Me he mudado

When I first moved to Mexico a few weeks ago, I did so feeling quite secure in the fact that I had an apartment ready for me when I arrived. It was recommended by IPADE. It was filled with other students and just a few minutes walk to the school. It was cheap. And based on the (pictureless) description I received by email, it sounded quite acceptably nice.

Now that I've settled into a very different apartment in a very different part of town, I'm comfortable sharing my first major lesson from Mexico: Never move into an apartment without seeing it. Ever. Especially in Mexico.

For those of you reading this from Tuck, Buchanan is a good starting point for your mental image. For those of you not from Tuck, picture old cinder blocks and mold-tinged carpets. Then, imagine a bed suspended in the air by something resembling old drainage pipes, a crawl space underneath with a bar for hanging clothes that I believe was meant to replace a closet, and a tiny desk complete with broken chair.


Now, that by itself probably would have been highly tolerable for a few weeks. I've slept in worse places. And, even the lack of insulation and unexpected presence of 40 degree (Fahrenheit!) nights in Mexico probably would have been tolerable. And the fact that the walls somehow magnified rather than dampened the sound from the parties downstairs. (After all, the noise from parties downstairs meant that there were parties downstairs.)

Alas, after a few days of being told by kindhearted classmates and the landlord that it was entirely unsafe to leave after 7pm, I decided my time in Mexico might be better spent in a happier part of town. Perhaps the broken down Pontiac that marked the entrance to the apartment should have been a sign that I wasn't in the nicest part of town, but what did I know?


That said, this story has a happy ending. Thanks to Craigslist Mexico, I found an apartment Thursday morning, moved in Thursday afternoon, and took off for Aculpoco at 5am on Friday to celebrate. My new neighborhood is called Polanco (for those of you super familiar with DF, it's technically Anzures, right on the Polanco border and directly across from the Liverpool). All the streets are named after famous authors--I'm on the corner of Eucken and Rosseau--, most are lined with trees, and other than the daily game of frogger I play to cross the streets, I feel completely safe. The apartment isn't anything to write home about, but I have hardwood floors, a few windows, many blankets, wifi, hot water, roommates from Mexico and France, and a bed on the floor. What more could a gringo want?

Hasta pronto, amigos!