Mexico City or bust...

A poncho and sombrero is not a good look for me.

Everyone's been asking how I chose Mexico City for my President's Weekend mini-vacation.  To be honest, it was random.  I was trying to think of places that would feel foreign and exotic, were less than a 5-hour plane ride from NYC and had a really good dollar exchange rate.  Et voilá - Mexico City!  And given our unusually brutal winter, it didn't hurt that our trip would coincide with the beginning of Mexico's summer season.

From people's surprised reactions, you'd think I'd planned a trip to Columbia to tour the cocaine fields.  I'm not denying that certain precautions would need to be taken (I'd have to leave my diamond-studded clutch at home) but Mexico City is a major metropolitan area.  Could it be much worse than the sketchiest parts of the South Bronx or Harlem?  Besides, I've been to Manila, Rio and São Paolo.  I know sketch when I see it.

To take full advantage of my three-day weekend, I took Friday off from work as a travel day.  Trish booked us some cheap early morning flights (somehow we managed to talk our friend, Chris Grimm, into driving us to Newark at 5:30 in the morning) and we reserved a hotel near the historic central district (Hotel Emporio Reforma).

Taking heed of online warnings, we also decided to book a private driver for the airport transfers to and from our hotel.  Why take the chance of spoiling a perfectly good vacation with an unscheduled kidnapping, right?

The arrivals gate in Mexico City was chaos.  Just loads of people waving and screaming in Spanish and holding up name signs.  Thankfully, we found our driver right away.  After a polite handshake and perfunctory “hola,” he literally grabbed our luggage from out of our hands and sprinted into the crowded terminal.  Dear God, were our skeptic friends right?  Would we be stranded with no clothes and no cash, forced into the underground sex trade by a wealthy drug lord, arrested and thrown into a jungle prison and our sad situation re-enacted by C-list actors on an episode of Locked Up Abroad: Stupid Tourist Edition?  Or was I perhaps over-reacting? 

As it turned out, our driver was just a brisk walker.  Trish and I awkwardly raced after him but managed to slow him down long enough to stop at a 7-11 to buy some water and make change for tips.

Traveler’s note:  If you visit Mexico City, have plenty of change in your pockets because the service workers here are like your bratty nieces and nephews, always looking for a handout whether they deserve it or not.  Except here, instead of moping and slinking away when you refuse, they kidnap and hold you for ransom.

We eventually got to the van, which was parked at a nearby hotel seemingly miles away from the terminal.  Too tired and sweaty to complain, we jumped in and soon found ourselves weaving in and out of the crazy Mexico City traffic.

At first glance, the palm trees, slightly run-down buildings and all the brown faces reminded me of a slightly dilapidated Miami circa 1980.  Then we hit a slightly more ghetto area and I was reminded of Mexico City’s third world status.  Thankfully, our hotel was located in an upscale neighborhood on a major thoroughfare.

After checking in and unpacking, we headed to the lobby to grab a map.  Refreshed by our new surroundings, we decided not to relax, but instead head straight out to explore the city.

As hardcore New Yorkers, Trish and I decided to hoof it to the historic central square, the Zócalo, about a 20 minute walk from our hotel.  The government happened to be holding a military exhibition and recruiting event so the usual empty square was filled with tanks, trucks and armed militia.  Not exactly the most soothing sight for a first time visitor. 

Not wanting to risk recruitment, we high-tailed it across the street and ducked into the beautiful Metropolitan Cathedral to soak in the Holy Spirit and grab a couple of rosaries as gifts for the 'rents.  

Fancy, huh?  We couldn't get any closer to the altar because the church had been rented out for a wedding that evening.

Mesmerized by the glitz, Trish and I rested our tired tootsies in front of one of the many dazzling shrines located throughout the cathedral.  I haven't seen this much bling since The Jersey Shore went off the air. 

 

One of the fancy carved doors to the cathedral.

Trish strikes a pose in front of the Palacio Nacional, just across the square from the cathedral.

Emboldened by the disappointing lack of grit and crime, on our walk back to the hotel from the Zócalo Trish and I decided to venture off the main boulevard and explore some of the busier side streets.  Heck, it's a Friday night and we're brown, so we blended in quite easily with the partying masses. 

Our first off-the-beaten-path find was Casa Churra.  We stepped right up to the take-out window where lovely Maria (names have been changed to protect the innocent) served us up chocolate and dulce de leche churros.  The restaurant had a full dining room as well, but we had already gorged on tortillas at Vips, a popular Mexican food chain akin to our Denny's.

Trish makes an oh-no-you-don't face in front of Casa Churra's menu board when she sees me eying her churros.

With the completion of churro-palooza, Trish and I rolled down the street and stumbled wide-eyed into a magical land of bread and pastry otherwise known as Pastelería Ideal.  Talk about your carbo loading. 

 

Still brushing the churro crumbs off my distended belly, I grabbed a tray and some metal tongues and started piling on the empty calories.  Ideal works like the Asian bakeries in NYC's Chinatown.  You grab what you want and then take everything up to the counter where they wrap up your goodies and charge you per item.  Of course, nothing was labeled so we sort of randomly chose any item slathered in butter, cream or sugar.

With our 10 pounds of baked goods snuggly wrapped up, we headed toward the direction of our hotel.  Mexico City is laid out like the West Village, no real grid system.  So it was a bit tricky finding our way back.  Along the way we passed through Chinatown (cute, but super small) as well as some seedier side streets where spits of unidentifiable meat were roasting, just waiting to be carved up and fed to the hungry masses.  In my head I could hear the ominous opening strains of Sweeney Todd.  No mystery meat tacos for me this trip, thank you very much. 

Exhausted, we hit the sack early so we'd be rested up for our first full day in Mexico City.