This week we traded our sleepy little lakeside life for Mexico’s largest city. Mexico City.
It is huge and bustling and impressive.
We stayed at Hotel Principal in the historic center and spent several days doing our best to absorb a city that feels impossible to fully absorb.
I would put parts of it up against great European cities for architecture, museums, history, and sheer grandeur.
We packed in a lot.
We rode the city’s public transportation gondola and looked out over endless neighborhoods stretching in every direction.
We visited the National Museum of Anthropology and got a crash course in the collision and blending of Spanish and pre-Hispanic indigenous cultures.
From our hotel we could walk to Templo Mayor—the excavated remains of the main temple of the Mexica people in their capital city of Tenochtitlan, which eventually became modern Mexico City.
One afternoon our tour group hired a flat-bottom boat in Xochimilco (so-chee-MILK-oh) and floated through the canals while other boats drifted alongside selling food, souvenirs, and live music.
It felt festive and chaotic and completely delightful.
We also visited Chapultepec Castle—the only actual castle in North America—inside a massive city park that is apparently three times the size of Central Park in New York.
There is no shortage of things to see here.
Years ago I thought it would be exciting to live in a big city. I’ve always enjoyed visiting places like New York, Seattle, London, Frankfurt, and Barcelona.
Cities feel alive. They make you feel plugged into something larger than yourself. For a while. But a few days into this amazing, crowded, traffic-heavy place… I started missing home. Which surprised me.
Back in Ajijic, we live close to the lake and mountains. We hear birds and cicadas. We see dogs wandering around, horses walking down the street, and neighbors sitting outside talking. We feel safe walking at night. The air feels fresh. Life feels closer to nature.
Mexico City is beautiful in its own way. But it is also sensory overload. The traffic is completely insane. Even pedestrian streets can feel overwhelming. There are people everywhere. Noise everywhere. Movement everywhere.
I found myself realizing something unexpected: I no longer want to live in the middle of all the action.I just want to visit.
On our final evening in CDMX (Ciudad de México), Judi and I wandered through Chinatown and eventually ended up in Alameda Central, the city’s oldest public park.
Thousands upon thousands of people.
Families strolling.
Street performers.
Food vendors.
Music.
Lights.
Energy.
It honestly felt like Disneyland at peak season. And somehow… Instead of feeling energized, I felt grateful. Grateful that we had a quiet place to return to.
Sunday morning we boarded an eight-hour bus back to our little pueblo. Soon after arriving home, rain moved in. Thunder rolled across the lake. Judi picked a couple of small, bright yellow papayas from the yard. The windows were open. The ceiling fans were spinning.
And suddenly I realized: we weren’t coming home from vacation. We were coming home.
Now if you’ll excuse me— we need a little rest after vacationing so hard.
— Kent
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