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Drinking in the local traditions

Drinking in the local traditions

The young mums cradling children, the elderly ladies with hand-woven shopping bags and the briefcase- clutching businessmen have all managed to nab a seat. I'm standing near the train doors, rubbing shoulders with teenage punks, gel-haired labourers, pouty university students and a buxom lady who's passionately chewing the ear off her boyfriend.

I've got 13 stops to go. On most subways, this would be a fairly boring, clock-watching ride. But the Mexico City Metro isn't your average subterranean transport system.

At three pesos a ride (about 26 cents), this isn't just the cheapest, shrewdest way to avoid the traffic jams that clog the overland arteries of North America's largest city. It's a cultural sight in its own right; perhaps as important to today's Chilangos (the nickname for the capital's residents) as the pyramids were to the ancient Aztecs.

As the train rattles along, and conversation levels build to a noisy crescendo (there's no London-style reticence here), Vivaldi's Four Seasons starts to drift around the carriage.

Initially, I think the music's coming from the train speakers. Then it gets louder. And louder. Then the volume suddenly drops. A chubby young Mexican, baseball cap on back to front, is shuffling to the other end of the carriage, waving CDs and chanting: "Diez pesos! Diez pesos!" (Ten pesos is about 85 cents.) Wedged into his backpack is a set of vibrating speakers, out of which Vivaldi is soon replaced by Mozart. Then we're treated to Verdi. And Wagner.

The classical compilation is a hit. The man makes four quick sales, and hops off at the next station, his bum bag rattling with coins, the sound of Beethoven floating off into the distance. I look out the door, and see him climbing into the next carriage, while another character with speakers strapped to his back boards ours. He's offloading CDs of Mexican mariachi classics, accompanied by a friend - a chirpy old soul with a grey moustache, who's selling 1980s American pop music.

The most affecting vendor comes next; a heavily pregnant young woman who appears as if she's about to give birth. Her facial expression is as melancholic as the Spanish tunes she's playing. When she glumly exits the carriage, without making a sale, I'm struck by pangs of guilt.

My conscience is also bothered by a woman, in her 80s, hobbling along with a walking stick, crooning out a song and pushing out a plastic cup pleading for tips. She's followed by two blind, doddery male buskers - a guitarist and a harmonica player.

Not all Metro vendors earn their pesos through music. Others make impressively vigorous sales pitches for chest rubs, face paint, lollipops, lip balm, toys and books. Strikingly, I see no idle beggars on what is Latin America's busiest subway (used by 1.5 billion passengers annually, apparently).

I get off at the Salto del Agua Metro stop, in the historic Centro district, where my friend Steve and I decide to check out another Mexico City staple: pulquerias.

Peppered across the city, these mainly beer-free establishments specialise in pulque, a mildly alcoholic tipple that has been guzzled in Mexico since pre-Aztec times. It derives from agave, the cactus-like plant that also yields tequila and mezcal.

We head to arguably the most renowned pulqueria, Las Duelistas.

It's hard to know where to look as we breeze through the swinging saloon doors; at the decor - a blaze of trippy, kaleidoscopic, Aztec- inspired murals - or at the 80 or so Mexicans, of both sexes, from fresh-faced teens to wrinkled 70-somethings, staring right at us.

As the only gringos (foreigners) in the house, we're a little apprehensive but the sign nailed to the entrance states that Las Duelistas doesn't discriminate (on the basis of religion, sexual preference, socioeconomic status or race), and, sure enough, a waitress enthusiastically ushers us in, pointing over at the two vacant stools at the bar. Traditionally a favourite of the poor, pulque is enjoying a renaissance among young, middle- class Mexicans hooked on all things pre-Hispanic.

Groups of them have crammed the tables of Las Duelistas tonight, shouldering middle-aged, working- class couples and solo drinkers, including one 20-something bruiser with a tattoo on the back of his neck and a black eye.

He's clinking glasses with a lonesome pensioner.

To a backdrop of zesty Latin music rattling from the speakers - purchased from a Metro vendor, we wonder - we overlook a frenzy of mixing, shaking and pouring behind the bar.

Litre after litre of gooey-looking liquid is transferred from pots, pans, barrels and steel vats to a row of empty mugs and glasses. The orchestrator of this pulque-fest is Las Duelistas' affable, mustachioed owner Arturo Garrido.

A grinning Arturo shunts two mugs of pulque in front of us. It's thickly textured but transpires to be peculiarly tasteless. After two sips, my friend, keen to avoid offence, whispers to me: "Mate, I think you're gonna have to finish mine off for me."

Both of us prefer the nut-tinged pulque. "Much stronger," Arturo says, with a wink.

Sprinkled with cinnamon, it tastes like a cross between cake mixture and cold cappuccino. Ideal for experimenting, pulque also comes spiked with fruit and other flavours, including Oreo biscuits.

By our third drink, the walls and ceilings are looking more psychedelic, and we decide to leave the pulque-hungry hordes to it.

Not that they'll be here for much longer. Like most pulquerias, Las Duelistas opens and closes pretty early (11am to 10pm).

When we tell our Mexican friends where we've been, we get two very different reactions.

"Ah, pulque," Karla says, fondly. "It's the elixir of life."

Another, Yolanda, pulls a funny face. "Disgusting," she says. "I prefer cocktails."

A polarising drink, an acquired taste, perhaps but - like a ride on the metro - pulque is a Mexico City staple that every visitor should try. Once at least.

FACT FILE

For a good overview of Mexico City's attractions, including the famous Teotihuacan pyramids on the city's outskirts, see visitmexico.com/en/mexico-city.

Las Duelistas is at Calle Aranda 28-30, Centro; facebook.com/PulqueriaLasDuelistas.