Every time I stop in Mexico City for a week on my way somewhere else, I’m reminded I should stay longer. The food’s incredible, the city’s endlessly walkable, and I get to use my Spanish. I think I’ve reached the point where there are simply too many places I’m happy to be, and that makes choosing where to stay harder than ever. Maybe that’s the quiet success of all this movement: I’ve already found what I was looking for. So why keep traveling if everywhere I return to already feels like a home? It’s possible that I am actively avoiding feeling at home.
As usual, Montezuma found me in Mexico City. I didn’t touch street food this time, so I’m blaming the store-bought lettuce from the homemade salads I’d become obsessed with (see here). At this point, it feels inevitable. Montezuma always knows when I’ve crossed the border. There’s no hiding, not even in my own apartment. Let’s just say I haven’t made a salad at home since. And that’s all I’ll say about that. Thank you, Marce, for saving my life.
The rest of my time in Mexico City was great. I also solved a medical mystery that started in Santiago, Chile, when a routine blood test suggested I had subclinical hypothyroidism. After follow-up tests, the likely culprit turned out to be… my daily kale salads (see explanation). So yes, like a Scooby-Doo reveal, the masked villain was kale all along: responsible for both the thyroid scare and Montezuma’s revenge.
