Mexico

I came to Mexico in 2022 for a three-month stay. I am still here. That should tell you something about the gap between what this country is and what most people assume it to be. The resort version — Cancún, Cabo, the all-inclusive belt — is a parallel universe that has almost nothing to do with the actual country. The actual country is one of the most rewarding places I have ever lived, traveled, or eaten in.

The scale of Mexico is the first thing to understand. It is not one destination. It is a continent disguised as a country. The high desert of Oaxaca shares nothing with the cloud forests of Chiapas, which share nothing with the Caribbean coast of Quintana Roo, which shares nothing with the colonial highlands of Guanajuato. Each region has its own cuisine, its own mezcal (or tequila, or sotol, or raicilla), its own indigenous traditions, its own rhythm. You could spend a lifetime here and not exhaust it. I know because I am trying.

The food alone justifies the trip. Mexico City has more culinary range than any city I have eaten in, including Paris and Tokyo. Oaxaca’s molé tradition is one of the great achievements of world gastronomy. A roadside taco stand in Puebla can deliver more flavor in a single bite than many Michelin-starred restaurants manage in an entire tasting menu. This is not hyperbole. This is Tuesday lunch.

When to go: October through April is dry season in most regions. November is my favorite month — the Day of the Dead celebrations are extraordinary, the rainy season has ended, and the country settles into a long, warm, golden stretch.

What most guides get wrong: They focus on safety warnings to the point of paralysis. Mexico demands the same common sense as any large country. Tens of millions of tourists visit safely every year. Use judgment, ask locals, stay informed — and then get on with the business of experiencing one of the great cultures on earth.