Outskirts of a city without end

Roughly half of the citizens of greater Mexico City live at or below the poverty level. Most of them are in endlessly extending outskirts, in one-story buildings of grey brick and cement, rebar popping from the roof for that hope-springs-eternal day in the future when a second floor might be built. The great majority of those who live privileged lives in the central areas of the Federal District are blithely unaware of the reality of the urban sprawl here.

Many who live in the outskirts do not precisely get a complete nutritional package on a daily basis. Still, if anyone dies of hunger in Mexico City it is an anomaly. If those on the oustkirts live in a way that would be considered marginal in the U.S., Canada or most of Europe, they are doing better than the billion or so humans in the world who go to bed hungry every night. There are few homeless here. Virtually the entire metropolitan area is electrified, has running water, garbage collection and a host of services, however incomplete or irregular.

Unlike some other sections of the country, most in Mexico City tread water at the poverty level but don't sink under its weight. Once in a while, almost miraculously, someone even manages to crawl his way out of it.

(These photos were taken in Mexico State, on the edges of the urban sprawl. The poverty in some sections of Mexico State has been compared by the U.N. to Africa's.)

Art and theft

The Colonia Buenos Aires, in central Mexico City, is full of chop shops where you can buy spare parts or get your car repaired at bargain prices. Auto theft is a common crime in the city, and many claim that the neighborhood's cut-rate rear-view mirrors,  windshields, radios and steering wheels come straight from stolen vehicles.

Don't lose heart, though: your purloined auto may have had a higher purpose. On the traffic island in the middle of Calle Dr. Vertiz, just north of the Viaducto, there is a series of sculptures made from auto parts. Of course no one wants to get their car ripped off, but show some sympathy: We all know how tough it is for struggling artists to acquire their materials.

Mujerona

After the Angel of Independence, this statue of Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, is arguably the most well-known landmark in Mexico City. You can find her on Paseo de la Reforma, not far from Chapultepec Park.

A well-worn anecdote has it that in 1944, two years after the monument was unveiled, Soledad Orozco, wife of President Manual Avila Camacho, was so scandalized by the statue's voluptuous nudity that she demanded it be covered with a loincloth. The art world's disapproval of her position was eclipsed by the support she got from the National League of Decency and Archbishop Luis María Martínez. The sculptor, Juan Fernando Olaguibel, was forced to concede her wish.

In 1967, President Gustavo Díaz Ordaz decreed that the statue be returned to its original state. Olaguibel was obliged to start from scratch, as removing the loincloth would have caused too much damage to the first statue. The ceremony of its unveiling happened in the middle of the night, so as not to cause more scandal.

The identity of the model -- Helvia Martínez Verdayes -- wife of a one-time director of the state oil monopoly, PEMEX -- was not revealed until 1992.

Under the wire

One of the curiosities of my neighborhood, the Colonia Nápoles, is that there are no cantinas. There are fine restaurants with white tablecloths, a couple of decent fondas and some great street food. But nothing even resembling a cantina.

Not long after I moved there, Sergio González Rodríguez, a writer friend who knows the city's watering holes like the back of his hand, took me to a place called the Salon Martell. It is in the neighboring colonia, la Del Valle, on the corner of Mier y Pesado and Romero de Terreros. The bartender, todo un caballero, is named Tomás.

You got to love a cantina with a photograph of Marilyn Monroe above the bar. Particularly that photo.

I am not sure why but the Salon Martell has few customers. (Then again, that is one of the reasons that I like it.) It also has one of those electronic jukeboxes with about a thousand songs. Sometimes on Fridays, the gentleman pictured above, known as "Eddie," plays U.S. oldies on an electric organ, and sings them with Spanish lyrics. The botanas -- free food served with the price of your drinks -- are also quite tasty at the Martell.

Don't get spooked by the monster, who shares space behind the bar with Marilyn. And Santa.

Slice of building

This building always reminded me a slice of Wonder Bread (or its Mexican equivalent, pan Bimbo). On Calle Venustiano Carranza in the centro histórico, for ages it was home to a seafood restaurant called El Malecón, but has been shut for the past couple of years. Sadly, I never went; it is hard to imagine how the waiters would have moved between tables in a space so narrow. Not long ago, I knocked on the door to see what, if anything, was going on. A porter told me that the property had been sold but had no idea to whom or to what purpose.