Playing flute in Mexico City. by Kevin Patrick Fitzgerald.  First published on Medium, December 2025, reissued by Mnoty Press, October 2026.

I took a long time to get my bachelor's degree. When I finally graduated, it was 2007, I decided to go on a road trip to Mexico City. My sister convinced me to fly instead, and I did.

I got there in good health, and got a cab to the wrong hotel, but figured it out, and had a really great ten days in that beautiful and vibrant city. There are several parts of that adventure I can write about, and perhaps I will someday, but the topic at hand, and my favorite part, was playing my flute.

I bought a flute from the central market. There's a huge plaza right downtown, between the national cathedral and the Aztec Temple Major. This was full of people putting out a little rug with what they were selling. I bought a little end blown flute that has since been lost or destroyed or both. I don't remember.

I played it around town while appreciating the vibe of the city. I played mostly on the sidewalk and in the parks.

One day, around dusk, I was sitting on a piece of sidewalk on a commercial sidestreet and a few young men were walking by. They wore the guerrilla uniforms like Fidel Castro.

They stopped and looked at me. I kept playing. Then one leaned forward and asked in English where I was from? I said the US. He was really gracious. He applauded me for coming to Mexico to share my music. He shook my hand emphatically and repeatedly and said several times, 'welcome to my country.'

I thanked him sincerely several times as well. All three were smiling. They stood and listened as I played some more, then wished me well and nodded as their spokesman welcomed me again.

Another time, around mid-day, I was sitting on a park bench. There are a bunch of little parks with quiet shade around the city. This one had a bunch of birds in the trees and an ice cream vendor.

I sat to play along with the birds kind of near the ice cream stand, and a mounted policeman slowly road up on a big brown horse. The policeman was looking at me and smiling.

He got off his horse and got an ice cream, and ate his ice cream while listening to me and looking off toward the horizon. He kept a big smile on his face the whole time. After he finished his ice cream, he stood there for a bit longer. Looked at me and smiled and nodded, then got back on his horse and they slowly walked back toward where they had come from.

I don't know really if I have a profound philosophical realization to report, although I'm sure it's there. It's perhaps a matter of music and peacebuilding, or music and trans-national community construction, which was what I started studying in grad school the following year.

I don't know. Maybe it's that life is worth the effort. And so is music.

Peace.