Mexicó city had been rough. Going from serene, fall foliaged, bikable, Boston--barely a city, really--to the 2nd largest megatropolis in world is shocking. Even my brief overnight stay in NYC before the flight didn´t prepare me for the people shock. It doesn´t help that Mexico City is actually a city upon cities, with falling apart infastructure and not designed for a newcomer.
I have two kinds of the Mexicó City in my head--the beautiful museums, the ruins exposed next to the Zocalo, in the subway stops and in the hinter land, the delicious quesadillas, the murals, political discussions with my host. Then there´s the waking up at the crack of dawn with my host, always being lost, the drenching rain, the confusing and crowded subway, getting very very sick. The two images now seem to balance eachother out, so that I don´t much like or dislike the place. But sitting in the bus station, I was ready to get out and start an acutal vacation.
Finally out of the ring of Mexicó City´s smog, the skies were bright blue, and the fields of marigolds were in full bloom, being sold on the side of the road for Day of the Dead festivities.
As the bus pulled through the narrow Oaxacan streets I hit the reset button in my head. And arriving at a suprisingly spotless hostel I found my reservation (made at an internet cafe in the station right before my bus pulled out) was in good standing. My simple baguette dinner felt fine in my stomach and the city museum was free and open late for the Day of the Dead. My head hit the pillow soundly that night after my first hot shower with shampoo in ages, very, very soundly. I was finally on vacation.
Unedited, untitled, raw mess of photos here. Try guessing what the pictures are for fun.
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