On Sunday, J and I walked down Reforma to the second closest subway stop. The road was closed to traffic, and both joggers and bicyclists seemed to be making the most of it.
The streets around Insurgentes were not thriving. Numerous abandoned buildings lined Av de los Insurgentes Sur, and few people walked around. The sprawling circular metro station seemed to be the epicenter.
Crotch Rocket Cops is filmed on location with real crotch rockets.
Grate, but not good.
El Angel Monumento a la Independencia.
The golden angel.
Cool separator in the middle of Paseo de la Reforma.
Turn on the magic of colored lights.
Parking and abandonment.
Ornate wooden door.
Classy sill in the middle of dilapidation.
Folksy zombie address scrawl.
Ah, the good life.
Altar to abandoned buildings.
Two failed high-rises.
Robocop’s crash pad.
This show is consistently undersold.
Failing paint and narrow building.
Mercado Merced had its own subway stop that emptied out throngs of people into a sea of shoe vendors. We started wandering, through party supplies, flowers, and into the fresh produce area.
So much fresh and beautiful produce was for sale, of all types. White onions, limes, and chilies seemed most common.
Looking at the map now, we missed over two thirds of the market, as the subway exit is in the bottom half.
J.J. Abrams’s Piñatas.
Jalepeños and tomatillos.
Heads will roll.
Inside the main hall.
Banana plants and corn.
Pardon me señor, do you have any limes?
Folding banana leaves. Presumably they will be used for making tamales.
Corn husks and the suspicious husker.
A smorgasbord of unidentifiable protein sources.
Making tortillas the new-fashioned way.
The garnish helps the curb appeal.
Preserved palm or banana parts. Not sure.
Some damn fine looking tortas.
Sadness over slaughter.
Every cloud has a stomach lining.
Hanging with slaughtered Cooper.
Apparently mole paste looks like dinosaur poop.
Pomegranate is in season, thus chiles en nogata in every damn restaurant.
Overlooking the street south of Merced from the crosswalk.
Behind the market was clogged and bustling Rosario St. We walked south and crossed over the pedestrian bridge to Mercado de Sonora.
This market was much smaller, though it did have the world’s saddest pet area. Puppies and kitten in wire cages. Too many chickens and exotic birds squawking and flapping dust and bird flu into the air.
Mercado de Sonora from above.
Creepy corn man welcomes you to the saddest pet store on earth.
We left the market and used our intuitive navigation sense to walk in the direction of the Zócalo to get lunch. Along the way, we passed many professional ladies. Apparently, the area around the market is thick with them, many under age.
El Cardenal was full when we arrived, so I did my best to give the hostess my name and ask her how many minutes it would be. But she misheard by name, and 40 minutes later we were still without a table.
Eventually we were seated and ready to enjoy our meal of beer, soda, bread, quesadillas, mole poblano, and chiles en nogada.
A woman of the night.
Hunched high score.
Chiles en nogata at El Cardenal.
Time permitting, I want to go back to the market. I know I only scratched the surface.