Puebla, My City: Children of Mexico
People associate patriotism with the United States of America. Americans are proud of their country. Thousands of others continue to leave their homes for the US, seeking a better life. And it is a beautiful nation, established on a beautiful dream, in spite of all its troubles. And I don’t want to downplay any of that.
But there are also many of us who are patriotic for our home countries, in my case, Mexico.
I’ve had a good run here in the US, going to school, working better-paying jobs, but my heart lies with Mexico.
I think of this now because September 16th is coming up, and marks the celebration of Mexico’s independence.
No, 5 de Mayo is not our Independence Day. 5 de Mayo marks a battle against the French in the city of Puebla in 1862. It’s celebrated in the US because the French army was prevented from advancing and providing support for the Confederacy in the American Civil War. We celebrate Our independence from Spain was achieved in 1821. No relation between the two.
I felt the need to explain that.
Now, I’ve written before about the difficulty of being a third culture kid and about how I love Mexico and consider it my physical home, etc. So I simply want to describe to you what my hometown is like.
Puebla is a 500-year-old city of 4 million people, located at a 7000ft altitude. We lived pretty near the center of it. Our house is halfway up a hill that overlooks the whole city. Two blocks away, over pockmarked roads (our road maintenance is terrible!), you come to a charming avenue that wraps around the hill.
Along with it are upscale decor shops with huge glass fronts and cafés that open to the sidewalk: a French bistro, an Italian restaurant, a couple nicer bars, a Sushi restaurant, several artsy coffee shops with terraces, a Japanese tea shop, an expensive ice cream shop. I used to run daily on that avenue, yet every day the scenery and scents changes. Sometimes students pour out from a large Culinary Arts school. Elegantly dressed women wait for valets to bring their BMW’s and Audis. Young businesswomen hurry along the sidewalk in tube skirts and heels. Families and couples trickle in and out of the cafés. Sometimes the air smells like coffee, other times like grilled steak. Jazz and lounge music drift out into the street.
A block further up the hill brings you into a quiet, wealthy neighborhood. Hundred-year-old houses hide walled gardens. Their styles vary from Art Deco houses to Spanish stone mansions to German-styled cottages. The steep streets lead up through the silence to a park at the hill’s top. Towering trees hide an open plaza in the center above which a gigantic Mexican flag waves majestically. It’s seen from most points in the immediate city. An old Spanish chapel stands opposite the flagpole.
At the base of the hill, the avenue turns off onto a larger one that is constantly bustling with traffic and pedestrians. Banks, chain restaurants and office buildings line the cobblestoned street, divided by a median full of date palms. And at the road’s end lies Puebla’s downtown.
It’s like stepping into a European city. Several-hundred-year-old facades, carefully protected by the government hide everything from traditional Mexican restaurants and libraries full of Renaissance manuscripts to McDonald’s and Japanese chain stores. People from all walks of life, from the city and the tribal regions, inexpensive garb and street-market clothes, students and hippies and European tourists and families crowd the city square. Colorful balloon clusters are interspersed among the trees that surround a stone fountain. A hundred dirty pigeons scavenge for crumbs. There’s a cluster of people outside an art gallery, waiting to get in to see 19th-century Japanese prints. Some twenty-somethings breakdance and pop by a boom box. Under stone arches, street musicians play Jewish music.
But the city’s pride and joy is her glorious cathedral. As glorious as Paris’ Notre Dame (in my opinion), the massive stone structure draws hundreds into her cavernous Baroque interior for mass or sightseeing. Inside, gold overlay covers the columns and arches and ceiling. Intricate paintings hang in alcoves and a painted dome at the cathedral’s apse rivals many I’ve seen in Europe. And the largest, most imposing organ I’ve seen in my life.
For a taste of the 21st century, you can visit a number of shopping malls only twenty minutes away from downtown and find Starbucks and Forever 21, as well as designer brands like Prada and Gucci and European stores like Bershka and Burberry. Marble floors and walls, high ceilings, fountains and plants along the center, rich lighting all around, and a fashion show all around. Hardly anyone goes anywhere without dressing nicely, and the mall calls for extra fashionable attire.
But my favorite part about Puebla as a location (other than the fact that it’s one of the two culinary centers of Mexico), is the volcanoes. To the east stands Malinche, the fourth tallest mountain in Mexico. To the west stand the two stalwart guardians, Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl. The former is a 17,000+ ft dormant volcano and a favorite with mountaineers. The latter is an 18,000+ ft active volcano, and an absolute beauty to behold.
I miss them the most. Their shadows loom beyond the building tops as I walk in my neighborhood or drive on the highways. They’re a comforting sight. Popo especially steals my breath away, and I look forward most to seeing him when my flight lands in the Puebla airport. At dusk, he’s a blue silhouette, spewing a cloud of ash. In the morning, he shines in the sun’s light, especially when wearing a cloak of snow.
I could spend hours talking about Puebla, but here are a few snapshots for you. If I were there, there’d be fireworks going off all night, accompanied by Mariachi music. As it is, I’ll be here that night, probably finishing up homework. Which is why I want you to know what I’ll be thinking about this 16th of September, so maybe you think of it too. And maybe sometime you’ll visit Puebla, and see that city of wonders for yourself.
