Walking the Paseo de la Reforma (with a Detour to See a Diego Rivera Mural)

The intersection of Av. Juarez and Paseo de la Reforma (and a few other streets to make it all confusing)

Out with the old. In with the new. It is a 5km walk from the Metropolitan Cathedral back to my hotel. Only 4km from the Palacio del Bellas Artes. 5km is about 3 miles. That's the length of a morning dog walk. So let's hoof it!

First a walk through a park. This is the Alameda Central, the city's oldest municipal park:

Kids playing in one of those fountains where the water shoots straight up is always a good photo. The only way the picture gets better is if there is a dog in there.

This is the monument to Benito Juarez, which is fitting since we are still on Av. Juarez and, on the long march home, are not yet on Paseo de la Reforma.

I'm not sure why it's all boarded up like that. Probably the COVID.

I'm not sure what this is supposed to be representing, other than, maybe, perhaps, woman on top.

And this is a fountain of Poseidon/Neptune, and yet it is dry as a bone. Double the irony.

The next stop on the walk was a building repurposed to house a Diego Rivera mural. And this is the mural inside the building:

And this is the bust of Diego Rivera:

I actually am a big fan of Sr. Rivera. Even though he was a communist! Hey, most artists seem to have abhorrent politics. It goes with the craft. Let's look at the mural in a little more detail.

This side, generally, is the good life. The bourgeoisie, to use the lingo of Sr. Rivera's politics. There's an image of an American embedded in there. Do you see him?

Old Fuss and Feathers himself! General Winfield Scott, one of two hero-generals of the United States' Mexican War in the late 1840s (well, heroic generals to those of us in the United States) (less so, in the eyes of Mexico). Gen. Scott was the losing candidate in the 1852 presidential election, losing to the racist drunkard failed president (and ancestor of another failed president, W. Bush), Franklin Pierce. Yes, I never miss an opportunity to explain my intense dislike of the failure that is Franklin Pierce.

The standout image in the middle section is death:

Mexican culture is far more comfortable with death than is U.S. culture. And who is that holding hands with Death?

Our artist, himself, Diego Rivera, along with his wife Frida Kahlo. Rivera and Kahlo were kind of the John and Yoko of their day. (I will not elaborate on which I feel played which role. YMMV.) Kahlo for some unfathomable reason has become the more prominent of the two in recent times, thank you Salma Hayek. This despite the fact that Rivera is the one who had all the artist talent in the relationship. Oops. Did I just say that? We'll see them both later in the mural as we move left to right.

Finally, in the third section:

This is definitely the more "loaded" politically, with images of violence, revolution, peasants being evicted from their land, and a young Diego Rivera eating a sandwich (torta, in Spanish):

A plethora of torta. Not very communist there, Sr. Rivera.

There is a very interesting image buried in this picture that the guide to the mural does not explain. Do you see it, right above the peasant family being evicted from their land, and right below the horse's leg:

It is a man shooting another man in the head (left eye to be precise). There is no explanation as to who is the shooter and who is the shoot-ee. 

The mural is a fantastic example of Diego Rivera's work. And it was commissioned to be displayed in the dining room of a luxury hotel. The hotel was destroyed in a powerful earthquake (8.1) in 1985. The mural was saved and moved to a dedicated building. It does not look worse for the wear. Here's a photo of the earthquake damage that is in the museum:

Time to leave Av. Juarez for the long walk down Paseo de la Reforma. But a few blocks back from that intersection, down Avenida de la Republica, is this monument to the 1938 Revolution:

It is part of the Museo Nacional de la Revolución, which I did not go in.

This is a monument to women:

Please note that the female figure at the top is two-dimensional and too weak to stand on her own, needing support from behind. There is absolutely nothing metaphorical about it. Nothing. Banish such thoughts.

This is the Monumento a Cuauhtémoc, the Monument to Cuauhtémoc, for whom the neighborhood we are about to enter is named.

Here's a better view, although it is from behind.

For some reason, this bit of public art reminded me of home:

The cards look a bit distressed. Perhaps time for a new deck? Let's combine the two into one image:

Cuauhtémoc framed by a deck of cards.

These sofas (loveseats, actually, to be pedantically precise) are not as comfortable as they appear:

They are cast from metal. More durable that way.

The next traffic circle on the Paseo de la Reforma is Glorieta de La Palma. Glory of the Palm.

It's a palm tree. I guess they ran out of ideas for monuments at this point.

And finally we arrive at El Ángel de la Independencia.

Because this is one of the signature sites of Mexico City, it is a popular photo op. Given the young women in a billowy dresses and the young men in matching tuxedos, I assumed wedding photography:

I assumed wrong. The kids were too young.

This is the place in town to go for a photo shoot for your quinceañera. Apparently, in Mexican culture, for a young girl, her quinceañera is a more lavish celebration than her wedding. Not every girl has a wedding. But every girls turns 15.

And there were several photo shoots -- with professional photographers -- all lined up to get photos from the same spot.

Here is the view down Paseo de la Reforma from atop the Angel of Independence:

Another key thing about reaching El Ángel de la Independencia meant that I was almost back to my hotel. The next traffic circle was the Diana Fountain:

Diana and her bow, just a half of a block from my hotel.

At this point, I was parched and my feet were soar. I rested up before a hamburger supper at a local upscale eatery:

OK. Not so upscale, but that's what I wanted. Anton's Hamburguesas, a local's joint where I was the only one speaking English.

A huge "Texana" burger (BBQ sauce and onions), probably a half a pound of beef. A side order of french fries, which could have fed a family. The menu said only cerveza, and I got Corona. Not my first choice, but a light (very very light) beer was probably right to accompany the meal. Too much food to finish and only 200 pesos.