"Yes," I smile, rolling my eyes. Mike enjoys a fun role reversal every now and then, pretending I was the one napping and he was the one rearing to go do something today.
The truth is neither of us could know how much we were going to enjoy Xochimilco. While Condesa has a decidedly European feel to it - perfectly manicured trees, brick buildings and modern buildings, coffee shops, and breakfast cafes - Xochimilco is everything we pictured Mexico City would be.
The uber ride was 45 minutes and cost us $10 US. I had input "Xochimilco" as our destination, and the directions were taking our driver to a place he couldn't actually get to. He speaks no English, and we speak little Spanish. He takes out his Google translate and we manage a conversation where Mike and I try to convey that he can drop us off pretty much anywhere in Xochimilco and we'll be okay. At one point Google translates something he says into "excretion" in English. It is not a perfect tool.
Xochimilco smells amazing, but I am still recovering from the Mexican crepes earlier today. The food is rich here, and my taste glands are way ahead of my stomach on that one. Tacos stands and churros stands and fruit stands and corn stands line the streets. Taquerias and pizza places sit behind them. We look specifically for "embarcaderos." Mike doesn't ask many questions, so I don't know if he knows we're looking for the lagoons yet. He's happy to let me lead. I'm happy to lead. It's a good set-up.
Day of the Dead sand art. Dancing in the background.
Day of the Dead altar.
Before we get to the lagoons, though, we walk through the open air markets in the center of town. They all have a Day of the Dead bent to them. Altars are set up. People are in costume. More churro smells. There's a church concert being set up, and Mike wants to wander. It's 3:45 PM and cloudy, and I want to make it to the lagoons before it's too late. I tell him we'll come back later, when the concert is ready to go.
As we get closer to the embarcaderos, a guy on a bike asks us if that's what we're looking for. At that point, we'd just been following street signs, but he was going to lead us right there. When we arrive, he says the trip will take 2 hours. Mike and I want to use the bathroom first. Xochimilco is a different kind of neighborhood than Condesa is. The guy on the bike leads us to a convenience store where we each pay 5 pesos for the use of a glorified porcelain hole in the floor. He hands us each a paper towel because they don't have toilet paper.
I am a faster pee-er than Mike is. I brag about this. I am also impatient to get on the boat in the lagoon.
"Your medal is in the mail," Mike says, clearly not worried about his reputation.
"It better be express," I tell him. "Wait, never mind. Don't worry about it. I don't do it for the accolades."
We get on the boat and pay the guy on the bike. A young boy brings over a bucket full of beer bottles. Each beer we open will be 25 pesos - not even $2 US each. Our lagoon captain doesn't speak English, but he understands we're hungry. I have finally overcome the Mexican crepes from breakfast due to the constant stream of amazing smells in the Xochimilco neighborhood.
The next two hours Mike and I spend with our mouths in open grins, eating chicken tacos and cheese quesadillas, drinking Negro Modelo, and listening to music as we float down the canals of the lagoon. It is incredible. It is one of the most fun things I've ever done in my life. Sometimes we stop to look at the gardens that are on the side. Boats carrying musicians come up and down the waterways. Boats carrying corn and tacos are everywhere. Dogs sometimes bark on the side. People throw parties on the boats. I can't even really describe it in any way that will do it justice, so the pics will have to do.
The dock with all the boats.
Mike with our bucket o' beer.
On the lagoon.
When Mike realized he got to have two quesadillas instead of one, it was the happiest he'd ever been in his life.
Boats.
Definitely some weird shit.
I think it's a naked woman who hanged her husband and now has a million children to raise?
Flowers are dope.
#selfie
"When I see other Americans, I wonder if we're that obnoxious," Mike tells me. "No way, right?"
"I think that too," I respond, "but then I remember we don't speak Spanish."
After the lagoon ride, Mike and I walk around Xochimilco. We're far from home, don't trust the taxis (people keep telling me these awful stories), and haven't done any research on metros, so we need to find internet so I can call an uber. But we're in no hurry, and the Day of the Dead celebrations are just gearing up. We make our way back to the center of town. It's crowded, and all the booths are full of chintzy holiday decorations. There are cotton candy makers, but my stomach is once again mad at me for too many tacos (worth it, stomach), so I am not tempted. As they make the cotton candy, some stray bits fly out. Kids try to catch them. Kids love free candy.
Mike also tries to catch them.
He finally succeeds, grabbing it from above the head of an actual child, not just a 28-year-old acting like one. He is proud of himself. I am in a committed relationship with this man. We walk on.
Mike and I make our way over to the church, where we see the biggest, bloodiest Jesus on a crucifix I've ever seen. He is covered in blood. There is blood on this Jesus from his thorn-crowned head to his bloody toes. Streaks of blood. Whoever made this Jesus spent so much time on the blood. This Jesus is also about 20 feet tall. The room it hangs in is not large. This is a tiny room with a giant, bloody Jesus.
Mike and I slowly start looking around for a coffee shop. We are not in a hurry to go home, but it would be nice to have the option. In the middle of a square, a stage is set up, and there's a teenage dance recitals where all the kids have their Day of the Dead make-up on. We watch for about 45 minutes because it's so fun. They do all different kinds of routines. One teenage boy in particular has a smile on his face the whole time. When they wear cowboy hats, he sometimes takes it off during a turn. He is so into it. I want him to be in every routine.
Behind us, a small parade starts. Everyone is in full Day of the Dead regalia in the parade. Mike and I follow it for a while. It's so fun - maracas shaking, people dancing, incredible costumes and make-up... but also terrible fireworks. Loud and visually unimpressive. Also, why are fireworks still cool? Like, I don't remember the last time I saw a firework show and thought to myself "wow, really glad I put the effort into watching this, definitely not like literally every other firework show I've ever seen." They are always disappointing.
We found some internet and got back to Condesa around 9 PM. Mike and I break out our bottle of wine and have a glass each. Mike is hungry again, so we stop at a restaurant before going out to a bar. I have some dope flan. Service in Mexico is immediate. They want to take our order immediately. I never know what I want, and I don't know enough Spanish to say "not sure yet" which seems like an easy thing to learn, so I ended up eating dessert at the same time Mike was having his linguine con pollo.
Mike's linguine con pollo is made with pesto, but since there are pine nuts on top I assume it's the safe kind for me to eat and have a bite. It is probably not the safe kind for me to eat because my mouth immediately reacts as though I just had walnuts. I know I didn't eat enough to have that bad of a reaction, but I also wonder why I am still making the mistake of accidentally consuming nuts all the time. I could just not try a bit of the linguine. But I also really like linguine. Is this where I'm supposed to exhibit self-control? I obviously did not die, so we'll see if that lesson sticks or not.
After dinner Mike and I go to an Irish pub, because I love Irish pubs anywhere in the world. IRISH PUBS ARE THE BEST. Mike gets a beer and I get something called a "pure Irish" which ends up being an Irish car bomb, but the waiter drops the shot into the Guinness for me, which throws the whole thing off. My chest is still recovering from the walnuts, so I wouldn't be able to down the whole thing in one gulp anyway.
The pub played some hits from the 80s, like Sweet Child O Mine (turns out the only words I know are the chorus) and the one about Jessie and how he likes his girls a little bit older. Mike and I haven't been to a bar in forever, so it was fun going out.
Mike took this pic of me singing.
We each took a shot of Jack Daniels Honey because I cannot handle a real whiskey shot and then headed back to our room earlier than expected but still later than last night. We've adjusted to Mexico City, I think. The rest of the trip won't be focused entirely on our sleep schedule.
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