I wake after another 12 hours' sleep to the cheesy sounds of Latin pop filtering up from an unidentified location.
The vista from my second~floor window is one of rooftops, not uniform sort you imagine, stretched out as far as the eye can see. It's like a field of metal stakes growing towards the heavens. I've always meant to find out why so many countries are characterised by the metal~sticking~out~of~roof phenomenon. Someone once told me that you don't have to pay the house tax on an unfinished building, but I find it hard to believe that tax law is uniform across Latin America, the Middle East and India.
Having heard MC is the pollution capital of the world, I'd expected dirty air that gives you a choking feeling when you breathe. You know, like in Mumbai where it's packed with moisture and fumes and smells of shit and food and incense... and every breath is like your lungs are eating a meal.
This air is light, bright.. and bears only a faint smell of I'm not sure what.
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