule that I feel like a priest who is walking around the church when he does matins in the morning and vespers in the evening. I write, read and nap on and off all day. There are numerous restaurants surrounding the colonia providing a wide cuisine from sushi to Chinese food, Argentine meats to fresh fish. All of these locales are ten-minute walks at most.
So how can I tell stories about alcoholics and drug addicts and loose women when I'm residing in a neighborhood that could be the Hispanic version of a small Mid-Western town where all the white folks know all the white folks. I have come here to rest. I call on the afternoon rains to cleanse my mind of all my perturbations.
If the colonia is the wife where I spend most days, then Mexico City's historic center is the mistress. Nothing enhances a marriage like a different body unless the wife discovers your cheating or you give her a STD. Then the perfect solution, as the Nazis discovered with their Final Solution, becomes your death sentence.
In the days when the Palm Lounge was my favorite watering hole, I would be sitting at the bar when an old codger would take a seat next to me and relate his life story. I would listen fascinated. I wanted to learn and the best teachers in those days in my estimation were graduates from the school of hard knocks. Since it was also the most popular hangout for sporting events, I would join others in the cool cantina in contrast to the heat outside to watch the big games and the great fights.
I still go to the bars, but I mostly go alone. Besides small talk with a bartender or a waitress, I have no desire to chat with anyone. I attentively watch the sports on the television because I admire athletic prowess, but I could give a damn who wins or loses.
There are many writers who did their best work in foreign countries and large cities. Miller penned Tropic of Cancer during his stay in Paris while Bukowski looked for his inspiration in the seedy joints of Los Angeles. They had a special affinity for the downtrodden and found in these losers insights into life that motivated them to produce their best prose.
I'm too old for those adventures. I haven't abandon my thirst for alcohol and my desire for sex punctuated by an occasional joint to infuse interest into a boring day. There was an unexpected evening of coke. I have never done much coke because I have too much anxiety. Coke unravels me. As my three readers know, I am addicted to Xanax. I want to be calm at all costs. I drank last night with Adela's oldest son Moctezuma and I popped a Xanax in the morning to escape the nervous edge that I assume is a form of the shakes.
But the moment was worth the drunk. I have known Moctezuma since he was five months and he is now 50. If he and his brother Cuauhtémoc aren't like sons to me, they is at least like nephews. Drunks can be spiritual moments. There is an upscale restaurant called Mi Tierra in the colonia. We ate dinner over a couple of beers and then kicked it up a notch with Cubas. We shared a warmth in our conversation that once again sealed our friendship with an exclamation. Adela and the rest of his extended family consider me their gringo uncle.
Life in Colonia Jardin Buena is similar to a stable marriage. There is a comforting routine to my daily existence here. With the diurnal rains, the colonia is rich in vegetation. It is laid out in a rectangular shape approximately ten blocks by five block. There are main thoroughfares on all sides, but no roads pass through the colonia.
Deadend streets serve as parking lots with large gates that open and close. The houses are two and three storys behind high walls with broken glass, spikes or barbed wire across the top to prevent anyone from scaling the barriers and entering premises. The most intriguing aspect of the colonia are the interior sidewalks that present a maza before one's learns the various routes. Instead of walking on the sidewalks along the outside streets and making perpendicular turns, one cuts through the colonia to your destination.
These sidewalks aren't only for the residents. There are numerous stands and small shops selling everything from fresh chicken to serving food. There are several beauty shops as well as Ma & Pa stores whose stalls are stocked with the essential as well as large coolers packed with milk, juice and beer. Fresh vegetables and fruits are sold everywhere.
I rise early to go to the gymnasium. I have such a orderly schedule that I feel like a priest who is walking around the church when he does matins in the morning and vespers in the evening. I write, read and nap on and off all day. There are numerous restaurants surrounding the colonia providing a wide cuisine from sushi to Chinese food, Argentine meats to fresh fish. All of these locales are ten-minute walks at most.
So how can I tell stories about alcoholics and drug addicts and loose women when I'm residing in a neighborhood that could be the Hispanic version of a small Mid-Western town where all the white folks know all the white folks. I have come here to rest. I call on the afternoon rains to cleanse my mind of all my perturbations.
If the colonia is the wife where I spend most days, then Mexico City's historic center is the mistress. Nothing enhances a marriage like a different body unless the wife discovers your cheating or you give her a STD. Then the perfect solution, as the Nazis discovered with their Final Solution, becomes your death sentence.
But if the messy situation goes from bad to worse, you salve your wounds by telling yourself that you no longer love her or you would have been faithful and not fooled yourself. The less you love her, the easier it will be for you to live with your masochistic mind imagining her with her legs spread as wide as humanly possible and a series of lovers filling her with sperm until she settles on one and forgets you forever.
But I digress. I have quickly learned the historic streets. The bars are the best. The food competes with the world's cuisine and the prices turn your dollars into gold. After eating breakfast at Sanborns de los Azulejos, I walked to the Zocalo. Along the great plaza there were a myriad of buses providing tours around the city, to Xochimilco or the Teltihucan pyramids, or day trips to Puebla or Taxco among other destinations.
Five years ago my son Dylan and I spent time in San Francisco and one of the best decisions I made was taking a tour bus from Union Square to the Golden Gate Bridge and back to the center of town. San Francisco isn't a large city and among the many stops were Golden Gate Park, Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown and the Haight where a large painting of Jimi Hendrix sent Dylan into a paroxysm of excitement.
But I digress. I have quickly learned the historic streets. The bars are the best. The food competes with the world's cuisine and the prices turn your dollars into gold. After eating breakfast at Sanborns de los Azulejos, I walked to the Zocalo. Along the great plaza there were a myriad of buses providing tours around the city, to Xochimilco or the Teltihucan pyramids, or day trips to Puebla or Taxco among other destinations.
Five years ago my son Dylan and I spent time in San Francisco and one of the best decisions I made was taking a tour bus from Union Square to the Golden Gate Bridge and back to the center of town. San Francisco isn't a large city and among the many stops were Golden Gate Park, Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown and the Haight where a large painting of Jimi Hendrix sent Dylan into a paroxysm of excitement.
That night we ate a small Italian restaurant with a table next to the window that allowed us to people watch. Part of my great tragedy is the loss of daily contact with Dylan. As much as I have suffered emotionally without his constant company, he has suffered more because in my love of life, which allows me to survive my depression, I, who taught him everything he knows, could be teaching him so much more.
I opted for the tour that took me along Reforma pasts the many monuments including the Angel of Independence and the fountain with the statue of the Greek goddess Diana. We turned off Reforma and cruised through the wealthy colonia of Polanca where life can't be lived much better. On our return we passed Chapultepec Park that between its museums and castle and other landmarks would take a week to properly explore.
I opted for the tour that took me along Reforma pasts the many monuments including the Angel of Independence and the fountain with the statue of the Greek goddess Diana. We turned off Reforma and cruised through the wealthy colonia of Polanca where life can't be lived much better. On our return we passed Chapultepec Park that between its museums and castle and other landmarks would take a week to properly explore.
I could list innumerable sites, but talking about your vacation is almost as bad as watching the videos of your friends' vacations or having to look at photos of their kids. Life is ultimately a solitary affair and, unlike the aged drunks at the Palm Lounge, I don't have the desire to delve into the details that would take 400 pages to write and would be but another of a hundred books on the same subject.
And thus my stay in Mexico City continues unabatedly. The high today in Mexico City was 72 with a low of 51 expected tonight. Brownsville peaked at 100. I am back with my wife, la colonia Jardin Balbuena, writing deep into the night listening to Julio Iglesias. What an old fogey! I would love to relate escapades about whoring all night long under the influence of alcohol and drugs because you have to live the blues in order to play blues and college students revel perusing this type of literature, but it's a boring lifestyle I have chosen, a lifestyle that may show me the path to peace.
And thus my stay in Mexico City continues unabatedly. The high today in Mexico City was 72 with a low of 51 expected tonight. Brownsville peaked at 100. I am back with my wife, la colonia Jardin Balbuena, writing deep into the night listening to Julio Iglesias. What an old fogey! I would love to relate escapades about whoring all night long under the influence of alcohol and drugs because you have to live the blues in order to play blues and college students revel perusing this type of literature, but it's a boring lifestyle I have chosen, a lifestyle that may show me the path to peace.
I don't want to die in my approaching dotage a bitter man. Those of us who have lived long and hard deserve a peaceful exit because, despite our confusion, we fought the good fight and it was never our intention to purposely hurt anyone. If God had really loved us, he would have made us stronger.
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