Mad dash round Mexico

Known only as 'Mexico' to all who live here, Mexico City is indeed the essence, and antithesis, of all that is Mexican. The megacropolis stands proudly, yet has an ashamedly dangerous reputation. The people walk confidently down the crowded streets, but glance nervously around them as they enter all but the most well-trodden routes. It is a fresh, vibrant city with a simmering, dark edge to it.

Not that the physical edge is ascertainable; as my bus left behind the cactus-lined hillsides and approached the sprawling city in a six-lane ant trail of honking vehicles, I was taken aback by the oversized green signposts, high rise glass-walled blocks and scurrying scores of people littering the landscape. After the cultured quiet of Oaxaca, I had almost forgotten the way a real city makes your heart race along with the buzz of its streets, like a living breathing creature. Mexico is a city brimming with life, and simmering under the surface is a tension like the coiled force in the legs of an animal ready to attack.

At the bus station, I was instanty pounced on by an 'official', bewilderingly flashing name badges and stamped licences at me and leading me by my heavy bag strap towards his taxi. I was glad of my Spanish as we approached the completely unmarked, dented saloon, being able to explain that I was sorry, but I had been told only to use the City's official red and yellow taxis, backing away assuredly. Whilst I am always wary of tourist 'scare stories' the one about abductions of tourists in taxis in Mexico seemed real enough to be worth the effort of paying extra at a special taxi stand, where an official escorts you to the overly-labelled and licensed car having taken all the details of your life, and every turning you plan to make on the short journey to your destination. Sometimes it is better to be safe than sorry.

With just one afternoon in which to take in the atmosphere of this, the world's third largest urban area, I set off on a speed walking tour of the maelstrom of sights nearest to the central Zocalo, taking in a myriad mosaic of scenes, all completely different yet seamlessly apposed with each other. One moment I was standing in the shadow of grand architecture of the 1800s, the next being captivated by the sweeping colours in a modern art museum, the next in the historic midst of ancient stones of the two and a half thousand year old Templo Mayor and then caught up in the throes of a noisy march for students' rights. All in all, it was a wonderfully welcoming world, sights and sounds and smells bombarding you from all sides and leaving you feeling exhilirated and exhausted, in that happy-tired way. The ever friendly Mexicans pointed me in the right direction, invited me to try the food they were cooking up street-side, offered titbits of information on their favourite subject, the city they live in and are so immensely proud of. A uniting sight was the green, white and red of the Mexican flag waving in the warm city breeze, hanging off buildings whether ancient or modern, shiny new or tumbledown. The expanse of flags was probably exacerbated by the Mexico vs USA football match taking place that afternoon, blaring out of radios at newspaper stands and even outcompeting the reggaeton usually played loudly from stores.

Mexico City revels in its strange juxtapositions, and seems to have grasped with both hands the opportunity to clean up both crime and pollution, neither of which bothered me in my, albeit short, day here. However, as dusk fell, and my weary feet began to lead me toward bed, there was a palpable sense of those whispered dangers: the streets cleared as people hurried by, not looking up from their homeward path, piles of steaming rubbish from the days activities were left behind where vendors' carts had stood, and groups of young men prowled around in the flickering glow of the recently installed street lighting like street cats marking their territory.

As for me, I slept as peacefully as a cat that got the cream, a weary but content smile curling my lips as I dreamed of my amazing weeks exploring both Mexico and Guatemala. Of the colours, the vibrant greens and reds of chillis, the exuberantly painted shopfronts, the beautifully embroidered huiles and shawls. Of the landscape, both natural cactus studded rocks and gushing waterfalls, the exquisite architectural masterpieces in all the cities, especially the churches, and the ancient colossal ruins. Of the food, the spicy, fresh concoctions, the ubiquitous combination of lime, chilli and salt. The music, even the reggaeton and Mexican pop screeching out of shops growing on me. And mostly, of the people - so welcoming and friendly, and keen to share with you these things, the essences of 'their country'.

The everyday kindness of the local people more than makes up for the acts of greed in the headlines.
Charles Kuralt