TALES – Lost in The DF
My traveling companion and I wake in a small hostel room in the middle of Mexico City, or Distrito Federal (DF). We’ve spent the day sleeping here and sprinting to the public bathroom down the hall, trying to calm our overworked and under-nourished digestive tracts. They’ve survived two weeks of Mexican Cuisine, but are starting to crack under the pressure. Yesterday the sstreets were pounding with the thunder of a few hundred protestors demanding the release of political prisoners, but today we enjoy the temporary quiet, eat the hostel’s simple and satisfying breakfast, gather around the lone computer for the day’s research, and pack our bags and head out.
We start by ambling through a park populated by dozens of fully dressed mariachi bands…