\u201cTo the Museum of Modern Art, please,\u201d I told the taxi driver.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t go there.\u00a0 The street\u2019s closed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPaseo de la Reforma?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA big demonstration.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are they protesting?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t know.\u00a0 I can\u2019t keep track of all the protests.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease drive as close as you can, and I\u2019ll walk the rest of the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
We discovered west-bound lanes on Reforma were open on that July afternoon and traffic was moving at pedestrian speed through thousands of people.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight here\u2019s fine,\u201d I said, and stepped onto a sidewalk in Chapultepec Park renowned for lakes and museums and a palace, and that today offered a grand celebration: hundreds of vendors were selling an array of food, clothes, arts and crafts, and music resounded from the stage in an open area across the street.\u00a0 On the other side of the stage, steps to the massive National Auditorium were being used like seats in a stadium.<\/p>\n
I crossed the lanes of slow-moving traffic then traversed a plant-laden center divider and the closed, east-bound lanes before trying to step over a chain link fence that proved higher than perceived and left me straddling a pain-inducing pole I hastened to get off, stretching to put my left foot on soil so I could hoist the other over.\u00a0 This indelicate maneuver knocked several shirts off the fence onto the ground, and as I moved to pick them up I stepped on some very long knives, one almost qualifying as a sword.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d I said to the vendor.<\/p>\n
He waved don\u2019t worry.\u00a0 He was enjoying the melodic voice of a beautiful, black-haired woman in traditional mariachi attire.<\/p>\n
Winding through the crowd closer to the stage, I said to a young couple, \u201cShe\u2019s got to be famous.\u00a0 Who is she?\u201d<\/p>\n
They either couldn\u2019t hear or didn\u2019t know, and shrugged.\u00a0 I listened to a few more songs until her performance ended and the next singer started, then eased away looking for someone willing to talk, and selected a group of four middle-aged people, evidently two couples.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I ask you a few questions?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d one of the women said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSan Luis Potosi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd everyone else here?\u201d I motioned around the park.<\/p>\n
\u201cQueretaro, Michoac\u00e1n, Veracruz, Chiapas, Puebla, Oaxaca, all over Mexico.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you protesting?\u201d\u00a0 Actually, they seemed utterly tranquil.<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything,\u201d she said, peeling a small flyer backed by adhesive and handing it to me.\u00a0 The headline stated: \u201cMarch of 25 Thousand People to Los Pinos.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pasted the flyer on my note paper and asked, \u201cDid you march to the president\u2019s house?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe tried, but the police blocked us.\u00a0 That\u2019s all right. \u00a0President Felipe Calderon knows we\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks.\u201d It was hard to hear amid the music and I didn\u2019t want to interrupt any more.<\/p>\n
Later that afternoon and on subsequent days I asked taxi drivers, waiters, hotel employees, and others what the big demonstration was about.\u00a0 No one I questioned could be specific.\u00a0 In the morning the only newspaper I read mentioned the event but didn\u2019t detail political issues, instead listing in bold graphics the enormous number of vendors and police who attended.<\/p>\n