Day 1:  Traveling to Ciudad de México

Neighborhoods/Areas:  Rancho Mirage, CA, USA → Tijuana, México → Condesa, Ciudad de México, México.

The day began before sunrise in Rancho Mirage, the desert still quiet except for the sound of rolling suitcases and that pre-trip buzz of excitement. The three bears loaded up the car and hit the highway south toward San Diego, coffee in hand, playlists on rotation, joking that we’d better not forget our passports this time.

By late morning we reached Cross Border Xpress (CBX) – the sleek pedestrian bridge that carries travelers directly from the United States into the Tijuana Airport. There we met up with Dave, John, and Larry, our partners in adventure. Six of us, reunited and laughing, walked the glass-walled bridge over the border together. It felt like stepping into a travel documentary – a bit surreal and very cool.

The Tijuana Airport was a pleasant surprise: modern, efficient, calm. We breezed through check-in, grabbed snacks, and boarded AeroMéxico Flight 178 bound for Ciudad de México. The plane itself? Arctic. The cold air blew full blast for the entire flight, but the snacks more than made up for it: classic roasted peanuts – yes, peanuts! – something you’d never see on a U.S. carrier anymore. I hadn’t had those salty little packets in twenty years, and somehow they tasted like a time capsule. They came with crisp Mexican cinnamon cookies and, for me, an ice-cold Modelo. Simple pleasures at 35,000 feet.

Outside the window, the rugged coast of Sonora slipped away, then cloud cover gave way to mountain peaks. Hard to believe Mexico City sits over 7,300 feet above sea level – higher than Denver – but you can feel it as you descend.

We landed after dark into a swirl of construction lights and scaffolding. The airport’s clearly expanding, and we shuffled through temporary corridors that twisted and turned like a maze. Eventually, we found daylight – or what little was left of it – and stepped into the night air.

Our Uber arrived almost instantly: a roomy van for six, driven by a friendly man who chatted nonstop in Spanish. John Enríquez translated from the back seat as we crawled through the thickest traffic I’ve ever seen. We thought Rome was bad, but this was next-level chaos. Then again, with 23 million people calling this valley home, chaos seems inevitable – and alive.

Even from the car we caught flashes of the city’s contrasts: sleek skyscrapers beside colonial palaces, monuments glowing in roundabouts, and wide green parks glimpsed between towers. It felt huge, electric, and deeply alive – a city with pulse and personality.

Our Airbnb in Condesa turned out to be a total score: a 14th-floor penthouse, three stories tall with sweeping city views, a full kitchen, and a rooftop deck crowned by a hot tub. From up there, Mexico City stretched endlessly, its lights flickering under low clouds.

Dinner was just down the street at Bulla, a warm, bustling neighborhood restaurant where we shared small plates, swapped stories, and polished off a couple of bottles of wine. The food was bright and flavorful, the service genuinely kind – the perfect welcome to the city.

By the time we climbed into bed, it was 10:30 p.m. here (only 9:30 back in California). Tomorrow’s alarm is set for 3 a.m. so we can make our way to the launch site for our hot-air balloon ride over Teotihuacán. For now, the city hums below our balcony, and sleep feels like the best adventure of all.

“El que madruga, Dios lo ayuda.”

“God helps the one who rises early.”