First Impressions

I arrive at the modern airport from Rio de Janeiro via Houston, having sat during the last leg on a single seat towards the front in a Brazilian Embraer place, while one of those United flight attendants barked at us - the way they do. There's a long walk for the exhausted traveler to the passport control, where it turns out the flight attendant mentioned did not give me ALL the forms, so off to the side to fill out the rest. I pass and so does my luggage which has to be lugged on to a belt and x-rayed. Outside waits Oswaldo with a generous philosopher, Max, who's driven him out to pick me up. We're dropped at a yellow house in a quiet neighborhood, Coyoacán, with tree-lined roads where birds sing. A spacious room overlooking more trees awaits. After a little nap we head out to find Tripadvisor recommended Tostadas in the Coyoacán Mercado, not so far from here. I have my tostada piled high with a savory mix of mushrooms, avocado and onions and get a tamarind juice to go with it. It's unbelievably good. Oswaldo gets s shrimp mixture with tiny pink fresh shrimp and a tangerine juice. We sit on red plastic stools at a gaily decorated counter in the middle of a noisy market where they sell everything.

I'm already in love with the embroidery and the color that I see everywhere and stop to sniff fruits and vegetables I have never seen before. Would be fun to cook here.

We walk down the Xicoténcatl (a lot of street names are like that, hard to pronounce and to remember) avenue, where, Oswaldo instructs me, you must leap and dodge cars when crossing the side streets, and check the many cute little stores lining it (more embroideries!), then finally walk to to Frida Kahlo house, a beautiful blue compound of house built on several levels around a sculpture courtyard.

The use of color and form so freely is very exciting and I regret not having paid closer attention to the first part of The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver, which describes living there. The book did not turn me on - maybe now it would, given we're also going to see the Trosky house, and he was also in the book.
We return to the hotel to rest for a a bit and a torrential rain starts. When it doesn't look like stopping we head out with our rain gear to a merry place, Century 107, Oswaldo has found nearby, full of young people and music, where we have Margaritas and Mojitos and munch on guacamole with corn-chips, both homemade, and finally give in to a crispy pizza. Then back to bed.