Mexico City
Back in December, I got a note from American Airlines that my Elite status was going to expire on 1/31 (yes, I know how pretentious that sounds). I hadn’t done as much flying in the past year so I wasn’t going to achieve status two years in a row, so I decided to take a weekend trip. I had some miles to spare, and I had heard that Mexico City was an amazing place, so, why the hell not?
I did some research and booked an Airbnb in La Condesa, a hip neighborhood just West of the Historic District. I gathered lists of recommendations from several different friends and became overwhelmed pretty quickly. I loathe being a “tourist,” so I took a few restaurant recs off the list and booked two short Airbnb experiences, vowing to just wander and explore the rest of the time.
Upon arrival, I ordered an Uber and chatted with the driver, flexing the Spanish I could remember - as it turned out, I have a decent accent given my limited diction. We had a great conversation, comparing life in Mexico to life in the US. The colorful cubic structures lined the narrow streets were flanked by what seemed like a jungle of lush flora. Every street had a decent canopy above it. Even on the warmest days, it was easy to find shade in this area of town.
After settling into the quaint Airbnb, I wandered around the neighborhood. I trekked through La Condesa and Roma Norte for a few hours, with no final destination whatsoever. The lack of rigid “grid” system added to the charm of the neighborhood, but also created the playful “what’s around this corner” feeling over and over again. Eventually I stumbled upon Tacos Orinoco, which was one of the few recommendations I could remember after a particularly strong mezcal settled into me.
When it was my turn to order, I pointed to the menu and made sure that what I was ordering didn’t contain pork. While readying my pesos, the gentleman behind me stepped in and muttered “quiero pagar,” to the woman taking my order. Indeed, he wanted to pay for my meal, and upon my protest, he said in broken english, “Welcome to Mexico.” I pleaded that he didn’t have to, but he insisted, and we even exchanged contact info to hang at another point in the weekend. This simple exchange on the first night of the trip was the ultimate foreshadowing for the rest of the trip, and a comment on the friendliness of the Mexican people.
The rest of the weekend was spent eating tacos every chance I could get (thanks to an Airbnb experience with the Taco Mensch), and partying it up with some new friends I made, Luis and Kristina, who happened to be well connected in CDMX nightlife. One of my favorite bars was a tiny sliver of a place called Cafe Tacobar, which was indeed tiny, yet somehow was able to fit 40 people, a bar, and a taco stand. The bartender, Chris, kept getting more entertaining as the night went on and the libations flowed.
I also spent some time exploring historic Coyoacán with some friends I made on another Airbnb experience, Audrey and Jackie, who were doing research for their adorable series of travel-based children’s books called Lily Huckleberry. We ate churros and toured the mystic blue residence of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. After they left for their next excursion, I bought esquites (elote in a cup) and wandered around the quaint cobblestone alleys.
After several miles of aimless wandering, I sat on a sidewalk, ate a crepe, and let the city pass me by. This was a random Saturday, and the city felt alive. People piled into the town square, for no special occasion. It became apparent to me that people in Mexico City, from all backgrounds, live life in the present. But their traditions and urban layout also makes it easier for them to do that. It’s a unique combination of density and proud cultural heritage that manifests itself extremely differently in the US.
And they have the coolest tiny cars.
Do I love the US? Of course. But spending a short weekend in Mexico City makes me yearn for narrow streets, sidewalk cafes, and a voracious energy for life.
