I left the city.
Spending two weeks in one of the biggest cities of the world on quite an altitude and breathing smog all the time was a new experience for a lil rasta from the central alps. But even though I made some brilliant encounters, like having tea with professor and poet Marco Antonio Campos and walking the city with the artist Christian Stecher. The first gave me a copy of his beautiful shortstories and the latter introduced me to Jorge Jímenez in Taller Ditoria, a group of printers working with a 19th century printing machine. Even on respects of a possible doctorate I made some progress on the vast fields of the UNAM, the university of Mexico city.
I took a first class bus to Guanajuato. But as it took me 2 hours to get three CDs burned in the slowest internetspot of DF, I did not get the bus I wanted to. However, this was a very good thing to happen. Not only did I eat my first tamales (Food, wrapped into a leaf of Mais or a palmlaef) but I also met an Indian linguist who was really interesting to talk to even if he was quite out of his mind cause he was robbed the night before. Furthermore it was only by taking this bus that I was able to meet two Spanish girls and their Cuban friend who brought me to a party minutes after arriving at Guanajuato. I stay in a really nice Hostal where I have a whole dormitory of ten for me alone. The charm of the city is overwhelming, I already know quite some local students and it is good, that I have to go on, because I already met an Italian, who goes into his second year at the place.
The city of colors
on the hills
of wealth
is breathing
is leaning
is gripping
is sitting
and sees time go by
no reason why
it should move
or grove
As just by being
it is a poem and the king.
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