A Series of Tubes

A quick thought on subways:  I love them.

They are Lola's and my favorite way to experience a city without the hassle of traffic or the expense of taxi fares.  Most interesting big cities have subways, or at least have light rail.  Great cities have rail lines that go from the airport into town (I'm looking at you, Denver.  Let's get it together!).  Sometimes we will take a cab into town after stepping off the plane, simply because we don't have our bearings yet and our random violence paranoia and new-place shyness are both set to high, so we cab it to the hotel.  After that, though, it's all subway all the time. 

Our trip to Mexico City last week was just like that.  No different than many other subway towns we have visited:  Paris, Madrid, New York, Washington D.C., Seattle, Boston, San Francisco.  I thought that because the D.F. (I can call it that since we're basically Mexican nationals now after four days of seeing the sights) was so...third-worldy that their subway system would be a piss-stenched hell hole where you keep your wallet in your front pocket and your hand on your wife's shoulder so she doesn't get taken.  And that indeed was the case not too long ago;  but now, ironically, thanks in part to pick-pocketing and wife-stealing, there are more cops in the Mexican Metro than the rest of the country combined (or so it seems), so it was actually one of the safest, cleanest, best smelling subways we have ever ridden. The world above it, though...different story.  More on that another day.

I love the utilitarianism of the subway, the engineering complexity, the simplicity of use, the low cost, the subculture of musicians and entertainers down there, the language independency, the feel of the displaced subwind as the train thunders out of the tunnel toward the platform area, the cars screaming by mere inches from your face, the act of looking tough and apathetic so's nobody fucks with you, the sardine-like quality of rush hour movement, the beggars, doing the quick can-you-make-it-or-not calculations in your head as you run toward the train doors from the escalator as the departure whistle blows.  I love the Hector Guimard Art Nouveau Metro entrances in Paris and the New York subway's use of Helvetica on all of its signage.  I love the fact that everything is secured down because the original architects knew that if it wasn't then it's as good as gone.  I love the surly ticket sellers, the ticket machines when you don't feel like dealing with the surly ticket sellers, the underground snacks for sale and the barking vendors.

The subway is the "everyman" mode of transportation, and that's another reason I love it so much.  It represents all of us and gets us where we need to go at an everyman price point.  If I was rich I wouldn't have some showy asshole collection of rare, vintage cars and motorcycles; I would instead have a collection of everyman vehicles:  Mini (pre BMW), VW convertible Beetle (grew up in one--possibly conceived in one), VW Microbus, Jeep CJ7, Honda CB350, Fiat Spider (had one), Datsun 280 ZX, pre-1984 Toyota Land Cruiser, 1970s era Moped, late 60s Vespa,  an early 70s BMW....beautiful things.  Until then, though, the subway will have to suffice.

By the end of a trip we always end up taking the subway back to the airport like a couple of old pros, beaten down but energized by the city above; gruff on the outside but all smiley on the inside; experienced and worldly.  We are part of the culture.  We are the underground.

Here comes the choo-choo