The treasure of the Colonia Del Valle

One of the great literary mysteries of the 20th century is the identity of B. Traven, the author who came to Mexico in the mid-1920s and lived here until his death in 1969. According to his biographers, he may have been a German anarchist named Ret Marut, or perhaps the illegitimate son of Kaiser Wilhelm II. At the time of his death, his widow, Rosa Elena Luján, claimed he was a Chicago native, the son of a Norweigan father and a mother from the U.S. (although Luján would change her story later on).

In any case, most of Traven's most well-known novels, including The Rebellion of the Hanged and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, are set in the country which he made his home during most of his life.

The other day, in the Colonia del Valle, I walked by this building, constructed by an engineer named Morales and an architect named Traven in 1938. This would have been around the time that B. Traven was completing his cycle of six novels set in the jungles of Chiapas. Unless anyone can positively prove the architect was another Traven, I'd like to add to the myth and suggest that while he was busy writing his books he was also responsible for residences in Mexico City.

If you are in Mexico City this week

Some of you may already know about Under the Volcano Books, which is as far as I know the only second-hand bookstore in Mexico City that sells exclusively books in English. The first-anniversary party is this coming Saturday the 27th, from noon to midnight, and the forty-peso entry fee includes complementary pulque, a couple of trendy dj's, the local bands Torrente and Kannski, and an appearance by yours truly at about 9 p.m. The owner of the store, Grant Cogswell, has found a cache of copies of my (hard-to-find, out-of-print) first book, Travel Advisory, a collection of short stories all of which are set in Mexico. I will be reading from that. The address is Cerrada Chiapas 40, which you will find by walking on Calle Chiapas between Córdoba and Mérida, Colonia Roma.

The day before, Friday the 26th at 8 pm, under the Carpa Café Literario Luis Cardoza y Aragón, across from the section of independent publishers at the Feria del Libro en el Zócalo, Magali Tercero and I will be presenting a new book by J.M. Servín (pictured above), Del duro oficio de vivir, beber y escribir desde el caos. Servín (who will also be there) is an anomaly in the literary firmament here. Unlike most Mexican writers who come from familias bien, he grew up among the struggling classes and barely finished la secundaria (junior high school). The book is a marvelous collection of essays, mostly about the writers who have influenced him -- a motley set of outsiders, mostly gringos, including Nelson Algren, Iceberg Slim, James Ellroy and Céline.

If you come to either event be sure to say hello.

More than just a shopping mall and a jail

Texas is the death penalty capital of the United States, and even the world, an accomplishment of which Governor Rick Perry and ex-governor George W. Bush are sickeningly proud. Death Row is in Livingston, about an hour outside Houston. So it is not a surprise that my mitigation work has taken me there with some frequency. For the longest time I thought of it as a place to get work done, nothing more. My main cultural reference was the Galleria, a mall where wealthy Mexicans go to shop.

But then on one trip a couple of years ago I took the trouble of staying an extra day or two. If you find yourself passing through, go to the Menil Collection. And the Mark Rothko Chapel. And any branch of the Half Price Books chain. You can get one of the best hamburgers you've ever had -- and I don't care how many you've had -- at the Burger Palace. And do not miss the dim sum at Fung's, the entryway to which is pictured above.

Sadly, I didn't have time for everything. One has to save something for the next trip.

Little Colombia

The Colonia Roma Sur has in recent years emerged as an enclave for Colombian exiles. They have opened a bunch of restaurants, bars and gift shops -- perhaps appropriately in the streets surrounding the Mercado Medellín.

I am hoping to hang out here in the coming weeks. I'd like to know more about this expat group.

I guess a lot of people get homesick for the products of their country. I remember a store in Greenwich Village in New York that sold all sorts of gruesome things to English expats -- canned beans, lemon curd, wine gums, Marmite and such. For a non-Colombian the wares are underwhelming, and include yerba mate, sweets and cookies, soda pop, beer and malt beverages. Colombia is not precisely famous for its exports. Except, of course, that export.

However, I thoroughly enjoyed this combo plate at Pollos Mario, which doubles as a bakery and a luncheonette. It included roast chicken, two kinds of sausage, rice, beans, salad, fried plantains and a slice of avocado. Mario is on the corner of Medellín and Tapachula.

The notorious Colonia Doctores

As the rents in Colonia Condesa and Colonia Roma climb higher and higher, speculation among certain chilangos grows about which neighborhoods will be the next to be discovered by artists, bohemians and incipient yuppies, and experience a form, however tentative, of gentrification. In previous posts I have written about Colonia Santa Maria la Ribera and Colonia Tabacalera. These neighborhoods -- like Condesa and Roma, conveniently central -- little by little are at least beginning to show signs of overcoming the dodgy reputations of their past and attracting residents with more disposable income.

One neighborhood that I fear will never live down its fabled past is the Colonia Doctores. It is admirably located between the Colonia Roma and the Centro Histórico and, if it is not uniformly prepossessing, has a decent housing stock and plenty of idiosyncratic neighborhood characteristics.

There are some great cantinas here, such as the Salon Casino at Calle Dr. Vertiz #199, and the Bar Sella, about which I have written previously.

There are also a couple of idiosyncratic small museums, such as the Antique Toy Museum on Calle Dr. Olvera #15, and the Indianilla Station Cultural Center on Calle Dr. Bernard #111.

It is even sprouting some sidewalk cafe action.

And, as this bus indicates, tourism. What exactly is being sightseen outside this housing project is anyone's guess.

But unfortunately, Colonia Doctores has an almost comically bad reputation, perhaps due to its proximity to the Colonia Buenos Aires, long a hotbed for stolen car parts.

From time to time I have mentioned to other chilangos an idle idea of buying a building in Doctores as an investment, thinking that its great location will inevitably lead to the neighborhood's ascendance. They have all looked at me as if I were suffering from a rare form of delirium.