I wanted to write about photographer Spencer Tunick’s photo shoot in Mexico ever since it happened, but didn’t know just how to do it. Then I came across a chronicle by Jimena Arechavala Monterrubio in the newspaper El Universal, called Crónica de una fota anunciada. This is my translation of her story:

It was all a last minute impulse. We took off, Haydeé, Nayely and I. In the early morning, on our way to the zócalo, it was all pure adrenaline. (Will we get there on time? Will we be able to participate and register?) The taxi runs into its first traffic jam in the wee hours on Sunday morning. We look through our windows at the people in their cars. Some have white sheets of paper in their hands and we know that they are going to the same place we are, which makes us happy but also nervous. We begin to count the faces… There seem to be a lot more men than women. How cool that there are so many of us.

We are totally stuck in traffic, so we pay the taxi driver and continue on foot. Many are walking the same route to the same destination. We are many. Qué chido. I hope we don’t run into anyone we know. (That would bring on the modesty). There is an endless line of people waiting with their registration forms in hand to enter into the zócalo. A guy starts making small talk and sticks with us. Good vibe, but we don’t want faces near us that we even slightly, even faintly, recognize. We manage to lose him. We manage to grab a form out of other nervous hands. We manage to enter the zócalo (Really quickly without waiting in line). We situate ourselves in the first open space we see. People are seated and waiting with plastic bags next to them to hold what they’re wearing.

They’ve been waiting quite awhile. We’re next to an older gay couple. They’re in a good mood and we hit it off with them. They don’t make us feel threatened. You already notice the Mexican touch: we start the wave. You can hear the UNAM cheer. We laugh out of pleasure, out of laughter and out of nervousness. Some are sprawled out on the floor trying to sleep. Calm. We all come in peace.

Many are here with their boyfriends or girlfriends, husbands or wives. They begin moving us from one block to another. We don’t know how many we are, but we know we are a lot and there are still many more on their way. We make out isolated instructions. Across the way, there’s a bit of craziness going on with a few girls on a hotel balcony. The people below shout, “¡Güera! ¡Güera!” They whistle and a blonde on the balcony pretends to take her clothes off. Like an echo, the UNAM cheerers call and are answered. The atmosphere is festive and playful. People yell at the newcomers entering the zócalo almost an hour after we arrived, “Hue-vo-nes, hue-vo-nes!” I move a little nervously. The adrenaline has taken care of the sleepiness, the cold and the tiredness. I don’t want to meet anyone. I don’t want to recognize faces. Without meaning to, I realize that there are two good-looking guys next to me. Now I’m nervous.

The tiredness takes over. The sun is rising. The adrenaline diminishes and the body remembers that it didn’t sleep at all last night.

Source: Northern Voice