Santa Maria Ribera

It is a challenge writing this blog in internet cafes, especially in this small corner store where space is limited and everyone is in my face but this is part of coping and adapting to a different culture.  Mexicans seem to be a lot more tolerant of noise and space than Canadians.  I think that this is because they are a much more social and family oriented people and so they are better accustomed to closeness and noise and to put it bluntly less spoiled than we are.  There is also no point saying anything to anyone because I am the foreigner and I have some anecdotal evidence that there is some racism here against gueros, or white people.  But this is to be expected here because this is a mono-culture and they have absolutely no concept of multiculturalism as we know it in Canada.  For my part I let it pass and really work at being kind and respectful, even though my first instinct might be to bitch-slap, but this has never turned out well so I really try not to do this any more.
     This morning I visited the Church of Saint John the Baptist (parroquia de San Juan Bauptista) where a tall austere looking Franciscan priest dressed in the traditional brown robe daubed ash on my forehead in observance of Ash Wednesday.  There was no service and no ceremony.  You simply walk in and there he is standing at the very front waiting for the faithful to come and receive this poignant blessing and reminder that we are made of dust and to dust we shall return.  Then I had breakfast in a cafe nearby, from where I had a view of an almost uninterrupted steam of people entering and leaving the church for the anointing of ashes.
     I spent the afternoon on and around Paseo de la Reforma, where I sat in a favourite cafe drinking coffee and eating rich chocolate cake while working on a new drawing.  Then I walked further to explore an area I learned about recently on the internet, called Santa Maria Ribera.  It is fascinating, and as soon as I got onto one of the streets I had this incredible sense of deja-vu.  I am certain that I have seen this place in several dreams.  Try to imagine, if you will, those of you  who are already familiar with Vancouver, and for those of you who are not there is always Uncle Google to ask, a combination of Main Street and Commercial Drive, before gentrification, with a slightly seedy touch of Main and Hastings, but with beautifully built and carved store fronts and building facades painted in a whole spectrum of colour, trees and sidewalk vendors and flowers and people and a certain vibrancy that gives its own light.  On the way back to Reforma I stopped in at a small cafe for a bottle of mineral water.  The young staff didn´t appear to understand my Spanish, which is odd, because I almost never have this problem, so after I apologized for my accent they could suddenly understand every word I was saying.  My theory is, I am probably one of the only white people they see around for days or even weeks on end and I might be the only one who speaks Spanish and this can be quite a lot to absorb, so of course I cut them slack.
     This evening I am going to hand-wash my dirty laundry, rinse it in the scalding hot shower in my room and hang it to dry.  The costs of the guest house doing my laundry are through the roof and the local laundry service isn't much cheaper.