I had to come back.
As I've said, it's quite a hike across town. The restaurant was at least 25 block from where I stay, but I wanted to stroll it again. There was so much that I wanted to see at a much slower pace than a bus ride. A few shops along the way had the kind of icons that you might expect in a very Catholic country. There was Mary, and several of the saints, but they were secondary items available. The main icons I saw looked like Mary at first glance, but they were actually skeletons. I strolled inside for a closer look. There were all kinds of candles and concoctions for headaches, insomnia, fever and anything else that might ail you. On one candle I saw the name Santa Muerte (Holy Death). The girl at the counter explained that there was a significance whether the skeleton wore red, white or gold. She could not explain what the significance was.
I was inspired to do a little research. Santa Muerte is a female folk saint opposed by the Catholic Church in Mexico and embraced by millions of Mexicans. She is often portrayed with a scythe or globe in her hand, and it should come as no surprise that one of her jobs is to help her devout cross over into the afterlife. She is also associated with healing and protection, hence all the little goodies I spied in those shops. It is believed that the cult grew out of a fusion between the indigenous Mesoamerican culture and the introduction of the Spanish Catholic Church. I seriously don't think Mary would ever approve.
I moved on down the road.
It wasn't hard to find a peluqueria or two along the way. If your Spanish isn't very good, perhaps the red, white and blue stripes will help you figure out it is a barber shop. In the tourist sections of Fifth Avenue, a man's haircut might cost around 130 pesos. Since 180 pesos is about ten dollars, it's a good price. But, five block off of the main tourist drag, you can get a haircut for 60 pesos. As I strolled on to Avenido Colosios, I was about twenty minutes early for lunch. When I saw a haircut for 30 pesos (under two dollars), I thought, "Why not?"
The very nice young man asked me a question I didn't fully understand. I think he asked me which size of clipper length did I want. I didn't know the difference between a 1, 2, 3 or 4. I told him in Spanish to do whatever he wanted. That isn't the best thing to do with someone when communication really isn't at its best and he's about to cut your hair. He took one swipe with his electric clippers and I was in shock. It was already too late. There was nothing left to do but let the guy continue with what he started. Now, my hair was short to begin with. It needed to be cleaned up a bit. But now? I'd best describe the length as concentration camp chic. There will be no photos of me without my hat for several weeks to come. I'm not even sure there will be much hair to photograph after that amount of time.
Eventually, I made my way to Mama Javier's diner. Her son wasn't there to translate for me, but Mama knew what I came to eat. I didn't know the name. I couldn't have placed the order. But, I got a piping hot bowl of soup with beef and hominy. There was what I thought to be a side salad of diced onions, radishes and lettuce. However, it wasn't a salad. When it was clear to my waitress that I didn't know what to do with my "salad", she came over to explain that I was supposed to pour it into my soup.
The rest of the meal was crisp baked tortillas and soft tortillas with alternating cheese salsa and red salsa, both flaming hot. My personal favorite part of the meal was watching Mama Javier create her own tortillas with her personal hand press. Those fingers knew what to do and I was completely fascinated. I will return to the restaurant another day, with Javier, to get the needed photos and video of that amazing press.