i traveled to mexico city

in July, don’t remember the year, but it was eons ago. I had no idea it would not be as hot and steamy as New York City, so I boarded the plane dressed very casually (too casual, as I recall) and froze until I got to my room and piled on clothes. The highs were in the low 70s, while NYC was nearing 100° degrees when I left. But that was not my only surprise in the city or Puebla, where I was headed for work. Ciudad de Méjico was quite cosmopolitan and reminded me of Barcelona. Must have been the plazas and buildings, its architecture. Wrote about it in Like A Blue Thread.

Work is work, no matter where it is, but fortunately, I have always enjoyed my jobs. What sets work experiences apart is people. When I worked with people in other countries, I learned so much, besides culture, about myself and other people—whether they were colleagues or clients.

Mexico was different in that I did not spend a lot of time with the same crew but flitted from one place to another. The infamous July trip remains a highlight, sort of, in my life

because of tequila

Um-hum. See, I am not a drinker, could not drink alcohol for the rest of my life, and miss it not. I’ve mentioned this before, but in case you haven’t read it: I like it, yet go without it for weeks (unlike certain foods, I love food). After nights of dinners drinking lemonade (BTW: the lemonade I had there was the best ever), towards the end of the trip, probably two nights before we had to leave, I was asked to have a drink, just one, so we could toast. Come on! They said.

so i had a margarita

like no other I had ever (or since) tasted. 🤗 Then I had another. Fine. Dinner over.

mar·​ga·​ri·​ta | mär-gə-ˈrē-tə: a cocktail consisting of tequila, lime or lemon juice, and an orange-flavored liqueur

I will cut to the chase; otherwise, I’ll write about that night for a half-hour or more, and I still have to do yoga and eat dinner. So here it goes: five of us (our German rep in Mexico, his Mexican girlfriend, an Italian rep, one of the owners of the company I worked for, and yours truly) ended up … hmm. I want to write and convey it properly, and don’t think I can tell the end of the story without the backbone.

Maybe I won’t cut to the chase.

The Story must be told in full

. . . to be continued . . .

(came upon a stack of photographs of colorful doors in Mexico, therefore the memory)