Home Again

And so back in Toronto. Definitely a huge change of pace – in the main because of our up-coming move. We arrived Thursday night, were most happily met at the airport by Elizabeth and Billie, and yesterday began the processes necessary to our move a week from today. The weather was kind to us as our first tastes of Toronto felt almost spring-like. First on the agenda was a visit to the apartment on Major St that we had leased sight unseen, totally an internet arrangement. I approached it with a bit of trepidation (would we like it?) though convinced that even if there were problems that a location so close to Bloor and Spadina would be sufficient recompense. It exceeded my expectations.

Billie, who was along for the initial look-see enthused and stated her desire to move in right along with us; Elizabeth, arriving shortly afterward, proclaimed it the best of all rental spots she had viewed (many over the past few years) in the Annex area. Everybody was happy.

The next major project of the day: a trip to IKEA where we had supper in their cafeteria -- a fabulous experience as a cross-section of people from the entire known world, with families in tow, sat down to eat together in noisy harmony. That place could be a poster display for how Canada works. Hunger satisfied, we meandered about the living room furniture section for over an hour, disagreeing in our particular fashion about colours of couches that would work with our carpet. Purchases made, delivery confirmed, we headed home satisfied that the move is on its merry way.

There is much to be done. The mind boggles at the amount of detail. But, it will all happen. One piece of the puzzle at a time. Elizabeth and Billie (who is now on her March break) will come down one day next week to help pack up, and Catherine, who has a number of days off now, will also come aboard. Much to be said for having grown-up kids and big grand-children at a time like this. Theoren is now 15, Emily 13, and Billie will be 10 in a few weeks. Amazing! How did all that happen?

I want to continue to write my posts out into the internet ether, if not in this particular blog, then in another, as it is an activity and a form of communication that gives me a lot of satisfaction. Thanks to all of you who have not only read my scribbles but who have responded in some form to let me know either your own thoughts on a topic, or, just that you are happy to receive mine. Chow, adios, and until next time.

Another Note From Mexico City

Since writing two mornings ago, I have found my way back into the Mexico City that I have known and enjoyed. This with little or no effort, as well. Just being here, walking about as the spirit needs and the body demands, I sink back into a rhythm that works for me in any place that I have visited. In Mexico City we park ourselves close to an enormous mall on Reforma, about a half a block south of the intersection with Insurgentes. In quality this mall is on a par with Yorkdale and the Eaton’s Centre but is considerably more dramatic in its design. It’s a grounding spot for us, one where we can find familiar amenities in the midst of this diverse city. It’s food court gives the usual array of McDonald’s, Burger King, Chinese, Japanese, and Mexican fare, as well as my favourite: an excellent salad bar where the young ladies toss me up a made-to-measure feast of greens that I can enjoy on the spot or take back to the hotel to have with my large cup of tea. There are other restaurants in the complex that cater to the more distinguishing palate. On the top floor is a multi-screen Cinamex, playing some of the films that we have missed since leaving Toronto. We have been to three of them since arriving—two good, one, not so much. Besides, in this lovely mall is an outlet for a very excellent gelato company, whose wares I sample daily! What’s not to like about the place?

I would not like to mislead you into thinking that our days are spent at the mall – not at all, but it is a spot that we return to after explorations of other areas of the city. Yesterday I passed much of the morning talking with someone in Toronto and then reading (the Globe and Mail on internet) and hearing (CNN on TV) about the current happenings in the Ukraine. Odessa was one port of call on the 1973 USSR tour that Martha and I took with Maurice and his band of all-too-merry students from Humber College. We will be in that entire region in October when we sail from Istanbul with Celebrity for an 11 day cruise of the Black Sea. Ports will include Sochi (of Olympic fame), Odessa, and Sevastopol and Yalta, both in the Crimea. I presume that the current state of tensions will have resolved themselves by that period as I am not one to believe that Putin seriously intends to annex the Crimean region. But we shall see. Whatever happens, it is history in the making even as it is in some ways history all over again as the great powers of the west (formerly the British Empire in particular, now the EU and the USA) vie with Russia (formerly the Russian Empire) for mastery of the regions that border their spheres of influence.

In the late morning I dressed myself appropriately (more or less) for walking about in the sunny, temperate climate of MC and took a leisurely walk along the wide, tree-lined Passeo de la Reforma almost to the place where it melds into Chapultepec Park. On the eastern side of Reforma is the Canadian-owned Four Seasons Hotel, a lovely six or eight storied rectangular building which houses a large inner courtyard garden and restaurant. We stumbled upon this place a few years ago during our last visit to MC, enjoying a wonderful lunch set in its fabulous surround. And so there we met yesterday shortly after noon, to once again enjoy its opulent and sophisticated beauty. It did not disappoint. The food was delicious; the service excellent in an unhurried, unobtrusive but always kindly manner; the garden an oasis of delight. One other tourist couple appeared shortly before we left, however, the other clientele were impeccably dressed men clearly enjoying business connections over their drinks and meals – all warmth and friendliness. One other nearby table hosted three well-dressed ladies a bit younger than me, having fun as their conversations covered details probably not unlike those explored by my own lunch buddies and myself. I was aware of them and their clothes, suitable for what is their winter and I could see that one of them who faced me had a similar curiosity about someone like me done up in summer wear a la Indian cotton. This was confirmed when a burst of gaseous odour briefly assailed our senses as some lamps above the garden were lit. The lady opposite me made a face to indicate disgust with the odour but made it directly at me, accompanied by a friendly laugh, both of which I reciprocated. A brief non-verbal connection; very pleasant.

After our undeniably expensive lunch, we hopped on a city bus – 6.5 pesos each – about 50 cents, and went north along Reforma to Hidalgo. Here I had hoped to connect with one of the new Metrobus lines that have dedicated lanes like many of our current streetcars. Consulting our large metro map and discussing our conundrum with a few helpful passers-by, we established our actual location – not where I had hoped to be at all. As we had already paid to travel on the 3^rd line, rather than the 4th that I had aimed for, we decided to ride it south back down to the Zona Rosa and not too far from our hotel. Home again, home again. Some snacks from the corner 7-11, reading, a lovely nap and then off to the mall to buy salad suppers. Today we will return to the Zocalo area and perhaps have a ride on the 4^th line that circumscribes that entire section of the city. Many joys to sample in MC. And tomorrow: off to Toronto and all that that entails!

A Letter From Mexico City

Early morning from my Mexico City “air-lock:” Being here in MC is different for me now than any other time that we have visited. Then it’s been all explore and ingest; now, it’s, how many more days until we go on to TO? Truly, my mind simply is not resident in this place. Sensually, I turn back to Vallarta with its colours and ocean breezes; organizationally, I’m entirely in Toronto, mapping out the many and varied things to be accomplished in the ten days after our return; but, physically, my body is here and must attend to the needs of its own realm. So, I walk a lot; I eat – not especially well; and I sleep, again, not terribly well. I’m reading a very interesting travel book by a guy named Richard Grant, called God’s Middle Finger, and sub-titled, Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madres. I started it the day before we left PV but have been unable to continue in my usually voracious manner since we left: I’m simply too distracted by my own inner re-orientation to Toronto, our next port of call. When I do get back into it, I will write a summary of some of the things I’m learning about the Madres from Grant, things that make the current “narco-state” conditions that have come to the fore in the international press since the War on Drugs geared up, considerably more understandable.

But to the present: yesterday Mark and I walked up the Passeo de la Reforma from our Zona Rosa hotel to Juarez Avendida, and along into the heart of the original Spanish colony that has morphed over time into this vast and sprawling city. At its centre is the Zocalo, a massive rectangular open space surrounded by the ancient cathedral and colonial administrative offices and palaces. This space is that to which all visitors are drawn, embodying as it does, not just the colonial past but that of the Aztecs who preceded and were conquered by the Spanish. The history of those eras is portrayed in the enormous murals by Diego Rivera on the interior walls of one of the buildings flanking the Zocalo. To the right of the cathedral is the Temple Major, a museum housing and displaying the excavated ruins of the Aztec’s religious centre: the pyramid where many thousands of prisoners of war literally “lost their hearts” to satisfy the Aztec gods. The Zocalo area was their central civic and religious space and the Spanish, to destroy that past and to complete their conquest, tore down all of the Aztec edifices, using those very stones to build the new state and to solidify the new religion. History rarely allows for such definitive stops and starts, however. The “bones” of the past remain beneath the Zocalo and all of its colonial structures; archaeologists steadily continue to unearth their treasures. The pre-Christian myths were not destroyed by the coming of the new: they were simply folded into the stories told by the missionaries of the conquistadores and continue to find expression in popular devotions.

I first visited Mexico City and the Zocalo in July, 1970 when Maurice brought a party of about ten of us for a sample of the Mexico that he knew and loved. Liz and DJ, Judy M, Mike Q, Betsy (?), and Len McG were among that number. It was hot; the air was very polluted; the food and water were not purified as now; combined with the high altitude, these factors left many of us disoriented and unwell. Nonetheless, it was impressive. Today the central space of the Zocalo is filled with instalments of interest or pleasure for the teeming visitors – currently, an exhibit of military history. But then it was empty: no exhibits, few visitors. To me it was a kind of ruins – antique, grey, powerful in some way, but in another, lifeless. This was in contrast to the spirit and beauty that I felt in our visit to Teotihuacan with its pyramids of the sun and the moon set within an immense and glorious valley. The view from the top was exhilarating. Being there rekindled my desire to read and to study history. When we returned to Toronto, I applied to do a fourth year in history at U of T and resigned my job at Sick Children’s Hospital.

But that was then. Now I’m both here and not here, very like then, I suppose. Ah, the vagaries of the human mind and spirit. And so I’ll leave you for now, somewhere in between Mexico and Toronto, the past and the future. All the best.

The View From Here

We arrived in Mexico City yesterday about 4 PM, took a cab to our inexpensive “ejecutivo” – i.e., executive hotel near the intersection of two enormous avenues in the centre of the city: Insurgentes and Passeo de la Reforma, had a sandwich in their cafe because though late in the afternoon our room was still unready, took the elevator to our 13^th floor room to relax for a couple of hours, and then found our way to the enormous multi-story mall a few circuitous blocks from here for gelato and a movie – American Hustle – pleasantly pleasing in its cynicism and wit. This morning my eyes awoke to Mexico City’s brand of urban blight viewed from on high – the roofs of smaller buildings with their accumulation of mechanical apparatus and other unsightly objets. After three months of being imbued with a vision of paradise from the ninth floor of Vista Del Sol, I fully experienced the loss of Eden and the fall from grace. This in turn led me to a contemplation of my own version of stoicism, nurtured over time in reflections on my experiences and bolstered by what I understand in the philosophy of the kind of Buddhist who does not believe in or hope for reincarnation.

Shunryu Suzuki-Roshi whose book Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, I closely studied for about two years, said in a variety of ways: things just are what they are; and, everything changes all of the time. Find peace in a recognition of these truths and enjoy your life. This does not imply quietism – leaving aside the tasks of whatever nature that come to hand, including the struggle to lead a decent life and to be helpful to others if one can.  But it does involve giving up delusions about ourselves as individuals and as a species. I don’t “believe” in good and evil as entities or as embodied in certain groupings or people. I think that all humans have the capacity for acting in what we view as good and bad ways. Much of our “civilized” behaviour has evolved from the necessity of preserving human existence as we have gradually become so populous that we have taken over the world. Tribes like the Apache warriors in the southern USA believed that a boy did not become a man until he had killed someone in battle. The Aztecs made war on outlying tribes, specifically to garner hordes of participants for their blood sacrifices to their gods. The early history of any isolated group – for example, the Scots and the Irish -- reveals the perpetual state of war that existed between one family clan and another. We would view the horrors inflicted by any one of these peoples upon another as evil, though to them their actions represented “the good” as they understood it – putting their own lives on the line for the survival and the prospering of their family, clan, tribe, and later, nation state.

We view animals as simply a part of nature, unevolved morally as are we. I don’t see a big difference myself. Social animals in their own groupings can be loving and nurturing but will fight to the death for scarce resources – whether these are for food, territory, or sexual domination. They act out of instincts and needs as do we but are not bothered by questions of morality about their behaviours. Most people that I know fear what they would consider their own “dark side,” – anger, hatred, and jealousy, for example. They feel guilt when coming up against even an inner movement of this nature. I think all these feelings are normal, just a regular day-to-day experience of being a human being, a mammal that has won out in the sweepstakes of being the current dominant power on our planet, but still in terms of “primitive” reactions, a mammal like every other. Feeling guilt about normal reactions to frustration or fear, like those listed above, makes no more sense than being proud of our feelings of love and desire to be helpful to another. If we embrace the full scope of our humanity in a realistic fashion, we are better equipped to acknowledge those aspects of ourselves that can lead to harm to other people or to ourselves, and, to make conscious decisions about whether or not to act on them.

When I was in graduate school a few decades ago we read and talked about a book on entropy – the fact that all systems gradually come to an end. Our bodies wear down and die; stars burn themselves out, as will our own sun; at every level everything has a limit built in to its very nature. I found the contemplation of this idea to be profoundly depressing even as I was unable to escape its logic. Now it is a truth that to me is axiomatic. I can well understand why most human religions have posited an existence entirely other than that of the corporeal, one that promises a way of being that is not subject to the laws of entropy, one that makes comforting sense of so many of the perplexing aspects of our lives. I can make no comment on these approaches as they do not enter into the way that I approach my own life and death.

I look upon our beautiful, miraculous planet that we call Earth and think about its long history: the formation, the geology, the first stirrings of life, the evolution of larger animals. And then there were dinosaurs: they ruled the ecosystem until, as I understand it, an enormous meteor slammed into an area that we call the Gulf of Mexico, creating such heat, fire, and ash clouds that most vegetation on the earth was destroyed within the next few years – and with it, the dinosaurs. A happening, entirely outside of the control of the rulers. After this cataclysm, the little guys, the mammals, were able to prosper and to evolve into larger species – all leading to our own. But we have become so populous, have taken so much control over the whole of the earth and of all other species, that with our technology and our still-in-operation “primitive” reactions to threat and our desire for control and dominion, we stand in many ways at the brink of creating from within the planet itself, conditions that will end our own supremacy and even our existence, giving way to other species to develop and to take what is left of the earth’s ecosystem in other directions.

Well, from the viewpoint of us humans, not a pretty picture, but it may be that things, including us, may just be what they are. My friend, Mary, has been working with her medical team in Montreal for several years to stem the inevitable consequences of her cancer. She has endured heroic procedures in order to go on enjoying the life that she has and connecting with the people that she loves. We have known each other for over fifty years and though our lives have taken different directions and though we view much from different perspectives, we continue to care for and respect each other. Like Mary, I also am ready to bear whatever “slings of outrageous fortune” assail me in order to continue and to enjoy this precious life that we share.