Life in the Biggest City

Eighteen million. That’s the latest estimate I’ve seen on how many people live in Mexico City, largest city on Earth, Beijing without the construction cranes. Believe it or not, Beijing (pop. 12-15 million) and Mexico City son parecidos, that is, seem a lot alike. Neither has a central downtown area that defines most American cities, even L.A. and San Jose these days. Rather, you drive and drive and drive, and there is still city for as far as the eye can see. Mid-rise buildings in bland ‘60s and ‘70s architectural styles in states of major disrepair. A highrise here, a highrise there. Leafy green cobblestone tourist sections. Air quality you can almost touch. The sun rarely shines in Mexico City or Beijing because it’s covered by a thick haze of pollution. Imagine being in Mexico and never needing sunglasses. Flying into Mexico City, I watched from the window as we descended into a thick brown fog the likes of which I had never seen – and I lived in Denver in the 1980s.

When I first arrived, I felt I could no longer be true to the mission of my blog, which was to convey the sentiments of everyday people. Mexico City is like New York. You don’t talk to people. You don’t get to know everyday life. Everyone just walks quickly on the crowded streets and or rides the jam-packed Metro in their hermetically sealed bubbles. Who would think you could be so alone with 18 million people?

But in nearly two weeks, I’ve managed to get to know a few people. For example, Anthony Shafi, Italian-born Iranian American who has a degree from UC-Berkeley and nearly 30 years in San Francisco under his belt, now running a restaurant around the corner from my office. It’s called Kababi Steak House, and it’s fusion at its best – Mexican food with Middle Eastern flair. There’s even curry on the menu. Try the Tacos de Cielo (tacos from heaven), which are luleh kabab (beef seasoned with onion, basil and Middle Eastern spices) wrapped in grilled tortillas and served with a yoghurt dip. Muy rico! It’s also the only place in Mexico City, or arguably all of Mexico, where you can get a decent glass of wine without paying an arm and a leg. Wine is not the beverage of choice here. Shafi closes early on Mondays for Monday Night Football (49er fan, of course). Here he’s pictured with mesero extraordinaire Osvaldo Díaz (left) and chef Edán Silva (right).

Shafi came to Mexico City four years ago with his girlfriend, who was transferred from the Italian Embassy in San Francisco to the one here. She eventually left Mexico City but he stayed. He said he doesn’t miss San Francisco, where he grew tired of having to be “P.C.’’ He loves the people in Mexico, he says. “Our personalities are hidden behind our wealth,’’ he says of Americans. “Here, everything is family. People have two last names. That identifies who you are, where you came from, who your mother is.’’ And he seems to have shed that (in)famous American trait of always feeling in control of your destiny. When I asked if he was the owner of the restaurant, he said, “God is the owner. We’re all renting.’’

Then there’s Buzz (pronounced booz en español) Lightyear, aka Luis Carlo, who turned 2 on Sunday with all the fanfare of a Discovery Zone party. (Notice the other toddler sitting in a pool of plastic colored balls in the background.) Mom and grandma, Tania and Margarita Moreno, hosted the event in a popular birthday spot, where Luis’ preschool-mates overran the play structures and enjoyed cracking a Buzz Lightyear piñata and eating Buzz Lightyear cake (a cool concoction made completely out of individual cupcakes for easy serving to children.) Fueled by sugar and massive present opening, little Luis was up past 10 p.m. that night. (And some Americans fear that Mexicans are diluting our culture?)