After exploring Guanajuato, we headed south to Mexico City for six days. I converted Jorge to the glory of apartment rentals and we stayed in some sweet digs a few blocks away from the Zocalo. (Side note: AirBnB forever! The Mexico City listings are insane.) The first thing that strikes you about Mexico City is it’s sheer size. 15 million people call it home and sometimes it feels like every single one of them is in your subway car with you. It’s big and dirty and loud and lively and full of art with amazing people watching.
During the day we would walk around, checking out museums and admiring all the Riveria murals inside government buildings. Summer is the rainy season so at some point in the afternoon or evening a torrential downpour would unleash and suddenly you’re trying to get home as quickly as possible under your collapsible umbrella (RIP Kat’s purple umbrella. I’m sorry I left you in a cab). The days revolved around eating as they always do on vacation but Mexico City, and Mexico in general, is a special kind of foodie heaven. Everything is delicious. The bad restaurants are merely good. So each night was a tightrope walk of eating as much as possible without feeling uncomfortably full. We both failed a few times. One of the highlights was the lucha match we attended. The entire stadium was packed. Young, old, men, women. Everyone was cheering for bigger than life personalities swaddled in colorful spandex. The little boy, approximately age eight, that sat in front of us responded to the match as if the fate of the world rested on the result. He worshiped his heroes, despised his enemies. That kind of loyalty is admirable.