Forget Paris, Mexico City is the most romantic city on earth.

Beautifully dressed people where all men, young and old, wear jackets. The women are all beautiful. My god, are they beautiful or what? Immaculately dressed, mildly perfumed and make up that just about enhances their looks. They sway and sashay in the most stylish dresses.

Waking along Reforma, you have a large expanse of cobbled and stoned pathways lined with shrubs, trees and historical statues. Sure, vehicles whizz past you to remind you of present times and its symbols but for those, the monuments transport you to a different era of mixed European and Mexican mores.


The weather is so so wonderful. Pleasantly cold it never gets uncomfortably warm or unbearably chilly. There are many cars but many more people walking on the streets. How happily different from the dead, lifeless roads of America.

Public displays of affection abound all through. There are roses and flowers and trinkets to buy for one’s romantic partner everywhere. None of it is gaudy or vulgar though.


They love their dance and music, the Mexicans do. Bars and pubs straddle and overflow into the streets with the laughing patrons guzzling liters of cerveza. How they laugh!


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