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After spending the morning trying to navigate the Merced, the city’s enormous market crowded with venders selling just about everything (as well as a few dogs tearing into large scraps from the butchers and a kitten curled up in a pile of mangos), I walked along a street named Emiliano Zapata, eating watermelon doused in lime juice, salt and chili powder. I was headed for the Zocalo, wondering what my first blog before the conference might be about. I could go into how looking through the conference programme and the schedule I’ve sketched out, often dictating I attend five events at once, is overwhelmingly exciting but, at the same time, also occasionally prompts me to say, “That’s it?!”

Anxious about my first contribution, I approached the Palacio Nacional, and thought, Well, I just hope the blog doesn’t sound too much like travel writing. (It already does.)

Back on the street after marveling at the Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio, a man tapped me on the shoulder. He had helped me on the security line inside. He told me he is a painter and Rivera is his idol. For purposes of this blog, I will call him Miguel.  read more »