Destination: Mexico City : Floating Fiesta : On Xochimilco’s canals, restored to Aztec splendor, a place to go with the flow

If people have been telling you that Xochimilco, the floating gardens on the south side of Mexico City, are too seedy to warrant a trip, don’t believe them. I’d heard the same thing for years--all from people who hadn’t actually been there. Bad word-of-mouth on the place. But no longer accurate.

Xochimilco (so-chee-MEAL-co) has recently been renovated to quintessential Mexican splendor and Mexicophiles will feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven.

In 11 trips to Mexico City I had never made it to Xochimilco. Too far (15 miles from downtown), too much of an effort, I thought. But I remained intrigued by the kitschy old pictures and stories I had read: photographer Edward Weston’s description of his excursion in 1923 and Diego Rivera’s daughter Guadalupe’s account of her ladies-only outing with stepmom Frida Kahlo and friends a few years later. And place names beginning with “x” are intriguing.

Indeed, until the 1960s (more or less), the floating gardens were a must-see for Mexico City visitors. The perfect photo-op. Although they don’t actually float, the canals are a lingering remnant of Tenochtitlan, the Aztec city destroyed in the Spanish conquest. In pre-Columbian times, most of what is now Mexico City was a lake. Since the Valley of Mexico lacked natural drainage, the water from rain and underground springs collected to form lakes and swamps. The need for dry land led the Aztecs to create floating islands, or chinampas , made of mud and reeds--and an elaborate lifestyle amid the causeways and floating gardens, where they grew their food. The gardens eventually rooted themselves in the soil below, the lake bed was eventually drained . . . and the modern metropolis blotted out the watery past. Except at Xochimilco where several canals remain, and families still own private plots on chinampas , where they graze cattle and raise vegetables and flowers. For centuries locals and visitors alike, seeking a sense of the past, have lolled away afternoons in canoes here.

In the last few decades, Xochimilco sank into decline. Too Coney. The canals became fetid with garbage floating in the murkiness, even if the gardens no longer did.

In 1989 the government decided to reclaim its historic floating gardens with the same devotion that it has shown for colonial buildings and Aztec ruins. I admire the government for this reverence for its monuments. Xochimilco, in my mind, is as much a monument as the pyramid of the sun at Teotihuacan. In fact, I like it better.

By presidential decree, the greater Xochimilco area was declared an Ecological Park: The waterways were cleaned out, endangered trees such as the ahuejote were reforested and the tourist area was spruced up.

It was a postcard cliche come to life . . . the boats, the music, the smells, the laughter.

Today, Xochimilco is the quintessential Mexican excursion--much like it was 50 years ago. I arrived last December a skeptic and left a convert. It is truly captivating. Yes, it’s touristy but that seems to add to the experience. After all, most of the tourists are Mexicans. A New Yorker here, a German there. But mainly capitalinos (translation: locals).

The main embarcadero (dock) has, it must be admitted, been cleaned up to within an inch of its life. The ramshackle but colorful, old puestos (shops) have been replaced with government-issue concrete shells for the vendors. And a great expanse of shoreline has been surfaced with cement--much too much cement. I was semi-crushed. It seemed forbiddingly sterile. (I didn’t come to Mexico for sterile. If I had wanted sterile, I would have gone to Switzerland.) But we pushed on, past the trinket shops to the dock. Ah, pay dirt. Ah, Mexico.

A glimpse of the boats and I knew that the Xochimilco of yesteryear had not been obliterated. The old trajineras (another word for the boats) were still there. They had that wonderfully fixed-up look, a well-worn patina that comes only with 20 coats of paint, each applied over the chipped remains of the previous layer. Bright yellow, red, blue and green. Bows, squared off. The canvassed canopies had the traditional Xochimilco facade, a curved floral with a woman’s name spelled out. Lots of Yolandas. Not in the real flowers of the 1940s but in a modern version, designed to withstand several months of weathering before they need replacing.

Boatmen sidled up to us--gently. Would we like a boat? Yes, yes, we wanted to be excursionistas , a term I found on the caption of a 1950s Xochimilco postcard.

But we pulled back, not sure of how it all worked. They promised a cheap ride. Should we bargain? Or search for another boatman with a better price? Neither. The prices, in this new Xochimilco, are fixed. A big blue sign tells the cost of everything from boat rides to marimba “melodies.” It would be 35 pesos to rent a small boat for an hour. Up to eight people. Nothing smaller. Larger boats can accommodate 14 or 20.

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Except for size, these boats are identical in “appointments”: straight-back wood chairs lining a long wood table, all painted to match the boat. The chairs are the same style as the ones in a Miguel Covarrubias painting from the 1940s (still hanging in the bar of the Hotel Ritz in downtown Mexico City): Xochimilco on a moonlit night--in the prow of a trajinera, a sexy senorita serenades a dandy in a suit, tie and fedora--their friends remain upright in the straight-back chairs. Straight-laced norteamericanos observe the scene from their own boat.

These days, excursionistas do no more than pick the size of the boat. Which boat you go out on is left to the crew boss. It is all very organized, every boatman gets his fair turn.

Our boatman turned out to be a boat boy, 12 at the most. He poled with great intensity. His profile, handsome; his demeanor, professional. I imagined this to be his first solo trip, with his father and uncles observing him from a distance. He was probably an old hand. Slowly, methodically, he punted us into the main canal. Yes, punted!

This is when the headiness--the over-the-top Mexican-ness of the place really hit me. Florid. Flamboyant. Gaudy. Friendly. Happy. Languor and passion, somehow mingled. It was a postcard cliche come to life, as much as stepping out on Waikiki Beach to be confronted with Diamond Head, or turning and seeing the real Eiffel Tower over your shoulder. The boats, the music, the smells, the laughter. All real. All . . . floating.

We were thoroughly enchanted. It was an hourlong amusement park ride in slow motion. (Confession: We were so besotted with the place that we went out again for a second hour after five minutes back on shore.) Was there an underwater conveyor belt like the jungle ride at Disneyland? (It was that perfectly choreographed.) It is the boat life, the passing parade that is the essence of Xochimilco. There are no real gardens anymore. This is for people-watchers, not gardeners.

The banks are sparsely lined with mournful trees. They are cypressy-- fastigiate --the horticultural term for trees that are tall and thin. Barely enough to give a sense of landscape, like a middle-aged man combing his thinning head over his bald spot.

It was Sunday, and the long main canal was packed with boats. They frequently bump into one another. We “voyeured” the big boats. The 20-seaters. Families and friends packed aboard with tablecloths and picnic hampers. Some brought charcoal stoves and cooked on board. Some brought their maids to serve it. These floating parties were the most likely to hire the waterborne marimba or mariachi. They were rowdy groups--lots of beer and singing along with the musicians. They also brought along their own guitars. And then they would pass from view and something new would capture our attention.

Xochimilco always looked like a very romantic place in the old postcards. A place for lovers. But, it seemed to me, opportunities for romance are limited when seating is in stiff wooden chairs. There is no place to lounge. No love seat. No bench. What would one do, I wondered, with one’s amorous feelings?

I did not have such a problem. My companion was my 15-year-old son. He showed little interest in my remarks about Xochimilco’s link to history. Me: “Imagine. All of Mexico City used to be canals like this.” Him: “How about a beer?” We had discovered, the night before, that if I ordered two Coronas in a restaurant, no one asked for his ID. So we drank Coronas. No one checked ID at the floating gardens either. A galvanized pail of ice and beer and sodas had been placed in our boat before departure. The sodas went untouched. My son’s one beer was almost enough to cause him to forget that he was with his mother. His unspoken thought: great place, wish I were here with the guys.

Additional beer, and all our other needs, could be met by vendors who paddled rough-hewn canoes alongside. Comida corrida (a Mexican blue plate special) is prepared on board canoes and hawked to the excursionistas.

An old woman in a neat apron and sun hat paddled to starboard. “Elote asado?” she inquired. Grilled corn? Want some? Of course. Big white kernels that look like Mr. Ed’s teeth. Crunchy. Very chewy. She sprinkled a little chili on top. Some lime juice.

As she paddled away, another dugout passed. A man held up bright serapes. We said no and he floated on. No pressure--from him or any of the other vendors that approached us. Another boat: a photographer offering to take an instant photo. His modern camera was disguised inside a clumsy wooden box to look more old-fashioned. Nice touch. He had fancy, velvet sombreros for us to pose in. Not for us but we watched him later, as he snapped a group of capitalinos, smiling, sombreros at a rakish tilt, arm in arm in the prow.

Once upon a time, the flower sellers were children who tossed bunches of pansies into tourists laps or young women who pressed lilies and forget-me-nots into unwary arms. Now, the flower-selling is relegated to old crones in their dugouts. They have only one selection: an overly fussy, tabletop bouquet. A perfect dome of carnations in a white plastic basket. Like FTD’s worst nightmare.

A marimba boat glided by, serenading a big party boat. Two men stood at the instrument, which had been wedged into their tiny boat.

After a few minutes, their gentle sounds were overwhelmed by a trumpet. A mariachi boat was passing on the right. I wanted to hire them to sing one of my favorite Mexican songs. “Volver, Volver.” Or perhaps “Mi Viejo Amor,” the one that Edward Weston had written about hearing in this very place 72 years ago. But 15-year-olds cannot tolerate such intensity. The concept of the serenade is anathema to them. Musicians singing in their faces. Pure torture. Are they supposed to look at them? Or away? The etiquette, the social demands of such an encounter are too much. I was forbidden.

But of course, one of the great charms of Xochimilco is that you don’t have to hire a mariachi to enjoy them. The serenade is for everyone--all of us excursionistas .

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GUIDEBOOK Straight to the Dock

Two ways to reach Xochimilco:

Hire a car and driver for the day. Many hotels can arrange this for you, otherwise look for the sedan-type taxis outside hotels.

Or take the Metro line No. 2 to the south end of the line, Taxquena, and take a taxi (they are legion) from there. You might verbalize “las canoas” (the canoes) from the back seat of the taxi to reaffirm your specific destination, since Xochimilco is also a town with a church and plaza. You want one of the eight embarcaderos . The main one is called Fernando Celada (others are Caltongo, Belen, Cuemanco, Nativitas, Salitre, Santa Maria de Nativitas and San Cristobal. Trajineras can be rented at all of them.

The boats: They are available daily during daylight hours. Weekends, holidays and school vacation days are the most crowded, but are still the best time to really savor the place.

The costs are approximately $5 an hour per boat for up to eight people, about $6 an hour for nine-14 people and $7 an hour for 15-20 people. The marimba boat charges about $2 per melody; the mariachi boat, $5 per melody. Instant photos are about $2 each. Prices are the same at all docks.

Although the tourist area is part of the Ecological Park, the non-tourist section can be visited on guided powerboats (the trajineras are not permitted there). They can be rented near the Cuemanco docks.

For more information: Mexican Government Tourism Office, 10100 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 224, Los Angeles 90067, tel. (310) 203-8191.