I'm more environmentally conscious here, too. Mexico City has the worst pollution in the world, so it's a favorite topic of conversation. Mexicans produce over 65 thousand tons of garbage a day, enough to fill the Torre Latinoamericano, Mexico City's first skyscraper, five times over. Thirty percent of this garbage is not picked up by any sanitation service. There are approximately 387 million rats in the country, that is, four and a half per person.

The days you can actually see the volcanoes, which is maybe only ten, twenty days out of the year, can also be the most deadly. The real killer, the heavy metal most present in the air, is ozone: The soap that the government uses to take the lead out of gasoline converts to ozone when it's emitted into the atmosphere. Japan has offered to blast a passageway through the mountains south of the city where the north wind can carry the pollution, and there's a plan to build giant fans and blow the bad air up through the atmosphere. But many people believe nature will take care of itself. According to official sources, some children born in Mexico City have grown mutated lungs, perfectly adapted to the air here.

My neighborhood, La Condesa, doesn't have serious air or garbage pollution, but it is now suffering from a form of cultural pollution. The neighborhood is being transformed from a mixed residential/commercial area, home to painters and writers, into a playground for Muppets (Mexican Urban Professionals) and international raiders of the lost stockmarket. Khaki gringos who talk nothing but loud English stomp jog around my park advertising U.S. universities and consumer products on their tee-shirts. I recently counted over twenty restaurants in a two-block radius. I abandoned New York precisely because my neighborhood in downtown Manhattan had been transformed into a theme-park for hungry, thirsty, fun-seeking, suburban kids.

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