Thursday, December 25, 1986

Christmas en DF, Mexico City

December 25, Mexico City.

The transition from one culture to another still takes time. Absorbing this culture, I've been mute. John's friends here are all very special, an anchor I seem to need.

On Linea Dos, riding the tram into the Zócalo, the first day here was mas dificile para mi—for me. The first time I went to Baja, the same thing happened. I was overwhelmed by so many little things. But it is the people who have so little, begging for cambio, for change on every corner—the poverty is so deeply ingrained, it profoundly affects me. I am in tears.

On Linea Dos, a blind Indio with his family sang a beautiful haunting melody and people plinked pesos into his cup. Somehow, it was the timbre of his voice, that sobbing pathos one hears in a song, that brought me to tears. Welcome to DF (pronounced De Effe, for Districto Federal), the dark heart of Mexico City.

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