A little over a year ago, I packed up my life in shiny New York City and moved to middle-of-nowhere town, Querétaro in central Mexico –unsure if I'd be back. After a grueling three years of non-stop work in the ad industry, I was exhausted beyond words. Arguably the biggest and most demanding project of my career had just wrapped and finding myself entirely disoriented in the aftermath, I felt as though my time inside this crystal globe I’d called home for so long had finally reached its expiration date. I spent weeks daydreaming of disappearing into the warm embrace of a taskless life, before finally deciding to do something about it. You can read the detailed piece about the whole ordeal here but for now It’ll suffice to say I decided to join the lot of middle-aged finger-pointing white women who shamelessly blame Elizabeth Gilbert’s iconic Eat Pray Love for their mildly planned but wildly anticipated exodus from corporate life. With newfound determination, I mobilized every fiber in my soul to manifest joining the group of devoted readers who’d actually been brave enough (or stupid enough, you decide) to go through with it, and before I knew it I was uprooting my life to move to a tiny town a couple of hours north of the country’s capitol. 
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I don’t think I know too many people who can look back on something and say they got exactly what they wanted out of a situation, but that’s genuinely just how thinking about my stay in Querétaro feels. When I first started to even dream about life across the border, my biggest concern was safety. Not necessarily because the country is particularly unsafe itself (everywhere is unsafe if you really think about it) but rather because this was the first time I’d be returning without the guise of a nondescript middle-aged tourist you could easily ignore. Years of relentless growth in NYC had turned my once-suppressed effeminate qualities into some of my favorite and most proudly worn accessories, leaving little to no room for unkind internalized anythings. Put in simpler terms, I couldn’t hide the gay, much less prevent it from making those around me uncomfortable. By extension, I couldn’t anticipate how all of it would determine the safety of my stay, so it should come as no surprise that I started my search by googling “safest cities to live in Mexico.”  Next, I cross-referenced the top five cities on that list against the general atmosphere I was hoping would characterize my stay. Quiet, quaint, not too riddled with tourists, historic, and hopefully not too disconnected from modern civilization. Shamelessly, I’d say I pretty much set out to recreate Gilbert’s runaway experience of cultural immersion, except of course I was doing it about four thousand miles west of her destination because well, no money for Italy.

How did I finally settle on Queretaro then? It certainly didn’t hurt that it was consistently ranking the number one safest city with lowest crime rate in the entire country, but it really all came down to the gem of an apartment that I found listed on AirBnb. Nestled in the heart of the city’s historic center, this beautiful one bedroom unit was mine as soon as I laid eyes on the photos. There was no going around it. I was on night three or four of my relentless search through the internet when I finally stumbled upon the gorgeous photos from “La Encantada” Casa Queretaro (The Enchanted Queretaro House) and knew it  was exactly where I wanted to be. 

The unit itself is part of a much larger (ironically, think Encanto) house that hosts a wide array of rooms for both short and long term stays. Some as little as a single bedroom and bath, some spanning multiple rooms and levels, every unit in the house faces the same outdoor terrace where stone fountains and patio decor populate the open space. Our unit specifically, sat comfortably on the second floor and boasted two large open windows that bled endless sunlight into the rest of the apartment.

So the place was perfect but what about the neighborhood? I wondered. Teetering dangerously close between the lines of healthy interest and manic obsession, I dropped a pin on our would-be Mexican address and began to frantically street view the shit out of the map. We’re right at the edge of the historic center so we won’t be flooded by tourists, but I also don’t love the alley-like feeling it gives... I do love the privacy, though. And there’s so much to do within walking distance… Internal musings ensued.

Finally forcing myself to punch in the last four digits of my credit card, I averted my eyes just in time to hear the page ding a sound to confirm my booking. Perfect. Done. I'd really booked it. Now all that was left was staying away from my computer for the next 48 hours so the return policy could expire.

The first time I walked through the front gates to our place would’ve been ever so romantic if it wasn’t for my shit luck kicking in like it always does, and the door code failing due to a recent power outage that reset the house’s entire security system (very reassuring, by the way). Picture me in my full glory, gracefully stepping out of the car after a breezy eight hours on the road, fully prepared to lose my breath upon arrival. The sun, having just embarked on its last greeting of the day, peeked wistfully through the cobble streets painting the roads with a soft nostalgia only the naked eye could behold. And there I was, breathless…sweating over the front door that refused to budge, no matter how many times I punched the code and pulled on the handles. Oh what a joy to be me in that moment. Oversized luggage in hand, I dialed our host’s direct line, waiting impatiently for a reasonable explanation to our premature exile.

At last, apologies and pleasantries exchanged, I dumped my bags inside the bedroom and headed to the upstairs terrace to catch the first of many sunsets in quiet and perfect Querétaro. 

Funny enough, I did get my Liz observes the sunset from her new home in Rome moment on that rooftop, just not before the universe could get a good laugh in. Magic and wonder and awe-ness aside, we headed out to grab dinner, and that was the end of that. 

At the expense of romanticizing things, I’ll admit I think back to this apartment and see the nest I chose to perch in for my first –of many, I’m sure– adult free-fall. Maybe it’s because living quarters have always seemed to manifest themselves on their own in the past –when it was college, it was more about function than it was about choice. When I moved to Brooklyn with my friend Sarah, one lucky phone call led to the viewing and almost immediate rent of our first apartment together. Even the current unit I’m in, there’s only so much choice I can say was involved because of how crazy the housing market is in New York. But this specific place in Mexico, I picked. I wasn’t getting pushed around by semester or employment deadlines, I honestly didn’t even have to be there. But I wanted to so badly. And maybe that’s what makes it feel so special?

I was leaping into the abyss without any of my safety nets in place…so it makes sense that I was looking for a safe haven. Somewhere I could heal from the events of the last twelve months, but also somewhere I could grow and push towards the future I was trying to create. 

I think about the Christmas lights I pre-ordered on Amazon and crammed into my suitcase because I knew I’d need some extra coziness; we hung those up with painter’s tape and I remember climbing over the furniture trying to reach the ceiling –Camila playing softly in the background. I think about the first time we had a towel fight after stepping out of the shower. My hair dripping on my shoulders, and me running to the curtains after realizing anyone downstairs with an inkling to look upwards would have easily borne witness to the jostling silhouettes jumping back and forth in the nude. It plays back in my head like a sepia toned silent film from a distant time and place.  

Alas, it goes without saying that I’ll never finish expressing my deep love and gratitude for this charming city I got to call home for four months. From the beautiful cobble stone streets that fully destroyed my snazzy Birkenstock sandals in a matter of weeks, to the generously painted sunsets that decorated the city and our terrace every other night, thank you Querétaro. You were everything I dreamed of and more.  

At the beginning of this entire ordeal, I wasn’t even considering moving to another country so much as I was dreaming about it; I wanted nothing more than to mindlessly stroll through the streets without a care in the world, and I feel deeply privileged to say I was able to manifest that for myself, even if it was just for a short time. My wish for you then is that you might let yourself be brave enough (or dumb enough) to leap into those things that itch at the back of your head in the middle of the night. The same ones we whisper under our breath when we look out into the stars on a late drive home.

Here's to those things ahead friends. May we continue to dive in first and ask questions later.

More to come always,