I went to Mexico City. I did not see the Zocalo. Or that fancy library. Or stay in Condesa.
I sat on my friend’s L-shaped couch and watched a Netflix movie we certainly won’t remember the name of in a few years and mostly found ourselves ridiculing it. Snapped mirror selfies in the elevator, done up on a Friday night. Laughed so hard my ribs were the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a melted pile of joy. Spent a long, lazy Sunday afternoon writing and reading with kettles of tea by our side at her favorite cafe.
Sometimes, the opportunity for travel is so rare or so costly, that a strict itinerary must be planned and maintained. But other times, it’s not the sights but the someone that’s worth the price of the airfare.
I was fortunate to make friends with Ivana during my last — and first — visit to Mexico City. She’d read my book, saw I was in her city, and DM’d me to hang. She offered to take me on a taco tour of the city — Taco Trot 2023!! (My name, not hers lol.)
Ivana was just one of three Black women I met within days of landing in the city. She’s been making a life there for years. Fluent in the language, eschewing the trendier neighborhoods and the kinds of Americans who’ve flocked down there to recreate Brooklyn south of the border. She invited me for a visit because her roommate is in Italy for the month. So with a place to stay covered and Ivana mostly taking me to local spots, my time here has been fairly inexpensive, as far as international travel goes.
But it’s also been priceless. Having moved to Philly this past year, I’ve been meeting lots of new people. Some have not been the right fit. Or were giving bizarro frenemy vibes — please we are not in middle school anymore. Some are great casual acquaintances and some might move into the best friend tier with time. But I’ve yet to lock-in with anyone in the city, the way I have with certain friends in other parts of the nation — or the world.
And sometimes, you just need to be seen. You need to be at ease. You need someone who gets your humor. I’d already been on the road for two weeks of literary events by the time I arrived on Ivana’s doorstep with springtime sniffles (why don’t we have cutesy names for allergies?).
I love my life as writer. I love sharing my work, I love being among other writers, I love the places writing has taken me. But those moments also require a lot of being ON (and I still opted out of much of it — no one was able to get me to abandon my 10:30P bedtime!!) and a lot of wondering if people like you and worrying about saying the wrong thing.
But in Ivana’s abode, my months of insomnia lifted and I woke one morning amazed it was 10:30A. I padded out to the living room in my bare feet. Ivana was curled up on the couch in a handmade pajama set, with a mug of tea and her Kindle. She’d let me sleep in.
She fumbled through a visit to the pharmacy with me where neither of us knew the right word for “cough drop” in Spanish and the pharmacist was no miming expert. Pointed out drops and jagged spots in the sidewalk and tried to temper her unusually swift walking pace knowing I was congested and my lungs were battling the city’s high altitude and I possess genetically terrible ankles.
When she saw me trying to get a sticky flag to stick to a page of a book I was marking up, she called me on it. “Didn’t you say you bought a 1,000 pack? Why are we hoarding?!” I fumbled through an explanation of losing a flag throwing my color rotation quantities off… but yeah I hear it… she was right! I needed to replace the sticky and move on with my life — not an easy task for someone who made sure there was an even amount of cereal on each spoonful as a child. But I did it!
Others frequently describe me as “bubbly,” but I often describe myself as “particular.” I typically get along best for stretches of time with people who are particular in the same way or who are chill enough to allow me my particularities with little notice. And as I’ve grown older, I’ve also become better at muffling the part of brain that blares when a space or a situation isn’t exactly to my liking, but that act requires vast amounts of energy and necessitates lots of solo time recharging in my own space perfectly attuned to my likes, my own peace and quiet. Even when the muffling is worth it for community and time spent in the presence of those I care about, it doesn’t cancel out the energetic cost.
That’s why time spent with friends like Ivana are more important to me than any sight worth seeing. For a magical space in time, to feel normal. To feel fine. To feel that blaring part of my brain curl up like a kitten and doze off. To achieve the kind of quiet and clarity in the company of another that usually necessitates solitude. I was granted the gift of returning to my day-to-day life fortified by care.
Anyways, if you find yourself in Ciudad de Mexico, I recommend Ivana’s couch — if you can even get a reservation. It’s better than all the sights.
(But, yes, absolutely, I will see the zocalo on my next visit! I promise.)