We’ve done plenty of trips down to Baja over the years, but somehow Mexico City, or CDMX as it’s more affectionately known (and which already feels like the only acceptable shorthand) had somehow passed us by.  Thanksgiving felt like the right moment to fix that.  The logic was sound: we had a four day long weekend coming up and no burning desire for a turkey feast.  We feared the other option of doing Mexico City during the upcoming Christmas holiday was more likely to incur a full festive shutdown.  Somehow, Mexicans might think Christmas is a bigger deal than the Thanksgiving celebrations of their US neighbors (and yes, it turns out Christmas is a very big deal in CDMX).

To avoid any repeat of past near-miss airport dramas, we stayed at a hotel by LAX the night before. A pretty cool rooftop patio to work from, along with some plane spotting (my mum would be sooo envious!), and a sense of smug preparedness before the trip even began.  We needn’t have worried – unlike the somewhat busier domestic terminals, the Tom Bradley international terminal was kinda quiet.  Actually not that surprising when you think about it, most Americans spend Thanksgiving with family in the US, not flying round the world for a vacation.  

We landed in CDMX after midnight, exhausted and thinking of little else than getting to bed.  We were staying in Zona Rosa, right on the edge of the Roma District. Unfortunately, a bit too much on the edge. The hotel itself was perfectly fine, quite nice actually, but Zona Rosa turned out to be party central. Bars, music, revelry – relentless.  The irony was, this was the second hotel Darren had booked, as the first one had some none too favorable reviews about the late night noise.  Hmm.

CDMX is vast. Proper, mind-bendingly vast.  Larger than New York or LA, it’s actually the largest city in North America, and it wears that scale confidently. It is also unapologetically a foodie city, with tacos very much at the center of its universe. And OMG, the tacos.

We kicked things off with a self-guided walking taco tour around Roma and Condesa, courtesy of ChatGPT. I should say at this point that I’ve previously bitched about ChatGPT’s tendency to hallucinate food recommendations, sending us to places that are closed, no longer exist, or possibly never even existed in the first place. CDMX was no different. But while the specifics were occasionally off, the general direction was spot on, and there was no shortage of top-notch taco options.

Most of our tacos came from hole-in-the-wall joints and street carts, though we did make a point of trying the Michelin-starred Taqueria El Califa de Leon.  As we worked our way around, Darren was braver than me and ordered chicharrón en salsa (stewed pork rinds), which was every bit as minging as it sounds. I played it safer with rajas (poblano chilli, onion and corn in a creamy sauce), messy but glorious. Purple corn quesadillas were a firm favourite, and the steak tacos at El Califa were, quite frankly, awesome.

Keeping with the theme, we tried our hands at a taco cooking course. Acquainting ourselves with lots of different chillies, making guacamole and salsa from scratch (even though you might think the avocados and limes in California are pretty good, they’ve got nothing on the Mexican ones!), and we made our own tortillas from masa and squished them with a little press thingy. This definitely planted the seed that taco making at home is something we should attempt sometime.

We also did a mezcal tasting and mixology experience, which came with a surprising amount of ritual. There was talk of “kissing” the drink, sniffing with your mouth open, swirling it around your mouth properly. We made a couple of cocktails too, including a spirit-forward smoky number – with smokiness not just from the mezcal but also the full theatrical treatment from a flaming blowtorch. Palaver aside, it was lots of fun.

We walked everywhere. So much walking.  Through the parks, past the dog parks, along the streets, around and about. We also took a cable car over the park for a different perspective, which was a pleasant, if brief, pause from street level. 

One particular day we went up the Torre Latino Americana for the view, which was excellent, especially looking down at the vast streams of people heading towards Plaza de la Constitucion.

Naturally, we felt compelled to join them and check out one of the classic tourist draws. Naturally, it was totally rammed. Christmas shopping was in full swing and yes, it turns out Mexicans really are big on Christmas.  This vast city is allegedly home to 22 million people, and I swear nearly half of them were out buying festive tat on the same street we were trying unsuccessfully to negotiate.  Luckily, Darren saved the day with a timely escape to an expertly spotted beer garden.  And yes, of course, more tacos followed.

One particularly brilliant thing that CDMX does is close Paseo de la Reforma to traffic every Sunday. The entire avenue is handed over to let cyclists, runners, dog walkers – everyone and anyone have a go. It felt like a giant organized event, except it wasn’t. We didn’t have our own bikes with us (obviously!), so we rented a couple of slightly clunky Ecobici bikes from the roadside. Not the most awesome bikes but they did the trick (and I’d take a CDMX Ecobici over the Donkey Republic monstrosities in Barcelona any day).  We pootled along with the wind in our hair and the sun on our backs, somehow clocking up nearly 20 miles before being distracted, inevitably, by tacos. 

The absolute highlight of the trip though, was a sunrise hot air balloon flight over the pyramids of Teotihuacan. We were up ridiculously early, heading out while the partying outside our hotel was still going strong. Sixteen of us were packed into the basket, and once airborne it was incredibly smooth and peaceful, apart from the occasional dragon breathing fire above our heads.  I must admit, I relished the intense heat from the blasts, taking the chill off the crisp morning air.

Best of all, we weren’t alone. The sky slowly filled with hot air balloons.  87 according to Darren’s initial count, which we generously rounded up to 100. All different colors and designs, including some excellent smiley-face ones.   All accompanied by a very appropriate soundtrack, including Come Fly With Me and Sky Full of Stars.  At one point they played Nena’s 99 Red Balloons, which felt either perfectly planned or a very neat coincidence given our ongoing debate about how many balloons there actually were.  We’ll settle for 99.

There was a brief moment of mild drama on the descent when we realized we were getting rather close to some trees, and then promptly skimmed them with the basket. No real incident though – the pilot has done about 3,000 of these flights, and it showed.

We packed such a lot into our long Thanksgiving weekend. Our flight home left early doors on Monday morning, timed to land back at LAX at 8am so we could do a full day’s work. That meant another silly o’clock wake-up call, and yes, the revelry outside was still very much in progress. 

CDMX left us exhausted but pleasantly full and already thinking about tacos. And tortilla presses.  The more I think about it, the more I’m thinking maybe, just maybe, we should try this at home.