Does the word “predictable” even exist here?

Mexico City has infinite personalities and I’m basically in love with each of them. There are things I struggle with, of course, though the list is short. I struggle being away from water. I’ve never been this far from the ocean for this long. With nearly 6,000 miles of coastline, one would think the beach would be an easy weekend getaway. Oddly, it’s not. There just aren’t that many options aside from seaside towns overrun by tourists and expats who have all but sucked it dry of its Mexicanness.

I struggle with the air quality. It’s dry and polluted. So much so that I can see the lines deepening in my face, my once-hydrated arms and legs scaling, my nostrils forever caked with dried blood.

I struggle with my style here, feeling unsure of how to dress on any given day aside from my standard flowy-black-pants-white-crop that likens me to a grade school choir member.

But to be honest, that’s about it. Which, to my mind, ain’t that bad.

There’s a cafe I visit often to write. I like it because it’s an open space with open windows from which you can feel the cool breeze that wafts right in before a good rain. I like it because it’s light — white walls, natural wood, bright green plants. It’s perched at the crux of “rich” Mexico City (in this case, upper middle class or those who are willing to spend the money to be around them) and “poor” Mexico City, a class which (according to the Mexican government’s website) comprised 57.4% of the capital’s population in 2020. 

If you walk to the south end of the street, the ambience is leafy, romantic, floral, clean. It’s lined with modern apartment buildings highlighted by floor-to-ceiling windows and iron-wrought balconies. In between are colonial villas with ornate Spanish facades. On the “poor” end are loncherías (cheap cafeterias), panaderías (bakeries), metal carts stocked with plastic cups that overflow with chopped mangos or chunks of fresh watermelon. There are sidewalk newsstands selling everything from gossip rags to porn, and a severely underweight old man who sets up his shoe shine stand by the gas station. Of course, there’s also your occasional junkie passed out against a wall, drooling an undetectable white substance onto the sidewalk. 

The barrage of sound is constant — bells, whistles, sales pitches, and horns. Garbage trucks barrel over potholes, just skimming the side of a local bus as the driver, screaming obscenities out the window, brings the crumbling vehicle to a screeching halt.

People are everywhere — moped drivers darting in and out of traffic, workers lining up half a block for a breakfast of cafe de olla (coffee with sugar & cinnamon) and a tamal, moms tugging at the tiny wrists of their uniform-clad children who are clearly already late for school. This is my favorite – the boys with hair gelled perfectly to one side with one stubborn tuft sticking straight up at the part, the girls don pigtails and an oversized princess backpack with glitter.

There is never a time of day where this section isn’t in complete chaos, an eye-opening contrast to the laid-back life that awaits the more financially fortunate classes a mere block away. 

I was in the cafe today. The experience is standard, most of the time. The waiters know what I’m going to ask for — an espresso, a fresh jugo de naranja (sometimes two), and eventually a tea. I write until 1 or 2 pm at which point I’m starving. I rush home for my first meal of the day, lately a big bowl of 3 different types of mango.

Today, however, wasn’t standard. To my delight, a bit of drama unfolded. One couple tried to walk out without paying the bill. The manager ran after them and returned shortly with the wife sheepishly by his side, wallet out.

About 20 minutes later, a homeless man stormed in and berated an innocent 30-something male patron, yelling something about his “f-ing mother”, to which the patron didn’t even look up from his phone. The manager, ever on his toes, jumped forward and kicked the man — I mean LITERALLY kicked him — out of the establishment. A minute later the patron’s girlfriend returned from the bathroom, having missed the entire incident. THE BOYFRIEND DIDN’T EVEN TELL HER WHAT TRANSPIRED. 

As I pondered THAT for 20 minutes, a fabulous Mexican woman in her 40s entered in a trench coat (I love a good trench coat) and sat at the table across from me. Without removing her oversized black sunglasses (which seemed rather pointless on this cloudy day) she proceeded to take what seemed like 37 selfies.

Even with 11 years of Miami under my belt, I’d be hard pressed to find a city more capricious than this. Does the word “predictable” even exist here? I mean yes, the word itself has a translation. As a concept, it has absolutely no place in Mexican society.

Anyway, when the clock ticked closer to my very late breakfast hour, I gathered my things and stuffed it all into my backpack which makes me feel like A TOTAL NERD but I have to wear it, for my neck, which I informed you about in my previous love letter. I made sure my phone was easily accessible for the 24-minute walk home just in case I had to check it 483 times.

Which is basically what I did.

Amid all that life and vibrance and color, I strolled down the “poor” side of the street, a street that I love for its sheer insanity, scrolling Instagram and texting with friends.

Unacceptable. 

Recently I listened to a podcast for authors. The host gave a handful of suggestions on tricks to spend less time on your phone and more time writing. He said the hack that worked best for him was to put his phone on ‘grayscale’. (i.e. removing all colors from your phone so that every damn thing is in black and white and you're less tempted to lose valuable time scrolling and more tempted to find color outside in actual nature). I’ve decided to give it a try. 

For one week, I will keep my phone on grayscale. Next week, I’ll report back with what I hope to be profound findings.

If you’ve done it, tell me about it. If you want to do it, take the plunge with me. If you find yourself with a lot of free time (and hopefully you do) here are links to my two books.

My sexy, sassy memoir Wander Lust
Make your life easier with my 80 Simple yet Powerful Lessons 

With love,

Bethany