Mexico City: Nearby Meso-American capital is rich in culture, food and hospitality. by Suzanne Wright Here’s how I know for sure I’m south of the border: the waitress, an older woman clad in a purple striped uniform, hands me Tabasco and salsa for my eggs. I’m having breakfast at Sanborn’s, a Mexican cross between Denny’s and Mervyn’s, in the oldest capital in the western hemisphere. Not three weeks before I was to leave on my trip, a movie called Man on Fire starring Denzel Washington, hit theaters. I went, excited to see a travelogue of the city I had wanted to visit for years. After two hours of mayhem and fear, the credits rolled. “Thank you to the people of Mexico City, a special place,” read the first frame, ironically. I smile bitterly, thinking about the damage done. My friend turned to me dubiously and asked, “You’re not scared?” Well, no. Mexico City has an undeservedly bad reputation. Founded in 1325, the world’s largest city has a monster of a public relations problem. While Cancun is a magnet for American tourists, but Cancun lacks the historical gravitas and authenticity of Mexico City. I’ve come to this great city to ground myself in the rich civilization where the Aztec and Spanish cultures clashed, giving birth to our geographical neighbor. And I’m doing this all alone—happily and safely. Sure, it’s smoggy, but no more so than Bangkok, Cairo and maybe Atlanta on certain summer days. Menacing? Not the places I—or most tourists—go. The city is sprawling and difficult to navigate, so, like many visitors, I am staying in the Zona Rosa, or pink zone, a centrally located entertainment area. Because of the peso’s devaluation, I am able to split my time at two upscale properties: The Four Seasons and the Sheraton Maria Isabel. The Four Seasons is the top address in town, a supremely comfortable, tastefully decorated oasis in the city. Luxe L’Occitane toiletries and a spacious marble bath are pampering after a long day in the streets; the manicured courtyard is a beautiful sanctuary from the bustle. I heartily recommend an omelet made with calabaza blossoms and huitlacoche, a mushroom-like fungus that grows on corn and is delicious—really. The Sheraton is next to the American embassy and my room has a view of San Angel, the iconic statue that celebrates independence from Spain and serves as a meeting place for residents and visitors alike. My room is large and welcoming, if less opulent than the Four Seasons. The 18th floor executive lounge has a copious breakfast spread and a bird’s eye view of the surrounding area. Either hotel can arrange tours via bus or private car, to see the top sights. I take a brief taxi ride to MP Café/Bistro, located in the swanky Palanco neighborhood. The restaurant serves an innovative fusion of Mexican-Asian food prepared by celebrated chef Monica Patino. It’s abuzz at 3:30 in the afternoon, as handsome waiters crisscross the room serving the smartly dressed crowd. Tuna carpaccio al mojo, with garlic, soy and lemon, is rosy and glistening, and topped with piquant puffs of rice; the duck lacquered with balsamic, honey and Hindu spices is tender and delicious. Ishmael has been assigned to me because he has the best English. Encouraging me to “enjoy the city,” he brings me a gift of crab tostada because “the duck is late” and slashes 20% off the bill. For dessert, I have tiles of dark chocolate sandwiched with pistachio cream. Ishmael is off duty as I finish, so he offers to walk me back to my hotel. Along the way, he points out the buildings in Chapultepec Park and along the tree-lined central boulevard, Paseo de Reforma. Strangely, for a city of 18 million, the streets are less crowded than those in Manhattan, making walking a pleasure. At my hotel we shake hands goodbye and he wishes me “a wonderful stay.” It’s unlikely this would happen in the U.S., but the warmth and hospitality of the people will be repeated often in my travels here. Opening my backpack, I see he has slipped in a box of chocolates—how endearing and unexpected. The next day I join a bus tour bound for the Centrico Historico, the oldest part of town, boasting 1,436 of the city’s most important buildings and monuments. This rectangle of the city was the site where Spanish conquerors built over Tenochtitlan, the ancient Aztec lake city. Here, traces of the pre-Hispanic past blend with more than 200 years of Mexican independence. Dancers, wear towering headdresses, beat drums and light sage in a ceremonial show unfolding between the Cathedral and the ruins of the Templo Mayor. Did you know Mexico City has the largest number of museums of any city in world? At the National Arts Museum, Palacio de Las Bellas Artes, I marvel at Diego Rivera’s huge and beautifully detailed murals, his depictions of the post-revolution history of the Mexican people. In the street, I spy a kid juggling lemons and barefoot man painted in clown face stepping on glass between lanes of traffic; both swiftly collect tips. To escape the midday sun, I duck into the cool comfort of Restaurant Las Girasoles, the sunflowers, colorfully decorated stucco home with wonderful, traditional food including a thin, pounded steak served with guacamole. We also stop at The Dolores Olmedo Museum, one of the newest to open, following her death in 2003. Olmedo hung out with an internationally celebrated group of artists and politicians, many of whom were rumored to be her lovers. Peacocks and odd, hairless dogs have the run of the lush, bougainvillea-kissed grounds of this old hacienda; inside is the private collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts and a wall of pictures of the beauteous Dolores through the ages. On a smaller scale, but no less worthy, is Casa Azul, the modest former home of Rivera and Frida Kahlo, the country’s most tempestuous lovers/artists. Chapultepec Park conveniently houses many of the city’s cultural sites, including the world-renowned anthropology museum. There’s a huge red, white and green flag gently waving in the breeze, the reedy sound of a pan flute and a steady procession of people—mostly Mexicans—making their way to the doors. I watch as a man sweeps the sidewalk with a broom made of twigs. Having no dustpan, he painstakingly lifts all the debris by hand, into a plastic bag, using two business cards. Each of the 22 chronologically and culturally arranged rooms—including those dedicated to Toltecs, Oaxacans and Mayans—are a fascinating museum unto itself. You could while away hours here. Couples embrace, sons and fathers lock arms, a mother rests her head in her daughter’s lap, students scribble notes, immersed in study. Heading to the Southern part of the city, a similarly family-like scene unfolds at the floating gardens of Xochimilco, which means “place of the flower-sown land” in the Nahuatl language. Here, families spend the day in labyrinth-like canals aboard trajineras, boats propelled, Venetian-style by a man with a pole. The brightly colored boats, all named after women, often have three generations aboard, eating and laughing. At night, lovers light candles and neck on the boats. Vendors ply the water selling food such as grilled corn smeared with mayonnaise and topped with red pepper, drinks, toys and flower bouquets. There are even mariachis in full regalia, serenading boaters. At the Saturday market in the San Jacinto plaza of San Angel, one of the wealthiest and leafiest residential areas of the city, I wander the sun-dappled cobblestone streets, watching as artists set up their wares in the park, chatting in my broken Spanish to several. I hear the strains of mass through the open door of the 16th century Church of San Jacinto. I buy griddled, sweet masa, corn, cakes the size of half dollars, a dozen rolled in a pastel crepe paper pinched at either end, from a street vendor. Dinner that night is special. Izote is the restaurant of famed chef Patricia Quintana, who prepares haute cuisine inspired by her childhood food memories. Quintana, the author of numerous cookbooks, is a culinary figure of international stature, so I decide to eat adventurously. I try several oddities: fried worms (taste kind of like potato chips) and ants eggs folded into corn tortillas called sopas topped with guacamole (look like caviar, taste like scrambled eggs). Comparatively, the lamb shank basted with adobo chile and wrapped in banana leaf served with salsa is tame. The next day, I board another tour bus and head 30 miles outside the city to the architectural site of Teotihuacan, “the place where men become gods.” An ancient city that flourished between the 4th and 8th centuries, it features two massive pyramids, a temple, a palace and a citadel reached by the calzada de los muertos, or walkway of the dead. It rises to 210 feet and its base is nearly the same size as the Pyramid of Cheops in Egypt. The sun sets exactly opposite it and by noon it is fully illuminated. I’d been told that if I climbed the steep steps to the top of the sun pyramid I’d tap into a powerful, mysterious energy center. When I get to the apex, many people are sitting, cross-legged, channeling spiritual energy. I join them, plopping down and holding out my hands in yoga pose. A mariposa, butterfly, alights on my right hand; a Spanish woman leans over to me and whispers that it is good fortune. I agree. For More Information: The Four Seasons, Paseo de la Reforma 500, Colonia Juárez, www.fourseasons.com or 800-819-5053. The Sheraton Isabel, Paseo de la Reforma 325, www.sheraton.com or 888-625-5144. MP Café/Bistro: Andres Bello 10; phone: 55-5280 2506. Los Girasoles: Plaza Manuel Tolsa 8, phone: 55-1006-30.Izote: Av. Presidente Masaryk 513, phone: 55-5280-1671. National Arts Museum: Dolores Olmedo Museum: Hacienda La Noria (5843 Av. Mexico) 52, phone: 55-5510-16. Casa Azul: Londres # 247 esquina Allende - Coyoacan, phone; 55-554-5999.
			Above: The Four Seasons, Paseo de la Reforma in Mexico City.