As a travel journalist, I have spent significant chunks of my life over the past two decades in Mexico. I have lived for several weeks or months in different places — inside and around Merida, Oaxaca, Pueblo, Laguna Bacalar, Campeche, Tepotzlan, Chiapas, Juventino Rosas, San Miguel de Allende, Chihuahua, and more. I found each area of the country to be culturally deep, historically rich, culinarily happy-making, architecturally pleasing, and filled with people I genuinely liked and connected to. But somehow, the month I just spent in Mexico City was different.

It was also healing.

For me, current events in the United States and the Middle East were the source of worry, anxiety, anger, feelings of alienation and powerlessness, sadness, and incredulity. I went from reading media articles in depth to barely being able to tolerate headlines.

It was time for a change. Time to restore my sanity.

I booked a month in Mexico City for my husband and me and, as usual, I did no research in advance. My journalism students and colleagues are always shocked by this, but I want to be Marco Polo or Ibn Batuta; these early intrepid travelers had no social media, top 10 lists, step-by-step guides, or internet. They went, they saw, and they formed their own opinions. I........

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