The Magic of a Sunday in Mexico City

Mexico City is a place I long for when I’m not there.

There are specific things I dream about, like peanut halves floating in a thick salsa macha, an endless bounty of freshly squeezed juice, and little stacks of flour tortillas wrapped in cloth napkins. Oh wait, that’s all food.

Mexico City, also known as CDMX for Cuidad de Mexico, is much more than delicious food. With every visit, I explore new neighborhoods, meet new people, and watch as the city further evolves in front of my eyes. Each visit brings new knowledge that deepens my understanding of it. CDMX isn’t like other cities, and that’s what I like about it. It’s a big city, one of the biggest in the world, but as often as it feels hulking and intense, it also feels quaint and charming. Being here inspires me to question what’s working well here, and consider how these values shape the quality of life here.

Currently, CDMX is the second biggest city in the world, behind São Paulo. Giant, sprawling capital cities are often dirty, noisy, and overwhelming and CDMX certainly excels in all these categories. But given how dirty and polluted it can be, it’s surprising to see how it radiates beauty nearly everywhere you look. CDMX is a city of dichotomies. It’s noisy yet tranquil. It’s overwhelming yet accessible. Even though all the big city problems are here, they aren’t part of the lasting impression the city makes on you.

Spending a Saturday and Sunday here is a good way to experience this paradox. The two days couldn’t feel more different. We arrived this past Saturday night and were ushered right into its buzzy, swirling energy. After snaking through traffic at high speeds, an apartment tour, and putting our bags down, we headed straight out, into the night. At 11 pm it feels like the grills are finally getting hot and the onions are fully charred. After eight months away, we couldn’t wait for another minute for tacos and cheladas (beer in a cold mug with fresh lime juice and a salted rim).

We followed our noses to a handful of taquerias, waiting for just the right spot to present itself. We settled on El Kalimán with its glowing orange chairs, yellow tables, and pink walls. The servers took the color story one step further with their starched white Oxford shirts cleanly tucked in behind ketchup-red ties and aprons. It felt subdued when we first sat down, but ten minutes later two big parties came in and took over the bulk of the nearby tables. As the clock approached midnight, every age appeared, from sleepy niños to lovely abuelas. Soon all our tables grew full of sizzling meats, tortillas, queso fundido, horchata, cervezas, coffee mugs filled with salsas, and mountains of lime wedges.

Aided by our full bellies and the gift of an extra hour we got coming from Florida, we slept in late. We took our coffee in bed with the NYTs to prolong the morning until noon. On Sundays here, the music fades and the traffic dissipates from the streets. The city, which was humming with activity mere hours ago, is dormant. A long stroll is in order, because it’s as if you’ve landed in a different city entirely, and this alter-ego version of CMDX is worth knowing. The way this culture treats Sundays is a big part of its character. Collectively the city exercises, eats, and naps, getting ready for another Monday. This balances out the regular chaos of the other six days. In New York, you recharge alone in your apartment or jog in the park, but in CDMX it’s all done communally on Sunday. And on this particular Sunday, the singular item on our agenda was my favorite thing: desayuno.

I strategically chose our apartment’s location to be within walking distance of two of my favorite breakfast pastimes here, a strawberry empanada from Saint and the weekend breakfast at El Cardinal. First, we set off for Saint which, since last February, has turned into a mob scene on Sunday mornings. The glass case was bursting with pastries and the swirl of bees that always accompany them. We safely secured my strawberry empanada, stopped for a moment to witness the fashion and spectacle of hipsters, and continued with our walk.

We arrived at El Cardenal and put our names in for a table. The restaurant was founded in 1969 and focuses on traditional preparation and artisanal techniques. Their breakfast service is elaborate and festive, as every table in the joint is full, many for big family celebrations. It begins with coffee or hot chocolate, followed by a waiter who comes over with an enormous platter of fresh, hot pastries. I don’t know how it’s possible, but they’re always hot, out of the oven. Another waiter will offer you nata, essentially a version of clotted cream. The nata + croissant or concha + coffee is my trio of choice.

Next, a basket of freshly baked rolls is dropped off, which also begs to be topped with nata rather than butter. They’ll tell you about the fresh juices of the day, like guava or mandarin. And then comes the main course. Michiel got a trio of chicken empanadas smothered in a bright orangey-red sauce. I got something new, an omelet with huauzontle and queso. Huauzontle is a leaf that tastes like broccoli. We each got a stack of tortillas, corn for Michiel, and flour for me. Then we began the process of constructing our perfect bites, a little egg and some beans, into a tortilla, topped with salsa.

The only thing to do after a breakfast like this is to walk some more. My barber here has an apartment we might rent out for a future visit. It’s in a neighborhood we’ve never been in, so we wanted to scope it out. We passed a group of tween girls, in uniforms and heavy makeup, and given their big smiles, I suspect they had won whatever dance competition they just competed in. The next few blocks brought some gorgeous architecture which I stopped to photograph. A few more revealed a market we decided to stumble into. The frenetic energy of the markets is where the activity surfaces on Sundays. It punctuates the hushed mood the remainder of the city is resting in.

While the fruit and vegetable markets tend to happen on weekdays in individual neighborhoods, on Sundays the bigger markets unfold. There are some for fine art, crafts, antiques, clothing, household goods, and even heavy metal (records and clothes), and beauty (haircuts, eyebrows, and nails). They are always super crowded, with passageways so narrow that it feels like you are climbing through people. Many swell large enough that you’ll get lost in them. There are balloons, dancing, and push carts selling everything from snowcones to micheladas— little something for everyone.

Quite far from home, we decided it was time to head back to pick up groceries and supplies for the week. Around sunset we got home and unpacked, getting the apartment configured for our month stay. After the sun went down we wandered back out into the dark to find a cocktail and dinner. The streets were dim, lit by families watching TV in their apartments. A couple biked past us, talking and laughing, headed deeper into the silent, empty streets.

With most businesses closed, everything was especially dark and deserted. While it’s the people and energy that have always drawn me in, there’s something powerful about seeing this place stripped of those things. It’s like you’re watching the city relax into a recliner and start to doze off. Even when it’s devoid of people, this city still has a vibrancy. With the chaos muffled, new details begin to emerge. The parks begin to look like forests. The green of their trees becomes more prominent. The shadows on the doors’ ironwork sharpen their lines. The saturated colors, still potent, soften in the black. Beauty is present, here in the dark, and it feels like this crazy city is yours to explore alone.

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Today is: 70 and sunny in CDMX and the holiday transition is in full force

I rejoined my gym, and this week everyone working switched to coordinating Christmas sweaters as their uniforms. Yesterday, garlands suddenly appeared around the edge of the diving platform. In Parque Mexico, two enormous bears were dropped in front of the fountain and painters were putting the finishing touches on what looks to be a festive photo op. Christmas music was playing at the Sumesa as I picked up groceries for dinner.

Here, Christmas is serious business.