Mexico City

Mexico City was built on an Aztec lake and never stopped being an island: of tacos al pastor spinning like planets, of museums — more than a hundred and fifty — and of a Historic Center where a viceregal cathedral sinks millimeter by millimeter into the Mexica temple that holds it up. It is the megalopolis with the table set: you eat better here than almost anywhere on Earth, at almost any price.

The sensible traveller works in layers: the Zócalo and the Templo Mayor to understand the stacked cities; Anthropology for one whole morning — the Mexica hall last, like dessert —; Roma and Condesa for the table and the stroll; Coyoacán on Sunday, Frida early and churros after; and Xochimilco by trajinera, unhurried, on the last shore of the original lake.

The Guide's honesty: altitude and traffic are hard data — plan by district, not by craving, and walk what can be walked —; the tip is ten percent, welcomed in cash; and the summer afternoon rain is punctual as an office: the day bends around it, it doesn't break. The water: bottled, no drama.