|Organ grinders work the downtown streets about one two-man|
team to a block. One guy puts his hat out for money among the
people crowding by, while the other turns the crank. They're
always dressed in this quasi-military uniform
Day 5 - It’s a hellish night during which my spouse and I share the same fear without speaking of it—that she has pneumonia. At least we’re able to get a little bit of much needed sleep, and she feels well enough in the late morning to reject the idea of finding a doctor; tomorrow we’re coming home to Ajijic and she’ll see her physician then. We make a plan for her to rest today in our room for a couple of hours while I explore the Centro Histórico.
|Two or more of these teams are on |
each Centro Histórico block.
I don’t really see much new on this adventure but am able today to investigate this area in more depth. For example, in the block-wide, mile-long strip between our hotel and the zócalo I count five Starbucks shops but only two of the elusive WCs. No shortage, though, of lethal equipment-laden policia with their protective, hard plastic shields, nor of those ubiquitous organ grinders whose music is part of the downtown soundtrack. Later, quizzing one of our taxi drivers, I am disabused of my notion that they are strictly a seasonal addition to the scene.
|My new dicho, or saying, "Un sanitorio publico is como oro".|
The zócalo's giant Christmas tree is in the background, upper
left. This scene gives an idea how crowded downtown is.
I discover some leafy side streets reserved for pedestrians that are out of the punishing flow of foot traffic moving to and from the zócalo. That huge plaza itself is only slightly less crowded than on the past Navidad weekend; the rink and toboggan slide are still doing a booming business, and towering over all, in place of the mammoth Mexican flag that’s easily visible from outer space is a hundred foot tall fake Christmas tree decorated with balls as big as weather balloons.
I pass several museums but all are closed, as is usual on Mondays. Before we left home a friend told us there are 500 museos in the city. I doubt there are that many, but it does seem like there are several on about every block, at least in the centro. There are some unexpected themes: Museo del Perfume, de Caricatura, del Tequila y el Mezcal. The latter two are even open today and not too far away, but I want to get back to mi esposa.
|This andador, or pedestrian street, runs parallel and two blocks from the one|
in the previous photo. It's not on a direct route to the zócalo.
We had originally planned dinners at a few highly recommended restaurants that prepare interesting dishes we might not find elsewhere, but that’s more than we can handle with this illness. We’re not really foodies so this is a loss we can easily shrug off. Instead we make the short trek to Chinatown, confine our daring to trying the eatery next door to the one we ate at two nights ago and opt for chicken stir fry again. That's a mistake; I still gag at the memory of those gristly, unidentifiable chunks.
It’s a slow slow walk back to our hotel. We celebrate our arrival with a big scoop of nutty pistachio (cone—me, cup—her) at the boutique ice cream shop in the lobby, elevator straight to our room and get in bed. We’re both glad we go home tomorrow, and that we can sleep in. There are two more art museums we’ve been looking forward to visiting—each only a block away—before we catch our short, late afternoon flight.