To get to Xochilmilco required taking the blue Metro line south to the Light Rail, but as soon as I got on the Light Rail, I was diverted to a bus due to some work they were doing on the tracks.  The bus dropped us off at the end of the line.  There were murals just outside the station, a skeleton holding an orange marigold in his hand, a couple of skull rockers, dressed in leather.  There was a painting of an old boatman with a pole in his hand, like Charon from Greek mythology, ferrying the souls of the dead over the river Styx.

When I reached the end of the line, all I had were some scribbled directions on a piece of paper to go by.  I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.  There was a sign pointing towards the Zona Turistica Embarcaderos that I followed for about a mile, past a mural of a thundering golden eagle and a few severed pig heads hanging in a butcher shop.  Next, I passed a cemetery for young children. 

When I reached the Embarcadero Belem, it was cluttered and confusing.  A few boatmen scrambled to pitch me a ride.  There were more murals, a dead bride with a golden butterfly settled on her lips, Catrina, her skull face painted up like a bouquet, next to a boat, the San Cristobal.  It didn’t seem like I was at the right place, so I kept walking.  My directions said something about the Embarcadero Nativitas.  There were paintings all along the way, magical salamanders, cranes flying over a lake at sunset, a skeleton rowing a boat, a beautiful woman with flowers in her hair, Jesus hanging from the cross.

Finally, I reached Embarcadero Nativitas, which seemed to be the main place to rent a boat from.  Here were the crowds of tourists I was expecting to see.  The boats were built for large parties, maybe twenty or thirty people, and were painted in festival colors, bright red, yellow, green, blue.  They had the names of women, Margarita, Victoria, Carmelita. 

There was an island I wanted to visit, The Island of Dead Dolls, but one tout I talked to told me it was a five hour round trip journey.  He walked me over to a tree with dolls hanging from the branches, and assured me that where I wanted to go was exactly the same thing, just more of them.  One had a black cross on its forehead and mud pouring out of its mouth.

Because a lot of boats were unoccupied that day, I was able to make a deal, an hour in my own boat for twenty dollars.  It is not the fun way to do Xochimilco, alone, drinking a Pepsi, but it had not been a fun trip.  That doesn’t mean it hadn’t been great.  I had to walk across a dozen moored boats to get to the one I’d rented.  It was pink, yellow, and blue, looking like it had just been painted.  I sat at the yellow table and the old man began navigating his way out onto the busy canal.  His pole was over twenty feet long and the platform he worked from about ten feet across.

The rune of the day was Sowelo, or that of the sun.  I’d gotten lazy and taken its picture back at the hotel before leaving.  Although I still had a few adventures ahead of me, my trip was running out of steam.