Arnie Rodriguez's video: Cursed by Aztec ancestors at Xochimilco

I hate being woken up. Alarm clocks, people, birds, cars, whatever, anything can be a reason for Mr. Hydel to wake up first, forget about my civilized side and get grumpy. Real grumpy. But oddly, I had no problem when Edu shook me from dreamland and said we need to get the best of the sunlight and visit Xochimilco. Why? Because there's not much that I love more than seeing new places. Plus, I love the guy and am grateful for such a knowledgable and enthusiastic friend. The car ride took hours. We were cramped and hot, in traffic. I loved it. There’s no better way to try and comprehend the the ever expanding amount of people in the world than a sprawling city of almost 9 million. A quick stop for some fresh orange juice at 14 pesos per liter cooled us off. One thing I never realized we have the luxury of in the states is the absence of tourist hustlers. We have our own fancy badged governmental ripoff instead. Legalized shake-down. Our trusty barge, Lupita, carried us into a blissful moment on the water, playing number-boats with other Lupitas. I grew up swimming and boating, so it was nice to get off the streets for a while. I tried to imagine the Aztecs on these same canals, pushing with large poles for hours to carry their crops across, almost 1000 years ago. I’m here researching music and culture for an upcoming music project, so I was expecting an anthropological study of ancient aztec food growing methods, maybe a museum or two, but what we found was a party scene. Something between a high school hang out and girls gone wild. This experience of modern Mexican culture was saturated with music and food, with bands and vendors jumping from boat to boat to play or sell, and some even had their own food vending boats. I didn’t try the micholada, a beer with lime and chili, but I tried the elotes. Families carried large feasts of frijoles and fajitas onto their boats. Some were celebrating birthdays, dancing and drinking, beer and tequila. We finished the ride, docked, and ate. I ate what could be the best quesadilla of my life, which was an emotional experience, nobody understood. It was a long blue corn tortilla stuffed with mushrooms, squash flowers, and jalapeños. If I could do it again, I would get probably get drunk, dance more, and try to sing in Spanish.