We have breakfast on the later end and decide to walk to Polanco. The museums are closed on Mondays, so today is a shopping and walking sort of day.
Polanco may not be technically far, but it's hard to get to from Condesa for pedestrians. The sidewalks surrounding Chapultepec, which is smack dab in the middle of the two neighborhoods, were blocked off, and we found ourselves walking along the highway for a good portion of our excursion.
At one point we walked by a dentist's office and saw someone getting their teeth cleaned. Like, right there. Two feet away. Only a glass window separating us. It was unsettling.
"I have an idea for a sketch," Mike tells me as we walk by the dentist.
"No, please don't," I tell him. I brace myself for the usual pitch. The same pitch he always does when he has "an idea" for a sketch.
"A guy goes to different countries and can't believe how barbaric the practices are but really he's the one who's backwards. Like 'I bet they don't even use clean pliers when pulling out all your teeth at the dentist.'"
"That's pretty good actually." It is pretty good. I am also thrilled he did not bring up space wizards for the 879th time. ("Okay, check it out. It's wizards, but they're in space. Space wizards. Spwizards, if you will. No, Caitlin, they're not like Jedi. Not at all. How can you even say that? You don't get it, do you? You just don't get it. Okay, let's try again. They're wizards, you see, but in space.") In fact, while the sketch idea is good and I am impressed, I am mostly just relieved to not be discussing space wizards again.
"You can use it."
As we walk up a hill, I grow weary of walking. It's been maybe 40 minutes.
"I'm tired," I complain.
"I'll carry you. Throw you over my shoulder."
That sounds uncomfortable so I decline.
When we're done with the hill I feel better.
"Sorry I was grouchy for a second there," I say.
"Yeah but you were cute grouchy."
Mike is unfazed by my complaints and mood swings. I have hit the jackpot.
We finally make it to Polanco. The streets have names like Arquimedes and Homero, so Mike is stoked. It is definitely the Beverly Hills of Mexico City. Everyone is whiter, blonder, thinner, and the streets are wider, cleaner, more orderly.
"I told you we'd make it. You doubted me. All this responsibility on my little, petite, tiny, little shoulders," I say.
"Yeah but I like your shoulders."
"That's why they were made. For your male gaze."
"Good."
The Beverly Hills of Mexico City/Polanco is expensive. Shopping is all Gucci and Louis Vuitton and Dolce & Gabbana. We stopped for a moment in Hugo Boss and I fell in love with a pair of boots. I checked the price tag. Nope. The boots didn't even try to love me back. I learn to live with the heartbreak.
Hours of walking later we decide to head back to the room to rest before dinner - which, coincidentally, is also in Polanco.
Five minutes after getting back to the room, rain pours down. Thunder and lightning. Our kitchen area is situated sort of like a greenhouse, so we sit and watch the rain and the thunder and the lightning for a bit. It's nice.
We go back out again to BIKO and have one of the top ten dinners of my life. BIKO is exceptional. They have a tasting menu that is seven tiny courses. I do not have it in me to say no to a tasting menu. I will never have it in me to say no to a tasting menu.
The waiter speaks English. Half the patrons speak English. The toilets flush by themselves. Polanco is worlds away from Xochimilco.
Me at the beginning of the night.
Mike at the beginning of the night.
We have a mushroom (a single mushroom) with guacamole and that explanation sounds lame but it's literally the best mushroom I've ever had in my life. The guacamole is so smooth. SO SMOOTH. I didn't even know it was possible for guac to be so smooth. We later have guacamole on a scallop. It is extraordinary. All of the dishes are extraordinary.
Pic doesn't tell you how light and airy the pastry is, or how refreshing the fruits and chocolate are. Pretty tho!
Oh, but the tasting menu also comes with multiple wine tastings, and because the food was taking a little while, the waiter gave us more wine than he usually pours to make up for it. There are six different wines to taste, and he pours healthy glasses of each kind, and now he's pouring extra because he wants us to be satisfied customers. By the end of the night, Mike and I are hammered.
Carlos did not wait for us to be done with one glass before pouring the next.
This restaurant is so fancy - we had to take an elevator to get to it! - and everyone else is doing the tasting menu and they're handling themselves just fine and Mike and I are laughing and laughing and just so drunk. Mike blames me. He says it's because I'm Irish. I tell him Irish and Mexican are basically the same - Catholic, big families, want to be Republican so badly - and he agrees. This renders his argument void, but he doesn't seem bothered.
We can't ever come back here.
There is a girl at a table in front of me that looks like an Olsen sibling and I keep looking at her. She looks like Elizabeth Olsen. Is Elizabeth Olsen in Mexico City? Is there another Olsen sibling that lives in Mexico City? I can't decide if it's likely or unlikely. I try not to stare. I keep staring.
We get more delicious food. We get more alcohol. The guy next to us is British and he has an annoying voice and a stupid haircut and a weak chin but I think by the end of the meal he hates us more than we hate him. To be fair, I don't hate him for a very good reason. Sometimes I see a person and I have an immediate, negative reaction. His hatred for us, meanwhile, was definitely earned.
Carlos, our waiter, continues to pour well into dessert. Not all heroes wear capes.
In the uber I speak French because I am pretentious and also sad that I have a language skill but it is languishing right now. Languishing. The driver knows we're drunk. He seems amused.
We get back to the room and Mike tells me he's never drinking again. The next morning we take it slow. Guess museums will have to wait for another day.
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