How Much Do We Really Know?

As the marathoners passed, the crowd went wild.

Maybe a little extra wild.

Running a marathon was one thing. Doing it almost a mile and a half above sea level deserved extra praise.

I would have clapped, but I didn’t know how to balance my Americano.

I couldn’t risk spillage. It was, after all, the most famous coffee in the country according to the cup.

Watching the athletic accomplishment play out in front of me, I vowed to skip breakfast.

There would be plenty of culinary delights later in the day anyway. No matter which way I turned, I was surrounded by them.

My late-rising family joined me, and we continued to soak in the sights and sounds.

The European architecture.

The cafés. (Skipping breakfast wouldn’t be easy, especially for a rotund American.)

The courteous populace.

Determined to check a box early, we ducked into a museum.

Then began the roam. I love the roam.

A bookstore.

A record store.

A bite to eat. (Finally.)

Another museum, this one just from the outside, which itself was awe-inspiring.

A striking urban park. Statues. Fountains. Peace.

Then an Uber to an even more striking park. Tons of dog walkers. Vastness. More peace.

From there, we walked to an upscale neighborhood. Just for a glance.

A Tesla showroom. An Apple Store. Gucci. Eateries. And so on.

Another Uber back to the center of town, this time to check out a skyscraper.

We took an elevator to the observation deck, jaws dropped at the panoramic views.

Mountains on all sides.

Humanity everywhere.

Traffic. From up there, it was a mere note. Almost relaxing. (The cocktail didn’t hurt.)

But we had to go.

We were willing to miss the opening act, but the headliner had to be seen in its entirety.

The ride was just five kilometers.

Also known as 40 minutes. On street level, the traffic was more than an observation—an obstacle course perhaps.

But the absence of horns was striking. Definitely not Mumbai.

Murals everywhere.

Some grit and grime.

A smattering of poverty. Reminiscent of Seattle.

And then we were there.

In a sea of 65,000 concertgoers.

Smiles all around.

A religious experience.

Without the religion.

Of course, getting back to home base would be a challenge.

Or would it?

As we exited, a taxi magically appeared.

We negotiated a rate.

The driver did the rest. By making traffic laws optional, he turned a 40-minute ride into 20 minutes.

We were invigorated but exhausted.

Ready for rest.

And the adventures of the next day.

—

Funny how things work.

Prior to my arrival, I couldn’t help but feel a dose of anxiety.

I had been wary of pickpockets, drug traffickers, and aggressive street merchants.

Surely, the taxi driver who had brought us home was supposed to have kidnapped us.

By then, I was slated to have been experiencing fever and abdominal cramping.

Instead, I was planning my next trip to Mexico City.

And that got me thinking:

How much do we really know?