We’d set out for a quiet walk along Paseo de la Reforma, where the city was already dressing up for Día de Muertos. Giant papier-mâché skulls, banners for the Desfile de Alebrijes, and rows of marigolds lined the avenue. The air smelled faintly of incense and roasted corn, and the whole stretch felt like a party waiting to begin.

We were just trying to get to the parade — that’s all. A quick stroll up Reforma, maybe grab some street tacos along the way. Instead, we walked straight into a tidal wave of flags, chants, and thousands of people in matching white shirts and blue caps.

At first, we thought it was part of the parade. Then we started reading the shirts: PAN. Unidos por México. Nope. We’d stumbled into a full-scale political demonstration. Avenida Revolución had turned into a river of humanity surging north toward El Ángel de la Independencia.

The sound was enormous — drums, whistles, chanting, megaphones, and someone blasting pop music from a rolling speaker cart. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, street food, and marigolds still glowing along the median. Vendors darted through the crowd with tamales, bottled water, and bright blue caps to match the party colors.

We stood in the middle of it all, shoulder to shoulder with locals who seemed equal parts amused and proud. A woman smiled at us and shouted over the noise, “¡Esto es México!” I couldn’t argue.

It wasn’t angry. It was passionate — noisy, organized chaos in the most Mexican way possible. People marched with purpose but also with smiles, phones out, kids in tow, and the kind of spirit that felt more like a celebration than a protest.

Jerry looked around and said, “Well… guess we joined a movement. We should probably figure out what they stand for.”

Turns out we weren’t just interrupting a parade detour — we had wandered into the official relaunch event of the Partido Acción Nacional (PAN), where the party introduced a new logo and slogan, “Patria, Familia, Libertad” (Homeland, Family, Freedom). The timing stirred controversy: the relaunch came just as central Mexico was reeling from devastating floods that had left more than 70 people dead across several states.

At her daily mañanera press conference, President Claudia Sheinbaum criticized the move as a “lack of sensitivity” toward families still suffering from the disaster. “They could have waited fifteen days, don’t you think?” she said, also noting that despite the talk of renewal, “the same people are still there.”

So yes — our “quick stroll up Reforma” collided with an event that was more than a photo-op. We were part of a moment in Mexico City that blended politics and pageantry, protest and parade, all in one sweeping scene.

By the time the last wave of marchers passed and the police began peeling back barricades, Reforma looked like a battlefield of democracy — littered with flyers, snack wrappers, and the odd forgotten flag. Cleanup crews moved in, vendors returned, and little by little the street came back to life.

That’s when it hit me. This was the real Ciudad de México — loud, opinionated, resilient, and alive. A place where civic passion and street food coexist without missing a beat.

We caught our breath, took a few last photos, and laughed at the absurdity of it all. Then, as the city began to exhale, we heard the first drums of the Alebrijes Parade forming in the distance. Part 2 coming soon.