
Coyoacan Market
Travel. I’m walking along a thin metal fence made from flimsy metal you’d contain a small pet, a chicken perhaps. I walk until I find a hole in the barrier. My senses are telling me to go. I put one foot in the new territory. Then I duck and put my head through and finally, my other foot. Heads up. Something beautiful whooshes over me. My eyes move behind me, over the hindrance. I smile and move on.
Day five. We head out and take an Uber to the Coyoacán Market, a very large market with very talented artists. The plan was to include the Frida House, but it was sold out. You need to purchase tickets beforehand (see link above). We buy some some Mexican silver for dirt cheap. Mucho market personas. It is the weekend, but totally safe and the people are so, friendly, helpful and very patient.
We go for lunch at La Casa de Los Taco. Google buddy said it was the best taco ever. Well, I wouldn’t go that far. They were good – chicken, steak and pork with pineapple (the best of the lot), guacamole and chips to start. Another beer – safer than the water (I am so going with that). Tacos everyday, please.
The next day, we leave the condo, just after 11 ( another brutal altitude run – maybe it’s the taco fuel – but they close on Sundays for runners, walkers and cyclists). The plan was to visit The Museo de Arte Moderno, a museum with Fredia works, but cerrado due to a lack of security personnel. We walk over to the National Museum of History – free because we are over sixty. We only last an hour and move on – too many people and very hot outside. I shoulda worn shorts, but I didn’t want to look like a tourist.
From the museum, we move on to the Cityzen rooftop bar. 38 floors up with a panoramic city view (holy cow Mexico City is spread out). We ordered a paloma, mezcal cocktail, some water and a beer (95 bucks – si Gringo – not cheap, but I can see for miles and miles …). We find a taco place on the way home – chicken and rib eye tacos for me, a burrito for my travel mate and two beers. 40 bucks – not too bad.
The following day, we leave the condo around 10 and walk over to La Cuidadela Market, but of course I get lost and what should’ve been a 25-minute walk turned into an hour plus (I can’t get my travel bearings here – is it an age thing?). We finally get to the market. Many artisan shops, but souvenirs tambien and a ten peso bathroom.
We take an Uber back to our Mexico City Condo. No way I was going to risk getting lost again. We went for lunch at Fonda del Recuerdo on Calle Lerma (quite the street for food). I started with a gordita stuffed with black beans and then had arrachea again (marinated flank steak – so, so good) with a cheese stuffed poblano pepper. The food here is sooo good.
Tomorrow we travel to Playa del Carmen for a needed rest. Mexico City is amazing, but mucho walking. Fine by me. It’ll be sad to leave. I have nothing but the best memories. I’m already planning our travel itinerary for next year.

I’m getting on an airplane. As I get to the airport, my mind starts to sizzle like extra fatty bacon in a scorching cast iron pan. I wonder if anyone can see the smoke spewing from my ears. Did I forget anything? Do I have my passport? What is the exchange rate? Money at the airport or wait until I land? Where are my noise-cancelling pods? Is my bag too big? What are the legal dimensions? Too much information. Chill, bro. I sit down, one, two, three, three, two, one. Why is everyone looking at me?
I’m on a battlefield. Bombs are going off. I’m in a trench filled with mud and stink. My socks are wet. Another bomb explodes overhead. I duck and cover my head. I’m sweating like a red lentil in boiling water. Then out of nowhere – I need to poop, but not in this intestinal muck. The battle is over. I have scars. A new day.
I had a dream we were sipping whisky neat. I threw the glass in the campfire. Darkness surrounded me. I heard a noise in the bush. Out came a giant Scottish dude named Balvenie. He shouted in an accent I couldn’t decipher. I got up and ran, fear over my shoulder. I woke up in the middle of the night sweating. Panting. The next morning, I looked at my watch. Dr. Garmin yelled at me with a 34-sleep score. Holy shit. Not good. I need to get better.
I’m laying in a flower infested summer field, eyes toward a beautiful blue sky. Warm sunbeams fill my soul. Tranquility I haven’t felt in years. My phone bleeps. I try to ignore it, but it won’t go away. I answer. Hello, this is the wine industry calling. We haven’t seen you in months. Are you ok? Don’t abandon us. We were good to you once. Remember the fun? Ok the mornings sucked, but still. We need you. I apologized, hung up and went back to the warm sunshine. Giving up alcohol is the greatest gift I ever gave myself.
I just turned 65. I am now officially a senior citizen – bring on the discounts, extended health care benefits (in my Province) and my Old Age Security cheque (coming in the new year). I’ve taken pretty good care of myself over the past few decades (I want to enjoy my retirement). I am physically fit (or so my watch tells me), I have a plan – first exercise.
I listened to a great podcast (Dan Harris – Ten Percent Happier) yesterday on Alzheimer’s – my biggest scare. I can’t imagine having your life slip away into an empty sunny field where nothing is familiar. Everyone you know is gone. Now I don’t want to say a dark hole because you’re not dead. You are alive physically, just in an unknown world, on a new planet so to speak. You can see the flowers, the waving grass and the sunshine, but you don’t know the names of the people who pass you by. You feel the warm sun on your face, and it feels good, but where and with whom you have shared this experience is beyond your present grasp.
ep, crop gathering in the backyard. Many herbs, peppers and fruit. Now, it’s time to preserve my gems for the long cold winter. If leaves are falling, can snow be far behind?