Observations from Mexico City

Thanksgiving week in Mexico City wasn’t just a trip; it was a revelation. Virginia, Andre, and I traveled there to visit her mom, Ana, who lives in the heart of this sprawling metropolis. For the first time, I went outside the U.S. not to work or vacation, but simply to be. Ana welcomed us into her home and her world, giving us a chance to live as much like locals as possible. This wasn’t about sightseeing or curated experiences. We wanted to absorb the city as it is: raw, vibrant, and unapologetically alive.

Visiting in this way is like walking instead of driving. When you walk, you notice the cracks in the pavement, the sound of distant laughter, the smells of fresh tortillas and grilled meat wafting through the air as if Ron Swanson had his own cologne line. You feel the heartbeat of a place. Mexico City, with its colossal scale and intimate spirit, offered a sensory overload in the best possible way.

I’ve been to every U.S. city with a population of over 500,000, so I have a vast spectrum of American urban life. That perspective made Mexico City even more fascinating—its rhythms, contrasts, and contradictions set it apart in ways that were impossible to ignore.

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The Misconceptions We’re Sold About Mexico

Hollywood and corporate news have painted a caricature of Mexico—one of danger, despair, and dysfunction. Drugs, violence, and poverty dominate the narrative. While every stereotype contains a kernel of truth, the reality of Mexico City is this: it’s a vibrant, modern, and deeply cultural metropolis that outshines most major U.S. cities in many ways.

Let’s start with cleanliness. The streets of Mexico City are cleaner than those in Austin, Philly, Seattle, or even Manhattan’s most gentrified neighborhoods. What’s even more fascinating is how this is achieved without the presence of public garbage cans (which I only saw in the parks). The contrast to the abundance of trash and graffiti in places like San Francisco and Chicago is striking. And it isn’t sterile clean like Phoenix. It’s still gritty. It’s still an old city, but there is a general sense of cleanliness and public pride.

And homelessness? While I saw a few beggars, the overwhelming despair that’s become a hallmark of U.S. cities simply wasn’t there. Where are the sprawling tent encampments and desperate faces? Somehow, Mexico City has avoided this blight, despite the challenges of poverty and inequality.

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Smallness and Intimacy

One of the first things that struck me about Mexico City was how much smaller everything felt—not in its significance, but in its physical dimensions. Streets are narrower, sidewalks tighter. Cafés and restaurants feel cozy, not cavernous. Tables and chairs are scaled down to the point where I felt like a bit of a giant. At first, it was disorienting—almost comical—but then it became clear that this intimacy was part of the city’s charm.

In the U.S., we crave space. We sprawl our suburbs, supersize our trucks, and build cavernous retail spaces. Space equals freedom in the American mind. But in Mexico City, the closeness of everything forces you to engage—with the city, with its people, with life itself. You can’t tune out when the sidewalk is bustling, or when the tables in a café are close enough to overhear someone’s life story.

This smallness is grounding. It’s a reminder that you don’t need as much as you think you do—not as much space, not as much stuff. It’s also deeply humanizing. When you’re physically closer to people, you’re more likely to see them, acknowledge them, and maybe even smile. In the U.S., our addiction to space often isolates us. In Mexico City, the closeness fosters connection.

What struck me most, though, was the way this smallness reminded me of rural areas and small towns in the U.S. Although Mexico City is one of the largest cities in the world, there’s a small-town warmth that runs through its veins. The way people greet each other on the street, the focus on family and community, the slower, deliberate pace—it felt like a rural soul wrapped in an urban body. It’s a stark contrast to the often impersonal, transactional vibe of many big U.S. cities.

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A City Dripping with Beauty

Mexico City is a feast for the senses. Parks, architecture, murals—it’s beauty at every turn, but not in a sterile, museum-curated way. The art and culture here spill into the streets unapologetically. It’s part of the city’s fabric, impossible to ignore.

The parks aren’t just green spaces. They’re alive, brimming with energy. You’ll find street performers, impromptu markets, and families enjoying the day together. Then there’s the architecture—a stunning blend of the ancient and the modern. On one block, you’ll find a centuries-old cathedral; on the next, a sleek glass tower.

And the murals—so many murals. Every wall, every underpass, every surface is a potential canvas. In the U.S., we like to compartmentalize art. We tuck it away in galleries and reserve it for the elite. In Mexico City, art is for everyone. It’s on the streets, on the sides of buildings, even on delivery trucks.

I have lived in Austin for 10 years, and spent lots of time in New York, San Francisco Seattle—places that pride themselves on their creativity and culture. But Mexico City is different. Here, the art feels alive. It’s not about impressing anyone. Or having an image of an “art city”. It’s about expression, about life.

"There’s something about Mexico City that makes me feel alive."

– Diego Luna

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Goods, Services, and the Great Coffee Hunt

Despite its unique cultural identity, Mexico City has nearly everything you’d expect to find in a U.S. city. Clothes, electronics, and gourmet cocktails are all readily available. Everything you can order from an app is also available. But there was one glaring exception that I couldn’t help but laugh at: I couldn’t find a plain ol’ cup of drip coffee.

Espresso is everywhere, and it’s good, but if you’re someone who just wants a large, simple cup of black coffee, good luck. This little quirk became a running joke during our trip and a reminder of the ways big and small that culture shapes everyday life.

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Traffic: Chaos in Motion

If you think Los Angeles or New York traffic is bad, you haven’t experienced Mexico City. It’s chaos on wheels. Lanes are suggestions, signals are optional, and pedestrians cross with a mix of courage and blind faith. It’s a symphony of honks, screeches, and engines revving, yet somehow, it all flows.

The closest comparison I can make is Kuala Lumpur, but even that doesn’t quite capture the intensity. There’s an unspoken rhythm here, an instinctive choreography that every driver seems to know. It’s like jazz: messy, improvised, and somehow harmonious.

What amazed me most was the lack of road rage. In the U.S., traffic is a pressure cooker that brings out the worst in people. In Mexico City, it’s just part of life. Drivers accept the madness with a shrug and keep moving. It’s a lesson in adaptability—a reminder that not everything needs to be rigidly controlled to work.

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Politeness as a Language

If you’re going to learn Spanish, you’d better learn how to be polite. In Mexico City, politeness isn’t just a social norm; it’s an art form. English is the language of efficiency and directness. We say what we mean and expect quick answers. In Mexico, that kind of bluntness is seen as rude, even aggressive.

Every interaction I had was wrapped in kindness and formality. Even with my fumbling Spanish, I was met with patience and warmth. People looked me in the eye, listened, and responded with sincerity. When they found out that I was learning Spanish, they were eager to practice their English but also were extra patient as I stumbled between what I have retained and what I was reading on my translator app.

In the U.S., we often sacrifice connection for speed. We value getting to the point over making a point of showing care. In Mexico City, politeness is a way of saying, I see you. You matter. It’s a lesson we could all stand to relearn.

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The Return Home

Coming back to Austin was strange. Two things struck me immediately.

First, the diversity. The U.S. is a melting pot, and that’s our strength. But it’s also under threat. The cultural richness that defines us feels fragile, particularly with the rise of anti-immigrant rhetoric and policy.

Second, the disparities. In Mexico City, the income gap is stark. You see it in the contrast between luxury cars and modest market stalls. In the U.S., the more noticeable divide is often racial. An example from this morning: I’m writing this essay from an office shop in Austin. The staff is white, the customers are white, but the people delivering supplies are Latino. It’s a microcosm of the unspoken hierarchies we live with every day.

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Final Thoughts

Mexico City is a paradox: massive yet intimate, bustling yet serene, polished yet raw. It’s a city that doesn’t just challenge assumptions—it obliterates them.

If you ever get the chance to visit, don’t go as a tourist. Skip the landmarks and curated experiences. Live as much like a local as you can. Walk the streets. Sit in the parks. Eat at the taquería with no sign out front. Notice the small things.

And if you’ve already been, I’d love to hear your observations. What struck you? What did you take away?

For me, Mexico City wasn’t just a destination; it was a mirror. It reflected both the beauty and blind spots of my own culture, challenging me to rethink what I value and how I live. For that, I am deeply grateful.