El México de Joaquín: How Embarrassing / Que Vergüenza

My first visit to Coyoacan in December of 2011 started with my going to the wrong address where I had reservations. I arrived around midnight at Colonia del Carmen in the historic center of this delegacion / borough. I had taken a taxi from the airport, a big Suburban, I was the driver's only passenger. Streets at that hour are fairly empty and the drive only took twenty minutes. I rang the door bell convinced it was the address I had seen on the internet for Hostal Cuija. The five minute silence had me a little concerned. I kept ringing and finally a voice; "¿quien?" (who?). I identified myself and a man came to the door. It was the hostel owner, sleepy eyed he said it was actually across the street and that this was the main office and his family residence. He was polite, considering, and walked me to the actual location where I would stay. The tough looking taxi driver even hung around until I knew where I'd be staying the night. I thanked him and he left.

Hostal Cuija

The following day I walked the three blocks to the Frida Kahlo museum (La Casa Azul). There, I introduced myself to a man in a suit, one of the staff members. I told him I believed my father was born in the house directly next door and he introduced me to the museum director. My father would tell me "eramos vecinos de Frida Kahlo" (we were Frida Kahlo's neighbors). The gentleman showed me the way to "El Cristo" which according to my father was the home he was born in. Nicer homes in those days were given names. They had torn down the wall separating the two houses and made it part of the museum. It even has a cafe now. The staff was very kind and interested in my story. Even a Mexican tourist who overheard me asked me questions and seemed impressed.

Inside I walked through each room tearfully pondering the history of this house. Wondering to myself, could this be the room where my father was born? "There were parts of a famous Mexican silent film made here in this very house as well", I told those around me listening. The name of this movie is "El Automovil Griz". I had drawn some attention with my obvious passion and for the things I was saying. I even felt like I could have been one of the guides. The staff member showed me around a little more and left.

Months later I finally rechecked my father's "Registro Civil", the official document showing the birthplace, signed by witnesses etc. To my embarrassment it said he was born in a house on Avenida Miguel Hidalgo, "numero 14". My father said they were neighbors which was true, however, not directly next door.

Que vergüenza .