I moved to México on March 4th

a leap across borders

from the Southern Caribbean

to the jungle of Bosque de Chapultepec

I arrived to the metropolis of México City

Latin America’s unofficial capital

during springtime

just in time

to sync the seasons with a change of pace

to write this next chapter

with a leap of faith

and a ‘copa de espejismo’

My studio apartment sits between a pink-painted convent

home to holy gardens and petite nuns leading prayer

and on the other side of the building

sits Chilango Skate Shop

a cultural hub of baggy-clothed athletes

among stacks of Nikes

Listen closely

and you can almost hear the collective prayers

of women in white

beneath the roar of wheels

the snap of wooden decks

carving on the half-pipe

Ciudad de México

Here is where contrasts come to dance

in a city home to millions

22.75 to be exact

Here is where I am finding a spectrum of expression

of chaos and catharsis

of luxury and poverty

of modernity and tradition

of Catholicism and cartels

2 months here and I have touched, tasted, and listened

across an ascending scale of stimulation

it feels cinematic on some days

divinely simple on others

The city offers luxury to those willing to pay

craft cocktails on open air rooftops

to shake my head against Afro beats

oysters on the half shell topped with caviar

steaming bowls of ramen one night

paella, gazpacho, and iberico the next

table-side ceasar salads

baked Alaska for dessert

lychee martinis and mezcal served straight

The culinary experience tends to be performative

at the high-end restaurants

waiters with sparklers

and live drummers to interrupt mid-meal

In the streets

is another type of performance

at the impuestas

where the food preparation

becomes the main show

Elote, a local delicacy

Where vats of steaming corn on the cob

are slapped with cotija cheese, butter, cilantro and chili powder

Next door

flautas stuffed with meat sizzle in oil

naked hands turn tortillas

by the hundreds

over a hot comal

An aroma of sweet cut peppers, seasoned meat, and charred corn

invites visitors to experience culinary traditions

here in the open streets

a gift I commemorate with extra pesos

for every taco I inhale shamelessly

To travel to México

is to travel through the senses

my favorite bar burns copal

thick ceremonial smoke that smells of earth and sugary sap

that dances between the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd

standing room only

Korean and Chinese communities

bring fusion dishes to the masses

tart kimchi is served with guajillo chiles

uniting abuela’s recipes

with flavors from the East

The soundscape of México City

is a cacophony of shouts and bells

from selling mattresses over megaphones

to Honda civics blaring verses of the bible

a trembling brass bell

signifies the trash truck is ready for pick up

while a snaring whistle

denotes the mobile food cart

is nearby

serving fried plantains

drizzled with thick condensed milk

Visual art abounds

Mexican muralism is evident across city buildings

branded with color and symbolism

while quiet streets

are painted with iconography

that tells stories

of the Indigenous

of women

of the working class

It is here, where my curiosity lingers

beyond the sparkling glass of boutiques

beyond cafe windows stuffed with gourmet pastries

To witness the working class

is to study the details of

a tapestry, a city

woven together

with the callused hands

of construction workers

on the backs of men and women

carrying water canisters up to residences and restaurants

by the street sweepers

Barrenderos

noted by their burgundy jumpsuits

sweeping fallen jacaranda leaves

cigarette butts

and styrofoam cups

with the long strands of a broom shaped from cornhusks

Concrete-dusted work boots

reposed

for a public siesta

while the shoe polisher’s snooze

in between clients

waiting for leather loafers to gather dirt

The working class includes

children

who illegally don aprons

while beckoning passersby with cold cola and tacos al pastor

serving sweating pork

tucked into corn pockets

decorated in tomate, cebolla, y cilantro

la bandera, the flag, of red, white, and green

patriotism

tucked into

child labour

To live in México City

is to walk a bridge

between

beauty

and

suffering

humor

and

hunger

How strange for the heart

to witness suffering during your daily walk home

to be human is to help

but what then

is a helping hand in a sea of need

this question

moves with me daily

In the streets

I see amputees shaking cups for change

children selling

anything

elderly singing for their next meal

and the blind play karaoke

hoping to be seen

México is my bridge

to a life of art

community

and self-study

My space between the streets

is rooted in privilege

dressed in an American passport

and Italian-tied sneakers

My gift is time

to wander and reflect

to witness and genuflect

On my bridge between

I have sat in circles with faces from around the world to

enjoy live music and performance art

I have explored art classes with Mexican families

in the middle of an orchid flower festival

I sit with Nacho

who makes fresh juice on the corner of Chilpancingo

to understand his perspective

to sit at eye level

I ask the local lawyer about his journey from Sinaloa

what world’s he navigates

from work to culture

I chat with the woman cleaning

at the Pilates Studio

who works alongside her teen daughter

she is a mother, a cleaner, a chef at night

walking her own bridge

between worlds

Subtlety lives here, too

in between the labour

and the luxury

I watch life unfold

in the city’s public spaces

a reprieve beneath the trees for some

is a room-less home for others

Parque México on a Saturday

at dusk

is where

bridges form an interchange

where overpasses intersect roadways

where language

demographics

individuality

flow freely

Teens choreograph their

movement to pop music

kids chase bubbles

and

wind up trucks across pavement

soccer balls soar

from the feet of shirtless men

dogs as diverse as their owners

chase the chaos

couples sit

limbs crossed in love

dance groups form to practice

salsa

bachata

a saxophone player

releases song in tandem

with the church bells

I close the day in admiration

of a society that lives out loud

vulnerable

with her heart open

The sun spills over

the park

illuminating the curves of the naked

La Mujer de los Cántaros

The Woman of the Water Jugs

a stunning Art Deco fountain

that anchors the outdoor arena

Under each of her arms

a jug of water

ready to offer

a generous pour

from her cup

to yours.

— Liv Hooson

México: A Bridge Between