“I am still bewitched by Mexico.” Carlos Fuentes.

Outside Frida Kahlo’s house ©readinginterrupted.com

Before going to Mexico City this summer, Mexico was solely part of my imaginary literary landscape. A place as real or unreal as any narrative construct.

I knew Mexico through the beautifully complex works of Carlos Fuentes, the magical novel of Juan Rulfo, the pensive poetry of Octavio Paz, among others.

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Arriving in DF, I was immediately enchanted by this complex, modern yet ancient cultural city.

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The Templo Mayor ruins with the Libraria Porrua in the background, a great bookstore with a wonderful restaurant overlooking the ruins. ©readinginterrupted.com

Detail of Diego Rivera mural ©readinginterrupted.com

Museo Soumaya ©readinginterrupted.com

“The decline of the aperitif may well be one of the most depressing phenomena of our time.” Luis Buñuel

Tequila time ©readinginterrupted.com

It’s a city of layers. Originally a web of canals that have now been built over. A city that seems never-ending when you approach it from the sky but feels incredibly intimate once you’re settled in having lunch. A city of ancient ruins and wonderful museums.

Map of Tenochitlan

Mexico City today ©readinginterrupted.com

I know I have only started to unpeel its layers;

I have only turned page one of this book.

Man reading next to us at lunch. ©readinginterrupted.com

Mexico City is a place one must return to, a book to reread.