Mexico City—(M)the post-apocalyptic city
By Jim Johnston

Some of the wares for sale at Tianguis del Chopo

A selection of buns—(M)Protesters in their birthday suits in the zocalò

Depending on who’s counting, Mexico City ranks as the biggest urban conglomerate on the planet—(M)more than 20 million people living in the same place at the same time, an inconceivable notion until the last century. Depending on your point of view, it’s either your worst claustrophobic nightmare, or the supreme example of human beings attempting to live in harmonious union.

All this life occurs on land that was once water, in a zone susceptible to devastating earthquakes, run by a government noted for corruption and incompetence, and challenged by an economy of extreme haves and have-nots. The city’s very existence is utterly improbable. Even the founding of the city—(M)the site was chosen based on an ancient Aztec prophecy—(M)adds to its other-worldliness, and the personal appearance of the Virgin of Guadalupe in 1531 contributes a dash of the miraculous. An element of the surprising, even the surreal, is part of daily life here.

Renowned Mexican author Carlos Monsiváis wrote in Mexican Postcards (1997), “Mexico City is the place where the unlivable has its rewards, the first of which has been to endow survival with a new status. For many, Mexico City’s major charm is precisely its ‘apocalyptic’ condition.”

In previous columns, I’ve written about the pleasures of life in Mexico City—(M)the markets, the parks, the museums and restaurants, the relaxed and polite way of its people. But, as an urban dweller for most of my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate the contrasting elements of the bizarre, the pathetic, the depressing and the confounding which heighten all the pleasurable sensations. Polar opposites are the norm here, keeping one’s nerve endings charged.

Mexico City has been used as a backdrop for several recent Hollywood movies (Missing, Total Recall and Man on Fire come to mind), and its extreme visual contrasts, combined with its reputation as a place where laws are invented on the spot, usually mean that the movie is set in some netherworld, beyond the reach of polite society, a no-man’s-land that suggests the past and the future more readily than the present.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m making my own movie or writing a novel that takes place in Mexico City, so I’m always scouting for interesting locations. One film would be a musical full of lovers, mariachis and happy endings in leafy green parks and elegant colonial palaces. The other is a science fiction story set in the not-too-distant future, maybe tomorrow. I’m not yet sure of the outcome of the story, but I will share with you some of the bizarre locations and incongruous happenings I have found that set the scene. You can see it all the next time you are in town—(M)it’s my post-apocalyptic tour of Mexico City.

The entrance to the Metro Insurgentes recalls the classic science fiction movie Blade Runner, especially when seen after dark (but before 10pm when the stores close). A ring of constant traffic and gigantic illuminated billboards surrounds the round, sunken plaza—(M)street life is a vibrant mixture of color and sleaze. The few houses from the early twentieth century still standing at the southwest corner of Insurgentes, overburdened with accretions of advertising, look as though they are being eaten alive by the city.

On May 6 this year, performance artist Spencer Tunick convinced 17,000 people to pose naked in the zócalo, Mexico City’s main square (topping his previous record in Spain by more than 10,000 people). But public nudity has become almost commonplace here—(M)none of the Mexicans I saw were surprised, as I was, the first time I noticed hundreds of demonstrators at the corner of Reforma and Insurgentes take off their clothes and wave as traffic passed by They were farmers from Veracruz protesting against their governor. While there is no regular schedule, protesters have been showing up naked on this street corner for several years now.

With luck, you may find a few of my favorite sci-fi extras working at a nearby street corner. Providing entertainment for motorists waiting at traffic lights is a time-honored profession here. Run-of-the-mill workers act as clowns, jugglers, flowers vendors, or windshield cleaners. But there are two “jobs” I have seen at intersections that I’ve never noticed elsewhere. Fire-eaters, who place kerosene-ignited balls of cloth into their mouths, and skinny young boys who spread out towels covered with broken glass and then lie down on them, are disturbing reminders of how difficult life can be in the city and the bizarre forms of creativity that it inspires.

In Colonia Roma is a reminder of Thursday, September 19, 1985, a day that felt like the end of the world for many city residents. The most devastating earthquake in the history of the Americas killed at least 9,000 people, injured 30,000 and left 100,000 homeless. It also destroyed 412 buildings and seriously damaged another 3,000, according to official government statistics. On a pleasant tree-lined street (across from Chihuahua 196) amongst apartment buildings, stores and a school is a collapsed ruin of a building—(M)no walls, just slabs of concrete and steel rods stacked and tilted like a deck of cards carelessly tossed on the floor. A family has been living there for years, their pots and pans (and Mexican flag) visible to passersby, looking like a scene from a post-nuclear documentary.

Just around the corner (at Insurgentes and Guanajuato) is Oskar’s Uniform store, which 

has the strangest mannequins I’ve ever seen. Looking like extras from George Romero’s 

Night of the Living Dead, these figures could be survivors of the earthquake, whose expressions have been frozen in time.

The Tianguis del Chopo is a counterculture street fair, a weekly meeting place for goths, punks, rastas, grunge, hip-hoppers and members of similar tribes looking for the latest in music, clothing, tattoos and body piercings. Hundreds of vendors attract thousands of shoppers and lookers, creating a fearsome scene of extreme fashions and hairstyles (perfect spot for casting movie extras), although the atmosphere, being Mexico, is laid back and friendly. Tianguis del Chopo is every Saturday from 10am to 4pm on Calle Aldama in Colonia Guerrero…just follow anybody dressed all in black.

Not all of my chosen locations are diabolical. Angels might have their birthday parties at the Pasteleria Ideal (16 de Septiembre 14 in the Centro Histórico). The showroom on the second floor offers the unique experience of being surrounded by more sugar, frosting and cakes than anyplace I have been. I’m planning the chase scene here.

Another site of pleasurable excess is Plaza Garibaldi on any Saturday night. Home base for dozens of mariachis and other Mexican music groups, families and lovers go here to listen to (and sing along with) their favorite old songs. Be prepared for a unique musical experience, as all the groups play simultaneously, creating the perfect ready-made soundtrack to my film.

I used to think that the magic realist or surrealist artists and writers of Mexico had some special creative gene that enabled their imaginations to soar more freely than most. Now that I live here, I realize that it’s just the result of careful observation of daily life, attending the theater of the street. Mexico City provides one of the greatest shows on earth, and admission is free.

Jim Johnston, a 10-year resident of San Miguel, now lives in Mexico City. He is the author of Mexico City: An Opinionated Guide for the Curious Traveler, available in San Miguel at El Tecolote bookstore and Border Crossings, and on Amazon.com.