Last Dance II (Mexico City)

It's a slow night at the dance hall. Admission is less than $2.00. Soft drinks, bottled water, beer, or hard liquor double the price or more. Two no-name, enthusiastic bands cover songs covered better by others. There's enough room on the floor to move without being stepped on or elbowed often.

As usual, women perch on their seats and wait for someone to ask them to dance. Men peruse the dance floor, stroll past the tables, eyeing us, extending a hand or not. Two strangers ask me to dance. I am lead-footed.

Someone I've danced with sometime ago, but whose name escapes me, leads me out again. He pastes his body against mine and whispers, "I am three months without a girlfriend."

I wish him luck in finding one as I jam my arm between us.

We dance apart, then he grabs me, reels me in, and presses me close. "The song says to hug you tightly."

I push him backwards. "Do you always follow instructions?" I ask.

He laughs and allows the space between us to grow. Then, "Are you alone?"

"I'm waiting for a friend." Honorio is meeting me at 7:45.

"What kind of friend?"

"A good one." I thank him and return to my table.

Honorio enters, wearing a suit. "Take your jacket off," I tell him. It's at least 90 degrees. "It only gets hotter."

We talk a while, in Spanish and in English. Work was fine.... His girlfriend, in France, is coming back to visit in three weeks.... His cousin and he enjoyed our jaunt to Tula.... Pancho's university started up again yesterday; he'll graduate in a year, with a degree in economics and lousy job prospects.... The band that played at a friend's wedding in Teotihuacan was well known and really good. They played all night but Honorio's favorite dance partner had taken lessons and was too good for him....

I'm not.

Honorio is a more accomplished dancer than he'd admitted to being. We move well together, but we won't be tapped for Dancing with the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance anytime soon. I tell him to find some sweet young things to dance with, but he doesn't. We cumbia until 9:30, then say goodbye until next year.

The mosquitoes that torture me must have taken a vacation, found an easier mark, or be planning something special for my last night in Mexico. I fall asleep watching Desperate Housewives, dubbed in Spanish. For nine hours, I slumber. If I dreamed of dancing, I don't recall a single step.

Daytripping (Tula)

Honorio and his cousin, Francisco (a.k.a. Pancho), pick me up at the hotel at 9am sharp, and we're off to visit the ruins of Tula. It's about 90 miles away, and we should make good time at this hour of the day.

According to my guidebook, the town has little to recommend it (unless you're a fan of peace and quiet), but the archaeological site is one of the most important in Mesoamerica. Demonstrating influences of other major sites in its ceramics and pottery shards, architecture, and sculptures, through conquests and trade, Tula linked Teotihuacan, Chichen Itza, and other places of note in the PreColombian world.


The on-site museum exhibits a chacmool (reclining figure carved in stone and used for sacrifices), ceramics, and other artifacts, some of which retain their original colors. The most impressive sights at this site are the huge, stone Atlantes figures, with their loincloths, breastplates, and feathered headdresses, made by the Toltecs, and standing atop one of the pyramids. We scramble up narrow steps to snap photos and to admire the sculptures and the view. We wander about the two ball courts and a couple other pyramids and building foundations. Some walls display repeating, incised geometric designs, jaguars, and more. We've arrived before the crowds and depart before the heat becomes oppressive.

Honorio decides that we'll return to Mexico City via a shortcut -- along a newly constructed highway. Because of my wild ride on a "shortcut" in Oaxaca, I get a bad feeling about his plan, but who am I to argue?


Two ominous signs indicate that we might have a problem: We are the only travellers in either direction, and a bird crashes into and bounces off our windshield. However, we practically fly along, making excellent time.


The road ends suddenly, and we are redirected through the arid, cactus-strewn landscape and the dusty streets of small towns. The shortcut has become a longcut. Honorio vows never to use this highway again. I vow to argue whenever I hear the word "shortcut." We spend at least an extra hour and a half reaching our lunch destination of Pachuca.


Once there, we stop at a roadside restaurant and eat flaky pastries, called pastes (pronounced pas-tays), that are typical of the region. Imagine an apple turnover, but scrap the apples and insert savory or sweet fillings, such as pork or pineapple. I order one paste with cheese and mushrooms and another with chicken in green mole. Both are delicious.


We get back on the road and swiftly make our way back to Mexico City. The traffic, once we reach the city limits, is atrocious and it takes forever (translation: a really long time) to get back to my hotel. As Honorio commented on our way to Tula, "It's a good thing that not everybody has a car."


I go to bed tired and early but spend most of the night battling mosquitoes. Tomorrow, I'll be on the road again. No shortcuts, though.