From Shit-tzu to The Red Spider

Traffic, carhorns, breaks sreeching, radio blasting blasphemy. Mexico City, the place where all cars converge and little old green beetles die and live second lives as taxi-cabs. Mountains hide behind walls of smog. LA produces the LA veneer, a semi-transparent screen infront of the Hollywood Hills. Mexico City smog triples that, placing white walls between you and the beauty of snow-capped mountains reaching high above the valley. Despite the contamination due to cars, I wanted one.

In order to escape the city on weekends I desire a car. My lack of outdoors was getting to me and a few weeks ago I rented a car. I was very prepared-- insured the car and paid for the car before picking it up at the airport. It is all very simple on Orbitz. Cristina and I arrived at the airport, a metro journey in itself, to pick up the car on Thursday, ready to depart for the countryside Friday directly from work.

"No acemptamos el seguro."

The insurance I eagerly paid prior to getting the car was no good. Why would Orbitz offer it? We called Orbitz, were given a run-around (customer service is simply frustration these days), and three hours after leaving work the car finally pulled up! Not so great...a mexican jalopy, rather a japanese jalopy. A white Nissan Tsuzu, the Shit-tzu...small, scratched, used and abused. The attendant showed me the spare tire and a nervous feeling shook through me as I looked at the rickety and smaller than usual tire. I am relieved the feeling was no foreshadowing moment to the mini-road trip.

Thursday night, feeling special with a car, I picked a friend up and went to an art opening in La Roma. It was a good night of meeting handsome semi-art afficionados. I began to walk toward my apartment and remembered, "Oh yeah, I have a car!" I walked over the uneven sidewalks and started up the Shit-tzu. My home wasn't that far; I continued straight to my apartment until I came upon road construction. The road was closed and my only option was to turn right down the dark, empty street. One wrong turn can be a crucial mistake in the labarynth. I took a few turns and had no idea where I was when I recognized a street and took a left.

I squinted at the dark road with the center line far too close to the left side. "Am I going the wrong way?" I thought, my nose snarled. When I realized the lines signified the bus lane I positioned my hands on the powerless steering-wheel (do you know how archaic it feels to drive without power-steering and the work out it gives your arms?). About to make a Uey, from the trunks of branches looming over the street, cop lights came on and veered across the road to block me.

"Venga al dentro el coche." Two mexican poli stood at my car door and told me to get out. I later found that you NEVER get out of your car when told to do so. For police here in Mexico may have disconcerting motives. It leaves you vulnerable. "What were you doing? You were going down the street the wrong way! Get out of the car." They stared at me blankly.

I responded bluntly. "Construccion! Hay construccion, construction!" I converted to ordinary English thinking it better if they thought I understood less Spanish.

One of them looked at me from the sides of his eyes, "let me see your license." I told them it was at home. "I live on Veracruz and Mazatlan, very close." They stared at me with an accusatory gaze. I thought, "Shit, now I m in deep shit in this damn Shit-tzu, what do I do? I don't want them to take this car from me! I m taking a road trip tomorrow!" This is the moment I became a part of the bribery and corruption associated and well known in Mexico. I offered my first bribe, ever. "Tengo 100 pesos para ti." I offered ten dollars. My legs shook with a pocket full of fresh money from the ATM, close to 100 dollars that I was determined not to part with. The officer took a moment and nodded no under the dark brim of the uniform cap. "500 pesos."

I returned to the driver's seat and policeman #2 very politely gave me directions back to my apartment and motioned me to turn around in the correct direction. I paid them about 20 dollars. "This Shit-tzu, what a shit-tzu! My first time driving in Mexico City alone and I get pulled over in this Shit-tzu, it must have bad luck!" I thought wrong about Shit-tzu.

The weekend was stellar. We drove hours past the city of Uruapan in Michoacan State. Shit-tzu became my friend. It traversed over the jagged cobblestones where the Indiginous Angaguan people scantily survive. We parked at a wonderful spot in which we camped above the valley aside Volcan Paricutin. The Shit-tzu held our belongings in safety while we climbed over the hardened volcanic boulder field, eased through the vapor steam-baths, skiied down the volcanic pebbles from the summit, and drank Micheladas over the buried city where only the city church steeple screams from the lava field.

On our return to MC, we picked up a dude from California and helped him to his next destination. Shit-tzu rested for the night after a long weekend, to be returned after work Monday. The morning ride to work I was again frightened because of the Po-Po, Mexico City Poli. I made an illegal turn to get on the correct road (Mexico is a good place for me; no one follows rules!) and merged into traffic to have the poli lights go on immediately. It tailed me, I thought, "Not again! Shit-tzu!" I power turned with all my effort at the next light, nerves blasting from my fingertips. I checked the rear-view mirror and the cops didn't follow. "Yes! The SHit-tzu! I ll miss you."

I returned Shit-tzu that afternoon and sadly rode the metro home. Shit-tzu helped me understand I d want a car for the freedom of weekend trips. I grinned when the car pulled up to meet me and I longingly gazed the sticker on the windshield, the word TARANTULA entwined with the legs of a spider spanning the width of the top fifth of the windshield. A red Pointer. A small, fuel-efficient four-door VW Pointer, a model sold especially for Mexico. I test drove the VW. My hands comfortably fell around the black and white checkered steering-wheel cover. I grinned again. Three days later The Red Spider became mine. Now I ll be road-trippin the weekends in comfort and style.