undone.

It’s been awhile since I last posted…
I finished my novel though. That’s a solid excuse.

Today was our last morning in Ciudad de México. My husband and I paused packing to eat breakfast and talk. A recap of sorts on our experiences here in Mexico City. A verbal accounting of the good, the bad, the messy. We experienced it all, but no pick pockets nor crime of any sort. For that I am immensely grateful. Yet, we didn’t plan for crime, nor to avoid it. We managed our vacation like we manage our life: cautiously allowing it all to evolve and unravel, when necessary, then we stitch it up into something better and unexpected. The transformation never disappoints! 

Yesterday was our 27^th wedding anniversary and our last full day in the city. We woke with the promise of a new day and the perspectives of people who had inhabited our Condesa neighborhood for days and were feeling optimistic about our urban adventures. We made plans. Like every day they were loosely bundled together with hope and loose expectations based on our original itinerary that we’d carefully crafted with assistance from internet travelers and Claude, my AI boyfriend who offered the final polishing and an occasional surprise suggestion. Our plans began their plummet with our chosen brunch option being a little too busy (it was May 1, Labor Day). We pivoted smoothly, as we are well practiced in this art, and carried on with another option that found us walking beneath the shady foliage. Commenting on how lucky we were for the destination change as now we had a novel path to discover and enjoy.

Fast forward to a hot and sweaty “DiDi” ride (Mexican uber) and then a somewhat unnerving Cablebús jaunt up a mountain. OK it wasn’t actually a mountain, but we were significantly elevated as were my heart and breathing rates. I was scared! Abnormally so, but I persevered. I was committed to the experience, and a little mind over matter for the descent and some strangers in our car curbed my squeals and panting. I’m glad to have done it, but also glad that the universe ran interference on our earlier plans for a hot air balloon ride. The cablebús was 7 pesos… hot air balloon = thousands. I’m thankful for the save.

The day’s decline continued with my husband taking the lead on subway planning. He’d found his confidence as the days progressed and I trusted him implicitly. I usually do, but I also tend to covertly double check his choices. It’s how we’ve operated for 27 years. We were headed on a shopping trip for him. A busy mercado where he’d seen an England football top. We got on the busy train. Then he suggested we get off at the next station. We were going the wrong direction. I trusted and followed. I couldn’t read the map from where I was standing, nor had I paid a lot of attention to the details. Again, trusting his plan. Then three stations later, he realized that we were actually heading back to our neighborhood, not downtown. He accepted defeat. I cancelled our lunch reservations. We trudged back to the apartment. We regrouped. He went to buy me the worst protein bar of my life (my energy had crashed) and I took a shower, to rinse of the grubby day. 

We pivoted, planned better directions and headed back to the mercado. We booked at a fabulous restaurant we’d not planned to attend and it ended up being my best meal of our week. Balcón de Zocalo was everything we needed it to be for our quiet anniversary early dinner. More of a happy hour timed meal, but the restaurant was packed. Lots of people watching. A sixth-floor view of the cathedral. Attentive and formal hosts. And the food. WOW! We didn’t find an England top for him. Although we tried. Cheap prices = cheaply manufactured. He opted out. But we had a fabulous afternoon full of surprises, support and love. We grabbed a gelato on our walk from the Metro. Twas bliss.

On that final night, I stumbled onto this short group of words:

“No one really talks about how travel is really unhinged.

You overspend, but ignore it.

You are living out of a bag.

You are running off espresso, pastries, gelato and cheese.

You are completely exhausted, but average 20k steps per day.

By Day Four you have no concept of time.

And somehow, it’s the most yourself you have felt all year.”

This is why I travel. This is why I celebrate my unbecoming every single time amidst the messy, unfamiliarity of it all. Then I cherish the new me that is strung back together by the end of the trip. The real me dissolves a bit in the mundane real world of a workweek and juggling bills and responsibility. The travel me is the real me. I love how I come back to me…. Finding myself lively and fierce, confident and open minded, aggressively optimistic and cognizant of colors, flavors and textures. External annoyances fade and my peace takes the lead, even amongst the noise and turmoil of a city. It’s always there, my peace, but it gets stifled and trampled on, dusty and broken. Travel revives it all like resuscitation for my soul.

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page”
St. Augustine