No Apartment, No Shuttle, No Horse-Riding Trip, but a Lot of Tacos

Mexico City was sunny in the way that warms your skin, and bright with all the colors the city celebrates, and loud with no street ever empty. Spending most of our time observing Tlatelolco felt like being in a small city of its own, where the same faces returned each morning and each night. Each week, we saw the city through someone else’s eyes: an architect, a student, a farmer and each time it became a different place.

We ate too many tacos. Not in one sitting, but over days, without counting, until we realized we had overdone it. Every day at six, the rain came, sometimes softly, sometimes with all its weight, making the streets shine and slowing its people. We fell in love with salsa dancing. Moss and Karolina taught us, and we danced on Thursdays, even those who said they couldn’t.

One weekend we all went to the beach, only to discover we had been scammed: no apartment, no shuttle, no horse-riding trip. We were all laughing a few hours later. There were mornings when the light fell just right, and afternoons were heavy with the smell of fried tortillas. If you asked any of us, even now, we would go back. We might eat one less taco, though probably not.