One of the best known works of Spanish literature is such a one – Lazarillo de Tormes.  The delightful 16th century satirical novel is standard fare in schools and is frequently used as an introduction to Spanish literature for both students of Spanish and native speakers.

The novel is considered to be a pioneering work of the genre known as picaresca, to which the later, even better-known Don Quixote de la Mancha belongs.  It’s also plugged as a fine example of Spain’s golden century, and serves to introduce the subject of censorship by the Spanish Inquisition, since it was one of the works that made the Index of Forbidden Books, a sort of a sixteenth century hall of fame.

The book is an autobiographical account of the fictional life of Lázaro, an orphaned boy who describes his adventures with a series of masters, each one a typical character of the society of the time.

And while Don Quixote is better known than Lazarillo, it’s probably not better read, on account of the length of it.  One of the advantages of Lazarillo is that it’s very short, so short that anyone can finish it without the excuses and other dubious claims made by those (of us) who made it some distance past the other’s introduction to an “idle reader” and intend to finish it one day.

Lazarillo should probably grace any bookshelf that includes Spanish works, but the text is also available online at a number of sites, both in Spanish and English.

You might imagine this would lead to a well-informed population, although the programs appear designed primarily to make sure you get to work twice as neurotic as you would have done had it just been the heavy traffic, and not also the frantic flicking back and forth through the radio stations as you navigate your way around an inordinate number of advertising breaks.

Amid this on-air array of news, phone-ins, trash music, noise, and seemingly endless and fruitless discussion on “topics of the day” fit to cure insomnia, lies an oasis of frequency modulation.

Radio Universal—88.1 FM* in Mexico City, and also available online—has two hours a day of Beatles music and trivia—8 to 9 a.m., and 1 to 2 p.m.—a harking back to the 1970s when “Beatles hours” were as frequent and as competitive as today’s news.

Back then, when English was less widely spoken, The Beatles were referred to as Los Beatles and shamelessly pronounced Los Beetlays. Now that the cuarteto Liverpool is making a bit of a comeback among the savvy Internet generation, the group is pronounced more like Beadles—probably the U.S. influence.

This doesn’t mean a return of Beatlemania, but rather that any iPhone worth its salt is expected to have at least a smattering of retro bands and in that sense, a member of the earphone set will happily concede that the Beatles had “buenas rolas“—and perhaps in the same breath ask: “John Lennon was one of the Beatles? Oh. I thought so.”

* For decades, Radio Universal broadcast on 92.1 FM until 2016 when the frequency changed.  The exact reason why is unclear, although it appears related to the term of the contractual frequency concession, which ended in June 2016.  Frequent listeners and fans won’t mind the frequency change, and in these days of digital airwaves, where people listen online and in-car radios automatically scan the networks and display key information like the station name, it probably won’t make much difference anyway.

But on one particular kind of Friday in Mexico —viernes quincena— when pay day coincides with the last day of the week, the congestion is even greater.  Not just the traffic thickens. As the working people have money to spend, this day you can find yourself in long lines for restaurant tables, cinema tickets, or at the supermarket checkout.

People mill around at malls, and finding a parking spot can be like looking for a needle in a haystack. (Navigating the narrow underground parking lots is a particularly useful skill to develop in busy cities.)

The advent of direct deposit for wages did away with much of the lining-up at banks to cash checks, which in years past was about as daunting a prospect as can be imagined. But people in Mexico still often prefer to use cash so lines at ATMs have replaced many of the lines at bank branches.

What the British call a fortnight the Mexicans call the quincena—a 15-day period between pay days. And as most wages are paid bi-weekly, the pay day is also referred to as la quincena.

The noticeable buzz of commercial activity illustrates the fact that much of the working and middle classes, here as elsewhere, live from one paycheck to the next. Sales numbers from the retailers association Antad, and from its biggest member Walmart reflect this. Months that have an extra Saturday —a typical shopping day— tend to see bigger increases in sales, and the effect is even greater when the weekends coincide with payment of la quincena.

Officially, pay days are on the 15th and 30th of each month, or the nearest prior working day. So if the 15th or 30th falls on a weekend, wages should be paid on the Friday before. Pay days that fall on the Monday can be devastating for weekend plans.

And as there are 24 pay day quincenas per year (52 weeks), inevitably there are a number of quincenas largas, or long quincenas. These are usually following months with 31 days, and they can become even longer if the preceding pay was deposited ahead of a weekend.

Social media provides many examples of the anxiety surrounding the timing of deposits and the efficiency of HR and payroll departments. The X account @MundoGodinez addresses with considerable humor the daily life of the typical Mexican office worker, and la quincena looms large as a subject at the front of most minds.

See also: El Aguinaldo

The birds living in the capital —of which there are a considerably large number for such a vast expanse of concrete and bitumen— find their dawn-welcoming choruses competing for ears with the continuous rush of tires on tar, the roar of diesel combustion, and piercing shrieks from the whistles of policemen trying to keep it all moving along.

Perhaps not surprisingly, noise is something of a status symbol for the chilangos as they struggle to be noticed among 20 million others.

The owners and operators of the ubiquitous micros —shuttle buses— may well skimp when it comes to seating arrangements, faulty light bulbs, or sticky doors, but spare no expense when rigging up sound systems for the apparent entertainment of the driver alone. From the intricate set-up of tweeters and woofers, no one is spared the blast of música tropical, corridas, or rock en español.

In case this isn’t enough, some replace the standard horn with a series of trumpets pumping out Yankee Doodle or La Cucaracha, both proclaiming “make way for the raucous.”

The penchant for forcibly sharing dissonant tastes extends to the owners of cars, many of whom roll down their windows to let fellow motorists and pedestrians appreciate the finer points of disco, rap, or hip-hop—at full volume.  Pathos comes to mind as the driver tries to shout “look at me” through the speakers, but actually insists, “listen to this awful din.” None of the loudies seem to like Simon & Garfunkel.

And, as elsewhere, even in the best of homes decibels rather than premises, inference, and deduction are the main currency for settling differences in points of view.  Here, the more the merrier combines with the louder the better to produce some ear-splitting enforcement of opinion, making the expression, el que calla otorga, (whoever says nothing, consents) somewhat redundant.

Apart from a veritable army of windshield cleaners and vendors of newspapers, loose cigarettes, phone cards, confectionery, toys, maps, balloons, and so on, also competing for space at the capital’s junctions are jugglers, spinning top whizzes, fire-eaters, acrobats, and clowns.

Many drivers have little time for windshield cleaners, and frantically wave them away as they approach the car armed with a plastic bottle filled with soapy water, a small cloth, and a rubber scraper. Some quickly wind-up the windows and turn on the car’s windshield wipers, and become particularly irate if the cleaner has disguised his intentions and hit the windshield with a jet of water from the bottle while appearing to look in the other direction, shrugging as if to say, “well I’ve started now so I may as well finish.”

Contributions to the cause are voluntary, and as people easily become bored, and necessity is the mother of invention, a fair deal of ingenuity is required for success in some of these thankless occupations.

A fine example came recently on Reforma avenue: a mime with painted face, flower-pot hat, and white gloves went through the motions of cleaning a windshield. First the invisible jet of water, then the circular motion of scrubbing the glass clean, then the scraping off the water, first vertically then horizontally. The gimmick seemed to work, as the driver handed over a coin, so did the driver behind who watched it. After all, what better if people don’t want their windshields cleaned than not to clean them.

Book corner in Mexico City

In the south of Mexico City, where Miguel Angel de Quevedo avenue crosses Avenida Universidad —about five minutes from the Bohemian hangout of Coyoacán— is a mini paradise for bookworms.

Three major bookstores, Gandhi, El Sotano, and Fondo de Cultura Economica, and a dozen or so smaller ones, line both sides of the street. Outside are wooden trays with books and CDs at throw-away prices, and inside you’ll find special offers on those less likely to be thrown away.

Mexico City remains the place where the widest selection of books and bookshops can be found, and some well-known chains have most of their branches in the capital.

Bookshops are still popular in Mexico

But while in many developed countries bookshops have been closing, Mexican chains have been opening new stores.  Like bookshops everywhere, they have also added DVDs, toys, puzzles and other paraphernalia to their offerings to make the business work.  This may annoy some purists, but somehow it’s hard to get worked up about a model that means the book business can continue going.

• Cafebrería El Péndulo – coffee shop-bookstore – now boasts seven branches in Mexico City, including in trendy neighborhoods such as Polanco, Condesa, Roma and San Angel.
• Librerías Gandhi has expanded with a number of new stores in Mexico City, and also has branches in a few other cities.
• El Sótano and Casa del Libro have more than a dozen branches.
• Gonvill Librerías is the biggest chain in Guadalajara, Mexico’s second most populated city which is also host to a major international book fair each year.

These chains tend to stock the best selection of books, often beyond the capacity of the shelves so that many are neatly piled up on the floor.  You can find most books in Spanish at these stores.

And while many, especially Gandhi and El Péndulo, have one or two shelves of books in English and French, here it tends to be hit and miss.  You might find occasional books of interest, but you are less likely to find a specific title. (For some you can check availability online.)

Alternative options to the chain bookstores

When you are looking for a particular book —such as a new release— the options are to stock-up on a trip abroad, or order it from a book seller online, most of which will ship books to Mexico with no problems—but not necessarily that quickly.  If you want a particular book right now, eBooks are the way to go.

Department stores and big box stores have book sections, but these vary widely in selection and quality. There are several hundred Sanborns stores which have ample book and magazine sections, but not much in English beyond bestsellers.

Often even the most bourgeois of us like to dig around for books in a bohemian atmosphere, and for that there are plenty of elegant bookshops—although that isn’t where most Mexicans go to buy reading material.  This collection of independent bookshops lists a selection of niche bookstores in the capital, curated by a local expat blogger.

Strays in Mexico

Stray dogs in Mexico are generally not treated very well, and the most common reaction of street dogs is to dodge when humans come close, probably a conditioned response to having been frequently kicked or stoned or hissed at to scat.

One overblown fear is that you could catch rabies. Years of government vaccination campaigns —since 1990— has reduced this probability to practically zero. In 2005, officials noted 125 cases of rabies among dogs and cats in nine states, compared with more than 3,000 cases in 1990 in 29 states. The latest data from Mexico’s health ministry demonstrate that in 2017 there were just three cases in three states—and not every case affected humans.

According to estimates from health officials, there are around 100,000 reported cases a year of dogs attacking humans, of which nearly half were vaccinated dogs, suggesting that dogs with owners are just as likely (or unlikely) to bite you as strays. This is in a population of 130 million people, and an estimated 18 million to 20 million dogs.

Concerns about stray dogs that have been mentioned by different local governments carrying out round-up campaigns include health problems caused by feces, and in one case in northern Durango state, dogs were said to be a threat to drivers as they crossed the highway.

Precise data are hard to come by

While there appear to be fewer street dogs every time you look, the number of dogs with owners seems to be increasing, along with other security measures in residential areas. (Keeping a dog is a deterrent to burglars.) Statistics in this case don’t go very far—the maze of data on the country’s National Statistics Institute web site turns-up little meaningful data about man’s best friend.

They don’t say, for example, how many dogs get taken for walks every day and how many are left to rot on rooftops, barking in desperation at anyone who walks below, and raising their level of excitement if the pedestrian is accompanied by a dog.

Trends observed by watching dog walkers

A walk in the park —or in one of Mexico City’s trendy neighborhoods where younger generations can be seen walking their dogs instead of pushing baby buggies— of a morning or an evening turns up a fair amount of anecdotal evidence about the habits of people and their dogs. The ‘poop scoop,’ for example, is becoming increasingly common, although it’s still sensible to keep an eye on the ground before you.

In middle-class suburbia, there is a good deal of oneupmanship when it comes to owning a dog. It’s not very practical to staple a pedigree certificate to the animal, and so the more obvious implicit superlatives are biggest, rarest, most expensive—things that people just know and dogs just don’t care about.

With many city dwellers living in apartments, sub-compact dogs appear to be more plentiful than the larger breeds. Schnauzers and Pugs enjoyed a period of popularity in recent years, although their fame has become overshadowed by the Bulldog. But most likely, as more and more people get Bulldogs, and their novelty wears-off, a need will arise for a new “in” dog.

Learn more about caring for pets in Mexico

Mexperience publishes guides and articles about bringing pets to Mexico and caring for them here:

• Latest articles about pets in Mexico
• Dog walkers in Mexico
• Bringing your pets to Mexico

You can take many walks by yourself and never actually speak to anybody you don’t know, much as you might do if you travel on the Metro or in buses. If you are in the habit —as many Mexico City residents are— of driving everywhere, your only communication with your fellow denizens may be a shaking of the head, blowing of the horn, or an untoward hand signal that goes unnoticed by its intended recipient

Striking up a conversation becomes more or less necessary, however, when you come face-to-face with someone who, like you, is on the defensive end of a leash being stretched to its limit by a pet whose intentions could be anything from simple acquaintance to a battle to the death.

This is as good a time as any to establish your “dog-expert” credentials.

You could start out with, ¿qué raza es?, which would be OK as long as the other’s dog isn’t a German Shepherd, a Labrador, or some other well-known breed.

Many dog breeds are the same in Spanish as in English or their original language. Examples are Rottweiler, Doberman, Schnauzer, Bulldog, Boxer. Others are literal translations, for example, pastor alemán (German Shepherd), pastor inglés (English Sheepdog), gran danés (Great Dane).

For some breeds, the habit of using an English adjective and turning it into a Spanish noun is applied. So a French Poodle becomes “un french,” a Golden Retriever “un golden,“ and a Cocker Spaniel, “un cocker.”

A mongrel in Mexico is described as corriente, or callejero (street dog), criollo, or euphemistically, cruzado con corriente (cross with mongrel).

Another possible opener, ¿es macho o hembra? would show you know that, ordinarily, there ought to be no problem if they are opposites, although it could do severe damage to your pose as someone who knows all about dogs.

¿Muerde? is probably the most sensible, yet impractical question. Besides, the growling and barking may only be directed at the other dog, and could also be mere frustration at being held back by a chain.

Anyway, once the preliminaries have been dispensed with, and a decision made whether to allow the dogs to associate freely, come what may, the owners can then get introduced and share impressions on the one thing they apparently have in common—a love of dogs.

Where you would expect to hear things like, what do you feed it? does he sleep indoors or outdoors? has she been spayed? what you actually get are things like, she’s normally quite sociable, he only fights if he’s afraid, he thinks he’s bigger than he actually is.

The habit of attributing psychological or sociological characteristics to an irrational quadruped appears to say more about the owner than the dog, but in any case it serves to get people talking to each other who might otherwise not so much as exchange a “good day.”

Sometimes you’ll come away from these meetings shaking your head and saying to yourself, “I can’t believe I said that!” And the dog, now more settled after a romp in the grass or a bit of a scrap, would probably agree if it could.

Tolerance of one’s fellow commuter tends to be inversely proportionate to the number of people aboard the train, and the pushing and shoving in packed carriages around rush-hour can sour the mood of the most ardent philanthropist.

Types of traveler on Mexico City’s metro trains

For those who do or plan to travel on the capital’s Metro — which is still often the fastest, cheapest, and easiest way to get from one end of the the city to the other —  here are are some brief descriptions of the more obvious types of traveler you may encounter.

The Window Slammer

This passenger storms on to the nearly empty train on cold mornings and walks briskly through the carriage slamming the windows shut, then sits down assertively and proceeds to sniffle, discouraging his fellows from invading this space.

The Door Blocker

Stands by the doors for the whole duration of the journey, and is testy about other people pushing-by to get on or off. A door blocker will board a crowded train just as the buzzer is sounding, and stop right by the entrance, causing those behind to have to push to get on, or miss the train. Door blockers usually wear a bulging backpack.

The Seat Reliever

This (usually female) passenger uses a sort of moral blackmail to show the comfortably seated that they probably shouldn’t be. She will stand right in front of the seated person (usually male), and inadvertently press a bag into his knees. One way out of this for those who embarrass easily is to pretend you were getting off, and vacate the spot.

The Worrier

Keeps asking people between him or her and the door if they’re getting off at the next stop. ¿Va a bajar? The question implies, “and if not, could you move aside so that I may?” This would be fine if the train wasn’t still waiting at the previous station.

The Loud Talker

Thinks everyone is interested in hearing about his or her weekend, or day at the office, or heated exchange with a teacher, usually accompanied by a friend or co-worker who limit their responses to the occasional, “ah-ha,” or nod of agreement. A lot of “and so I said,” and “and so he said.”

The Earphone Hummer

Mumbles along to music being played loud enough through an earphone to be audible, but not discernible, to others nearby, often accompanying this with foot tapping, body swaying, and the occasional outburst of “yeah baby!” or “all right!”, oblivious to eyes being rolled in the immediate vicinity.

The Traveling Texter

Gets on everybody’s nerves, using both hands to type away furiously with two thumbs instead of holding on, often leans on the poles taking up the space of two (or at least one and a half) people, and pays no attention to others who need to push past to get off.

Virtual tour of a ride on the metro

These and other videos on YouTube illustrate visually typical rides on Mexico City’s metro.

Veritable armies of vendedores ambulantes make up a fairly large part of what is known as Mexico’s “informal economy.” Chambers of commerce don’t like them, because they get in the way of established business, while the government is somewhat in two minds.

It might be a nuisance, but this informal commerce provides work and keeps the unemployment rate from reaching what would otherwise be uncomfortable levels. Every few years or so, the city government takes some measures to alleviate the problem —mostly through programs to relocate the vendors to established market spaces— but the vendors always come back, like a relentless tide.

This informal commerce is extremely adaptable: at the first drop of rain, umbrellas appear on sale as you leave the Metro; at the first cold snap of winter, coats, gloves and scarves; agendas and calendars in January; flags and banners before Independence Day.

“This city has many plazas, where there are continuous markets and dealings in buying and selling. It has another plaza twice the size of the city of Salamanca, walled around with great porches, where daily there are more than sixty thousand souls buying and selling; where there is every kind of merchandise that can be found in any land.”

This description might not sound strange to the modern-day visitor who takes a stroll downtown in the country’s capital. The letter, written in October 1520 by the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés to Emperor Carlos V, dedicates the next several pages to describing the goods —those he could remember— on sale in Tenochtitlán, as the city was then called. Summarized for blogs, there was “everything from food and jewelry, to live animals, herbal medicine and earthenware.”

The point is, perhaps, that it will take more than a desire for modernity to do away with five hundred years of tradition.

“Rush hour” is actually a bit of an understatement. It starts at about six in the morning and runs through to 10, then it resumes from one to three in the afternoon during school terms, and closes out the day from six to 10 at night.

A cursory glance at a long stream of cars advancing slowly but inexorably into town each weekday morning, and out of town again in the evening, suggests that the average number of travelers per car is one point something.

People who are otherwise quite passive can become very annoyed when the prospects of reaching their destination on time are threatened by the refusal of others to let them through. Everybody knows that some days it can be impossible, but many places — schools, for example — no longer accept it as an excuse for arriving late.

It’s been said that if you can drive in Mexico City, you can drive anywhere in the world. The newcomer to driving in the capital will discover that the horn can be a more useful accessory than indicators to turn or change lanes. A signal to change lanes can actually cause someone coming up behind to speed up and keep you from doing so.

According to the Mexico City government, over 21 million trips a day are made in the capital and the adjacent parts of the Estado de Mexico.  In Mexico City alone, there are over 3 million vehicles registered, of which more than ninety percent are private cars. Numbers vary from year to year, but the city government once cited a study showing private cars accounted for 16% of trips, slightly more than the Metro but much less than micros.

Not surprisingly, since it takes up so much of people’s time, traffic congestion is a frequent topic of fill-in conversation, beating even the weather or sports. It’s not unusual to hear people wonder why we can’t be like other major cities around the world, where commuters leave their cars at home and take public transport. For some the question is mostly rhetorical, since they already have the answer. They wouldn’t be seen dead on the Metro. The question should be rephrased as why can’t other people leave their cars at home so I can drive more comfortably to work?

A bygone era of old-world coffee shops

In years past, the coffee shop/restaurants run by Chinese immigrants —of which there were several in and around the Chinese quarter of downtown Mexico City and more beyond that— were nearly always full.

The “café chino,” as these were only ever referred to, was typically a long thin hall moving back from the street front. Half of the façade would be taken up by a glass window filled with different kinds of sweet bread to eat in or take away (and the odd bluebottle).

Down one side of the entrance would be the coffee bar and the cash register, and the other side would be taken up by a row of tables or booths.  The specialty of the house would be café con leche: a small amount of concentrate would be poured from a metal coffee pot into the bottom of a glass mug, and hot milk from another poured on top, with the server lifting the spout farther and farther from the mug as it filled, creating, if done precisely, a frothy top.

Black coffee —café americano— was steam-pressed from the machine behind the bar, and each cup was charged at the same rate.  Hygiene was hardly of first importance to the café chino, and patrons did well not to be over-zealous inspecting the specks on the table or trying to steal a glance at the kitchen.

Perhaps the king of coffee shops was Café La Habana, on the corner of Bucareli and Morelos, a stone’s throw from the historical Chinese clock.  La Habana brewed the strongest coffee, served in thick white cups that were slightly wider at the base than at the brim (awkward for stirring).  It was popular among intellectuals and, being about a block from such erstwhile giants of the Mexican press as Excelsior and El Universal, a frequent meeting place for journalists of the old school: threadbare suits, beaten-up leather briefcases stuffed full with dog-eared press releases, political “tips” several times removed from reality.

The emergence of contemporary coffee houses

Against this, the chain restaurant/coffee shops such as VIPS, TOKS, and Sanborns provided free refills on drip-brewed coffee, competing in quality with “Golden Cup” plaques awarded by the Mexican Coffee Council, and in convenience with quick-service bars where the temporarily idle could while away several hours loading up on caffeine without having to keep paying.  This is still true today, although people are generally much more rushed.

In addition to these places, with the advent of the mall culture there sprung up a number of smart coffee shops —Coffee House, Coffee Station, and so on— which added snacks, coffee paraphernalia, and an assortment of home-grown and imported coffees, ground or whole, to the standard offerings while also increasing the number of derivative beverages to their range of refreshments on offer.

And then Starbucks came.  Agreeable to the modern business class, the tourist looking for something familiar, and the lover of things American, this comfortable hybrid of convenience and recreation proliferated and also became a favorite daytime hangout of the country’s middle-class youth.

Straddling this period from local shop to chain to franchise is Bisquets Obregon, which developed from La Perla de Oriente on Alvaro Obregón Avenue in the historical Colonia Roma.  Like the café chino, Los Bisquets is also a place to get café con leche, and the house specialty, scones.  Brighter and cleaner, with its characteristic green and yellow décor, the restaurant also sports a selection of freshly-baked sweet bread at the front counter.

Small independent coffee shops continue to thrive

Perhaps the most famous of the traditional Mexican cafés is El Jorocho, that serves quality coffee principally sourced from Veracruz; customers can also buy the beans and ground coffee in bags for home brew.  This family-run shop was set up in Mexico City during the early 1950s in the heart of the bohemian district of Coyoacán—a neighborhood that remains one of the capital’s most popular quarters for friends and families to meet and spend an afternoon or evening out together.

In towns and cities across Mexico, small independently-run coffee shops continue to trade, and thrive.  Like the local neighborhood tienditas, they have prevailed even in the presence and growth of franchise coffee shops.

The owners of these independent establishments often create comfortable nooks where patrons can meet, socialize, and take light refreshment amidst informal and often homely surroundings that are usually more intimate and feel less rushed than the cookie-cutter franchises.

Serendipitous discovery of independent coffee houses can happen by taking an exploratory walk down side streets of any towns you visit or asking locally.  Digital generations are likely to consult their map-app, or search on Instagram.