When we first see each other, we embrace and talk for hours over drinks -- barely stopping to breathe. We have months of details to catch up on and world problems to solve. We compare notes about raising children in the digital age, the craziness of high school sports, our husbands’ less than desirable qualities and how we love them anyway, the absolute and ongoing shock of the Trump presidency, and the cute guy that was on the flight. Sometimes we have martinis, other times Prosecco, but when in Mexico, we choose TEQUILA.
Our cultural exploration begins early the next morning in the historical city center. Traffic is terriblé so we nurse our café con leche in the back of the car as we navigate the streets of Mexico City. Much like Park city, we are in the high desert climate, but our proximity to the equator makes the temperature more pleasant. The city square is still decorated for Dia de los Muertos, but the crowds have mostly gone. There are skulls the size of small cars painted by local artists dotting the Avenue Reforma, the Mexican equivalent of the Champs Elysees, which are fun to browse while we sip our coffee and continue waking up during the ride. When we emerge in the Alameda Park, we join a free walking tour to get oriented. There are random folks on the tour with even more random questions so we stick it out for a while and then discreetly peel off to do our own thing. Our agenda is too big for our narrow window of time, so we have to sacrifice expanding our knowledge of Mexican History. (Ok, we are also slightly hungover, and our attention span is reduced to that of a five-year-old). But we do learn a thing or two about draining a lake to build a city that is home to 23 million people. In general, not a great model for sustainable architecture; there are definitely some Pisa Towers in the making. Perhaps one of the most stunning buildings on our tour is the post office. It is decorated with gleaming brass, black marble and onyx. Large mosaic pictures crafted from antique postage stamps are particularly alluring and there are cascading stairways where we envision an elegant bride descending. But there are no brides, and no people in this giant edifice, save for two lonely postal workers. We exchange critical glances wondering why this remarkable building is solely dedicated to a service that is known for taking weeks to deliver mail. Strange.
We eat lunch at a touristy spot on the square, walk through some preserved ruins, and ooh and ah at a few more significant architectural feats before heading back to Chapultepec Park. The thought of sitting in a car for another forty-five minutes to travel five miles is intolerable. Luckily my friend is well versed in the use of the Jump electric bikes (featured on your Uber app). This is definitely one of the highlights of our day. I LOVE experiencing a city by bicycle, it is one of my favorite things to do. We load our sweaters and purses into the convenient basket and we’re off – blazing down the streets in the bike lane, passing the restless drivers trapped in their autos. I feel slightly reckless at first because it’s Mexico, so helmets are not required, or even provided. I would advise my kids not to do this, and my kids would definitely advise me not to do it as well, but we are all adults here so away we go. The breeze blowing through my hair as I take in the sights and smells of the city while barely expending any physical effort gives my heart a thrill that outweighs my fear of smashing my noggin on the pavement. I feel indestructible as I literally throw caution to the wind, we both have silly huge grins on our faces as we outsmart the transportation system. I’m sure we are imbibing massive amounts of carbon dioxide, but at least we are moving, and the traffic is not.
We park the bikes and head into the Chapultepec park (basically Mexican Central Park) where mariachi bands are playing regional tunes beneath large marigolds crafted of papier-maché. Purple and orange lights add glitter to the lake in the center of the park. Vendors sell traditional Mexican baubles that look suspiciously like they are made in China. Street food looks enticing, but the aftermath of that whim, not so much. The park is home to a variety of museums and other tourist attractions including the anthropology museum which contains thousands of Mexican relics excavated from all over the country. It is an authentic structure that exploits the indoor/outdoor lifestyle to its maximum benefit. Seventy-five pesos (around $4 US) allows entry into most of the cultural options on display in the city, a far cry from the $25 demanded by the Met in NYC. The true gem of the park, in my opinion, is the Chapultepec Castle sitting high above the city. The views are stunning, the building is a study in European architecture, the furniture and grounds are stately and well preserved. My friend strikes a Madonna-like pose to mimic the statues for a funny Instagram moment. The whole time I feel a little guilty fawning over the opulence that the ruling class enjoyed, while the working class suffered. Some things don’t change. Our day in Mexico City concludes with Aperol spritzes at the hotel, followed by a five- course dinner at Pujol, rated one of the best restaurants in Mexico and it did not disappoint. One of my friends who is much more in the know than I am about these things made the arrangements, and it is a memorable meal of modern Mexican cuisine prepared in creative and unexpected ways.
We depart early Saturday morning in a Volkswagon driven by Oscar headed for San Miguel de Allende, a quaint artist colony located about three hours northwest of Mexico City. Getting back to the VW though, there are a suspiciously large number of them clogging the streets of Mexico which makes me wonder if the Germans dumped off the falsely energy efficient vehicles on the unassuming Mexicans. Hmmm. Anyway, we download a bunch of Ted Talks so we can discuss them during the drive. Once again, we explore relationships, solve more world problems, reminisce about college, and engage in a little more Trump bashing, because – the material is simply too entertaining and in abundant supply 24/7.
Finally, we begin our descent into San Miguel, which is surreal. One minute we are careening along a highway which looks like it could be in Arizona and the next we are barely able to get a small, environmentally unfriendly Jetta through the narrow cobble stone streets of this UNESCO village. We are thoroughly charmed already as we pass a local vaquero dressed in authentic Mexican clothing and sombrero next to his donkey looking at…… his cell phone. Wow. So much for being transported back to the 17th century. After a twisty ride through the edges of town, we arrive at our hotel, which is absolutely stunning and one of the nicest I have ever stayed in (also from a tip I received from aforementioned well-traveled friend). There is no check-in desk, we are greeted by a staff member who speaks perfect English and shows us around the property while we sip a wheatgrass iced tea. I could be completely content to never leave the grounds, roaming the manicured gardens filled with fluffy grasses that rise 12 feet into the air, every sort of palm tree, bubbling fountains, local statues, Dia de Los Muertos themed artwork, not to mention the cozy trappings of the tequila bar. One of the many great things about the girls’ trip, is the ability to indulge in a nicer hotel because you are splitting the room cost, whereas with your husband, it all comes out of the same budget (see honey? I’m always saving you money!!) But I am eager to explore the little village that I have heard so much about, so we unpack quickly and head out. The first thing we notice, even though we had been duly warned, are the cobble stone streets. These are not your run of the mill cobble stones, they are treacherous, and not for the weak of ankle. Properly clad in sports shoes, we venture up and down street after street like one of those dogs with the treat hidden in the maze of their toy. There are no windows to peak in, every residential or commercial space is guarded by a large stucco façade, when the door is open you might see a sunny courtyard store filled with local arts and crafts, or a restaurant peddling mezcal and tacos, or churros con chocolate. Starved after the long ride, we opt for a healthy lunch of shrimp salad with grapefruit and a couple of cervezas at Mamma Mia.
It is easy to get lost or forget which street you have already surveyed because they all look the same until you solve the mystery of what is behind the magical door. The architecture lends a feeling of constant surprises, which is attractive for the gatherer in me, but somewhat frustrating for the part of me that has no innate sense of direction. I walk down the same street 5 times before I realize I have been here already. Because the door is the proverbial window to the home, they are all uniquely adorned, a cultivated glimpse into the soul of its residents. I snap photos of dozens of them in the hopes of painting or drawing them later.
The town square revolves around the Parroquia, a 17th century cathedral, which is stunning in the day, but even more so when it is lit up at night, and in our case with a full moon. Orange trees line the garden square which is surrounded by shops, restaurants and local vendors. We happen upon a Quinceañera as we enter one of several churches in San Miguel and end up intermingling with the guests and the band. Later we find ourselves in the middle of a wedding celebration in full parade blocking one of the narrow streets. Everyone is singing and celebrating the happy couple; the group is led by two figures who are wearing large papier maché heads that resemble the bride and groom (I assume- we couldn’t actually view the newylweds through the crowd). We wind our way up to the Fabrica de Aurora, an old textile factory converted into thirty artist stalls. I could spend an entire afternoon here, but at this point we are a little overwhelmed by everything and are on the verge of exploding blisters on our feet, so we decide that a little pool time is in order. After a margarita, chips, guacamole, and an afternoon nap, we mosey up to the rooftop of our hotel, aptly named Luna, to experience the sunset. We choose some sort of blue vodka drink (I tend to get over-tequila’d by the 2nd or 3rd day in Mexico) complemented by a blood orange garnish and take way too many photos of the exquisite city below us with the late afternoon sun reflecting off of the ancient buildings -- our travel fantasies are completely fulfilled. The hotel provides us with cozy blankets to protect us from the evening chill as the sun plunges behind one of the thirteen churches in this small city. We shower, don an appropriately Mexican off the shoulder number and head to dinner at the rooftop restaurant, Quince, where we have an unencumbered view of the cathedral at night. We nibble on ceviche, sushi, edamame, and this time I have another vodka concoction, but this one is imbued with cardamom, one of my favorite spices. A live tight rope walker entertains the group as he hovers over the garden below. Mexican bars are more civilized than those in America, the bars themselves are gorgeous and adorned with colorful bottles as well as flowers and plants. No one stands around them and spills drinks on each other, guests are required to have a table or a seat. The crowd is comprised of an ideal blend of locals and tourists and the DJ plays music accordingly, mixing American and Mexican tunes seamlessly, a perfect ending to our day.
The next day is Sunday, and our hotel is known for its All You Can Eat Brunch. We prepare for the event by working out at the well-equipped gym on the second floor of the hotel first thing in the morning. This buffet is no Chuckorama, people, this is a full-on Mexican extravaganza of local specialties like homemade tortillas, bone broth soup, and spicy grilled vegetables and shaved pork, but there is also a full display of desserts, cheeses, fruits, salads, and our personal favorite, the crepe bar, which speaks the universal language of Nutella, complemented by bananas, caramel sauce and pecans. Heaven. Our bellies sufficiently stuffed, I head out on my own while my friend decides to relax by the pool. The sign of a good girls’ trip is being able to separate for a few hours and forge your own travel experience. I can’t ever call a city “mine” until I have roamed solo and gotten lost in the streets and that is exactly what I do. I gravitate toward the Benito Juarez Park behind the hotel and am excited to discover several local artists displaying their art on park benches and stone walls. There are watercolors and oils, dappled with acrylic and sculpture. Some depict touristy sites in town, while other artists feature portraits and still life. As I stroll beneath the green trees, my shoulders lower a few inches and my breaths are long and deep. Nothing speaks to my soul more than art in a park. I keep going and pass by an old school, a restaurant with a picturesque interior garden, lovers kissing on a park bench. The sound of church bells lures me further up the hill and I encounter an aged stone church. It does not seem as formal as most of the catholic churches I have seen in my travels, it has a casual small town feel about it. The locals greet each other and talk happily with their religious leader before they begin worship. I hike up as far as I can go and catch my breath as I take in the village below through the lens of the cross sitting atop the church.
As I head back down to the more populated town square, I am pushed to the side by a long line of Mexican vaqueros on horses, I briefly wonder if they need different horseshoes to navigate the cobble stones. While there are still quite a few tourists, the feeling in town is not as hurried as the day before as residents leisurely go about their Sunday rituals. I stumble on openings in the adobe walls where men are selling architectural remnants from old buildings, like the flea markets of Paris, which is completely enticing if I had a way to ship them home. There is everything from souvenir trinkets in the artisan markets ranging up to high-end design items for the home, and of course hand-crafted treasures from local artists like cowboy boots, hats, silver and gold jewelry, encaustic art, and ceramics. I can shop til you drop with the best of them, but for me the gift is the trip itself. Placing myself in an unfamiliar place and opening up every one of my senses to the world around me refreshes my spirit. My college Spanish begins to re-engage and I feel like I’m back in Sevilla on a term abroad. Our last evening ends with another rooftop dinner featuring a fine bowl of paella and a local mariachi band playing in the main square. Families are dancing together, their smiling faces illuminated by the moon as it lingers over the cathedral spire, inviting our gaze up to the sky and expressing gratitude for our time together in this village, whose heart beats with an artistic soul.
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