slipping through the cracks of Cuernavaca
the air hits like a wet blanket when you step off the bus. i just checked and it's... steady, the kind of heat that doesn’t fluctuate like a liar’s story. 26 degrees and breathing like it means it. i mean, technically it dips to 26 and climbs to 27, but what’s a degree between friends? it’s the same kind of sweat whether you're buying mangos from a street cart or pretending to care about the humidity levels on your phone.
"be careful after dark. the kind of people who rent rooms here aren’t the kind who lock their doors."
i’m squatting in a second-floor walkup above some woman who plays accordion every morning like her life depends on it. not kidding. someone told me the building used to be a brothel. honestly, i believe it. everything here has that ‘tired charm with hidden teeth’ thing going on. the landlord’s nephew runs a taco stand on the corner that serves beef tongue like it's communion. if you get antsy, *Puebla and Toluca are just a short unglamorous bus ride away, past the slums, past the malls that tried and failed like every other capitalist dream in this hemisphere. it's still mexico. still chaos swimming in dust. still beautiful in ways you can’t explain without sounding like a travel blog cliché. the last time i wrote anything worth reading, i was hungover in a hammock pretending to photograph poverty for 'art'. this time, i’m actually broke and genuinely interested, which makes it worse. or better. i don’t know.
there’s this corner by the mercado where old men sit in plastic chairs like they're waiting for god to offer them a refund. one of them told me to avoid the hostel on calle 5 de mayo. 'too many gringos,' he said in spanish so perfect it sounded like sarcasm. i didn’t argue. i've learned that mexican old men are either prophets or completely full of shit, and you can't tell the difference till it’s too late. if you're looking to crash somewhere grimy but not sketch, see what others said on TripAdvisor about Casa Linda. i booked it last minute because someone on r/travel had good things to say and now? regret. i’ve been here four days and already i’m blending in. not intentionally. my jeans are torn, my pockets are empty, and i smell like lime juice and regret. chaotic good, as the d&d players say. tl;dr*: if you want a city that feels alive but won't try to sell you a timeshare, this might be your kind of mess. here’s what yelpers had to say about the café next to my hostel.
somewhere along the way, i started caring less about capturing the perfect shot and more about just… being there.
“you’re not a photographer,” one of the accordion lady’s friends said, watching me fumble with a filter app. “you’re just another tourist losing batteries.”
probably true. but for the first time in months, my phone isn’t the center of my universe. for more unfiltered takes, check this local blog in spanish. it’s rough around the edges, like everything else here. and that’s a good thing.
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