aztec breakfast

Today on my walk to work, I bought a piece of cake from a cart vendor and pointed to the hot drink in the aluminum tureen, and the woman obligingly ladled some out for me. It’s called atole (ah-tol-ay), a kind of thick drinking gruel made from masa, a flour of ground hominy, and sweetened with crude cane sugar and cinnamon. Really good actually, people drink it in the mornings, usually with breads or tamales.

Tacos, incidentally, are available and eaten around the clock. Walking to work, I probably pass 50 taco stands, counters, and shops.

Anyway, I stopped to enjoy my breakfast at the Angel roundabout. A taxi pulled off to the side and the driver, getting out and looking around, accosted a group of pedestrians to ask directions. The back of the cab was filled with three passengers. Apparently the mob of pedestrians either didn’t give good directions, or I looked more trustworthy, because the driver hustled over to me and asked me.

I told him, “lo siento, no se" (sorry, I don't know) and he ran off in the other direction. Meanwhile one of the passengers got out and went to the police car parked nearby to ask himself. Then the driver ran over and assumably got hurried directions because the police car sped off suddenly, lights blazing.

Life without smartphones, I guess, although no telling if their destination would have been listed. This is the city at work- direct crowdsourcing.