One morning, I take a trip out to the entertainment district – the Zona Rosa – the Pink Zone. There’s plenty of big name restaurants here with big, bright, boasting signs shouting loudly for all the plastic and neon they’re worth. But really it’s rather drab and commercial and hideously overpriced.
Still, the gringos love it. And in some ways it’s preferable to the roaring chaos of the Centro Historico. But the man from the tourist police tells me there’s lots of problems here – robberies, prostitution, drugs. You couldn’t guess from the Americanised (and somewhat sanitised) exterior.
Pedestrian streets are lined with steak houses, fast food joints and endless corporate coffee houses. There are carefully planted trees and flowers and upmarket store fronts. I’ve seen this many times before – in Cancún and Playa del Carmen among others – disgusting, pestilent rat traps for tourists. They just want your money, amigos, can’t you see?
Right on! 60 years ago, the Zona Rosa was the coolest district in town, but now it's lame. Perhaps the inevitable destiny of any successful commercial quarter is McDonaldisation. Time for a Happy Meal.
I make the rounds, dropping into a few good hotels. One proprietor thanks me for all the good work I’m doing. Another insists that I have breakfast in his café. It’s a good morning and I get some excellent tips for the listings. I’d be lost without the help of considerate hoteliers.
I move on, checking out various eateries, scribbling quick reviews and marking new places on the map. I take lunch in a vegetarian café before making my way home along the Paseo de Reforma – a principle artery that reaches diagonally across the city, southwest to northeast. It’s lined with impressive monuments and utterly choked by traffic. I get home, examine the notes, unfold the maps and look at what else needs to be done. The end, like the edge of this city, is nowhere in sight.
The next day I decide to tackle the major through-fare of Insurgentes, a busy north-south road reaching 45km across the city. It’s a stone’s throw from my apartment and a great source of noise and activity. At 7.30am I can already hear the policeman’s whistle, the spirited honking of horns, grinding engines, squealing breaks, deafening sirens.
In an hour or so the protest will start up. A group of disgruntled workers have been encamped at the bottom of my road as long as I can remember. Now and then they’ll break into angry chanting – or worse – song. Even up here on the 6th floor, there’s no escaping the perpetual goings-on.
Room with a view: An interesection on Insurgentes is flooded with a random protest, shot from my balcony, 6 floors up.
I head southward on Insurgentes, eventually entering the districts of Condesa and Roma, now trendy eating-out quarters. This is what the Zona Rosa must have resembled before it sold out to the corporate burger-flippers. Fare of every variety is on offer from Mexican to Italian to Thai to Chinese. There must be over a hundred restaurants gracing these quiet suburban streets – and a world away from the chaos of downtown. This is the place to stay.
I make the rounds of the hotels, expanding the listings to reflect the growing popularity of these increasingly hip neighbourhoods. At a budget hotel in Roma, great love mirrors adorn the ceilings of the rooms, and the owner is reluctant to be included in the book (this is not really a tourist hotel, he says). At a darkened tower on the edge of Condesa, I walk into a 70s time-warp, bombarded by vast angular sculptures, the staff and carpets attired in muted shades of brown. At a smaller lodging nearby, a kind hotelier makes me a gift of a tourist directory, invaluable for compiling lists and checking details. I move on, clipboard in hand.
The restaurants here are less straight-forward to expand – with so many to choose from, how do I compile a definitive list? I’m often asked if I eat at all the restaurants I review, to which I reply: don’t be silly. I’m not that greedy.
I would be stuffing my face 24-7 if I had to eat at all the restaurants described in a typical guidebook. It’s just not humanly possible.
Instead, I have to rely upon word of mouth recommendations and a quick visit to the establishment to check the decor, atmosphere, clientele, menu and prices – and perhaps a quick chat with a chef or manager, if there’s time.
In the case of Roma and Condesa, there’s some 25 new restaurants to review. After asking the opinion of a few choice hoteliers, scanning my tourist directory, searching the web for reviews and taking a quick prowl around the streets, I have a tentative list. Now I’ll need to visit them all in person, which might take half a day – or better yet, one busy evening when the districts are really swinging. I vow to return.
