Saturday 10 February 2018

Mexico City II

an iconic image of Palacio de Bellas Artes
in Mexico City's historic centre
I'd be lying if I said the pickpocketing incident didn't shape my opinion of Mexico City in the days that followed. The very next morning, when I left for the mountain city of Guanajuato, I viewed my fellow metro commuters with suspicion: a thief could be in their midst. Simultaneously, I recognised my unwarranted paranoia. It was absurd: one pickpocket does not make an entire city dodgy. Plus, pickpockets strike in a lot of other major cities as well. Still, Mexico City made me feel a little uncomfortable. One good thing that came out of that episode though, is that it taught me to be extra vigilant (I also stopped carrying my wallet).

the remains of a day at Coyoacan, a district in Mexico City
All the same though, I felt reluctant to leave. I had met some really amazing people, including my couchsurfing hosts. One spent an entire afternoon helping me get a new phone, the other followed me to the tourist police to lodge a report. It was people like them who made it difficult to fly out. But as Sufei (my ex-uni classmate who now lives in Mexico City) pointed out, such feelings would come back to assail me every time I have to end a particular leg. And she was right.

It was then I realized something else about myself. Inasmuch as I had believed I was able to emotionally detach myself from people/situations, I have yet a long way to go.


first written on 31st October 2017


Monday 5 February 2018

Mexico City I

More than 24 hours after I discovered my left pocket had been emptied on the metro, it was still surreal. I was already trying to make light of the incident, but I couldn't lie to myself. I was lucky though -- the pocket that my hand protected had my wallet. The keys in the other pocket were safe, and so was the phone, except it was in someone else's pocket now.

The someone I couldn't recognize. Someone who could have passed it on to someone else, and then someone else, as part of a syndicate that pickpockets unsuspecting commuters in Mexico City's dense metro network. Who was I to ask anyway? The faces I scanned at helplessly in the train stared back blankly, as if to say, 'You've finally realized what happened'.

Disbelief turned to shock, as I began to palpitate. I had to get away from the metro. Run, I told myself. But what was I running away from? Another hit? Reality? Or run towards some way of recovering what had been lost? But in a city of over 20 million, where does one begin?

By the end of the night, I had a replacement phone. I had re-established contact with people. The shock, considering it was the first time something like that had happened, had ebbed away. But I was still bothered, and I couldn't decide what was causing the unease: the loss of the phone, or my temporary loss in faith in people? What makes someone do something like this? How is stealing OK? I couldn't understand it then, I can't understand it now.

Days before the incident, a friend of mine joked that he would steal my phone, because of its camera. Maybe he should have. 

Grow on me, London

The River Thames

When I met a friend at Piccadilly Circus, one of the first things I told her was that I didn't quite fancy London. She was aghast, to say the least. London buzzes with life and energy, and there's so much to see and do. But I wasn't feeling it, maybe for this exact reason. London felt overwhelming. 
A good day to be at Hyde Park
But it is also undeniably navigable by foot. I walked everywhere, but had yet to step into a particular part of the city which would have set off a spark, that feeling of attraction and/or love for a city I'm in. When I think of Istanbul, it's the Bosphorus and its seagulls. When I think of Delhi, it's Lodhi Gardens, and in Zagreb, the Museum of Broken Relationships. In London, I'd walked through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, been wowed by the British Museum (never mind that there's really nothing British about it) -- but nothing.
the British Museum's ceiling

By the end of the day though, something changed. I was making my way back to the apartment from Piccadilly Circus. And it was there, at the pedestrian crossing during rush hour, when I looked at the darkening sky, the buildings that swallowed the sun, the double-deckered buses, and the crowd of people, that I found my spark.







first written on 30th September 2017