The City That Built Me A Memoir of Mexico, Architecture, and Memory

For my father, who taught me to build with my hands before I learned to build with my mind. PROLOGUE Every city leaves its mark on those who grow up within it. Some people remember monuments. Others remember famous events or celebrated people. I remember sounds. I remember the mournful whistle of the locomotives arriving at Buenavista Station, echoing across Colonia Guerrero before dawn. I remember the melancholy tune of the organillero drifting through the streets, the rhythmic cries of street vendors announcing their goods, and the comforting aroma of freshly made tortillas escaping from neighborhood kitchens. I remember my first toy, the murals that covered the walls of my elementary school, the velvet-lined jewelry displays we built in my father's workshop, and the distant silhouette of the Torre Latinoamericana rising slowly above the city skyline....to be continued