expert tourist

The laundry machine has a spin cycle setting that goes from "gentle tumble" to "demonic possession." Of course, if you want your clothes to be mostly dry when you take them out, demonic possession it is.

Every time, it sounds like the machine is about to tear itself apart, and the top of the machine basically oscillates a full inch. If I happen to be talking to people on skype when it launches into the spin cycles, they look started and horrified, like there's a helicopter trying to land inside the apartment.

There's a joke about length of time between washings. Underwear- 1-2 days. Shirts- 1-2 weeks. Jeans- 1-2 months. Bed sheets- huh? But I'm washing the sheets tonight because my brother Tay is coming tomorrow afternoon.

I can't wait to see him and to show him the Mexico City that I've been living. One of my friends at work commented that by now I'm an "expert tourist".  I guess it's somewhere between a novice tourist and a local expat. In some ways, I guess its better since tourists get to do fun, interesting things, and local expats tend to get wrapped up in the day to day.

Today was kind of a low day, in a string of low days. I don't know why. I had plenty of stuff to do at work, the weather was good, my brother's coming to town. I've started remembering my night's dreams and they're dark and uneasy. I mean literally dark, the weather patterns in my recent dreams are always dark skies. It's probably from deep seated unease with transition periods, and generally taking myself too seriously.

Changing the routine is a tried and true method of making myself feel better, so I jumped off the bus early and grabbed dinner at a food truck permenantly parked on Insurgentes. It's always grabbed my attention because the neon sign on the front reads, enigmatically, "Vlad Mayab", the name of the place. It turns out they sell a variety of dishes including tortas, tacos, panuchos, etc. but specialize in Yucatan style cooking.

The back of the menu explained (in Spanish) that actually "Yucatan" was a name given to the region by other tribes which had the ears of the Spanish conquistador cartographers. The indigineous and ancient name is actually Ma'ya'ab. Which explains the "Mayab" and is also probably related to the name of the indigenous people (Maya).

Anyway, for me, Yucatan cooking means cochinita pibil, which is a really savory slow roasted and juicy shredded pork, usually served with lime and red onions.  I got it in a burrito, served with potato chips and a Coke. Good stuff.

Mexico observation for the day- Mexicans seem to love pageantry in general and uniforms in particular. Even if its something as basic as a jacket/apron, people put it on. People take dress very seriously. Valets for businesses which seem to scarcely need the formality wear full suits and reflective vests over the dark blazers to make them more visible. Street sweepers wear apron/jackets. Sidewalk vendors wear aprons. The tiny hole in the wall place with no doors or windows and a tarp for the roof has embroidered waiters jackets and napkins with the name. Street food vendors wear cooking smocks. Walking through the muddy park, I couldn't help but notice that all the people doing martial arts attempted whenever possible to wear the appropriate unform. This meant sandals and stockings and billowing pants and tunics from Japan, and knot and loop chinese jackets for the people practicing kung fu and tai chi. Appearances matter.