Big Exit

The blue-gray light of the distant dawn filters down the canyons of building to the city streets outside the window. I’ve been awake for hours already, listening to the city. The grinding staccato of diesel engines, the pop and sharp hiss of hydraulic arms raised and lowered, the clatter of metal doors rolling up, the clanging rattle of chains banging against them, shops entered, and the rattle and clang again as the doors close behind the shop keepers.

Later comes the soft hiss of brooms on the sidewalk, the splash of water thrown out a bucket, and the louder hiss of the broom in the soapy water, the jangle of handcart wheels rolling over uneven stone of sidewalks. Last comes the rush of cars, the muted voices of workers emptying trash, and the blue gray light turning to the white of day.

This is no longer the largest city on earth. Last time I was here it was, but that, as my wife regularly reminds me, was a long time ago. Now Chongqing China is three times as large as this. Still, Mexico City is a hell of a city. Larger than any other on this continent. And there is something about here that is more alive than anywhere else on the continent. It is big, loud, overwhelming, incomprehensible. Wonderful in its way.

We arrived yesterday afternoon, made it through customs and caught a cab to our rental apartment. The first thing we did was head out for tacos. Just kidding. The first food we went for was Indian. Corrinne and I have a kind of tradition of eating in immigrant restaurants. Our first meal in Nicaragua was at a Palestinian restaurant. Our favorite meal in Paris was at an Iraqi restaurant. For Mexico City we went Indian. Then we walked down to the zócalo and watched the sun fade away and the blue twilight descend.

It was a great end cap to a long day of travel, which was surprisingly smooth all things considered. Our kids are pretty great at entertaining themselves anywhere, using almost nothing, so airports and airplanes were, relatively speaking, pretty much non-stop entertainment. Just the notion that we’re floating above the planet was enough to keep them enthralled for a three hour flight.

I was a little worried about going through customs, someone saying the wrong thing, being grumpy and throwing a fit, etc, but everyone was fine, we coasted right on through without missing a beat.

I won’t lie, I felt my spirits lift considerably after the rather bored customs official stamped the last of our stack of passports and waved us out of no-man’s-land and into Mexico. I get a giddy feeling every time I leave the United States, a feeling that I’ve somehow managed to survive something, though exactly what is unclear to me.

I don’t want to write some cliche bit about how the United States sucks or what have you. I like the United States, it has its upsides — mostly that nearly everyone we know and love lives there — but one thing that I think universally irks travelers and expats is the smug satisfaction that folks back home have about how “free” they are. If Americans have a blind spot, it’s this. We believe we’re free.

We are not free at all relative to the rest of the world. Oh sure, we have the right to assemble, which is often lacking elsewhere, but in terms of daily life, the United States is the most micromanaged, regulated country I’ve ever been to.

I’ll be honest, it feels good to leave that behind for a while. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

We explored Mexico City for a few days, adjusted to city life as opposed to roaming the wilds of the United States, and then, we were done. Or rather we weren’t done, but we were ready to get to something more permanent. We ended up cutting our time in Mexico City a little short and jumping a bus for San Miguel de Allende. The biggest festival of the year was about to start in San Miguel and we didn’t want to miss it.