Lovers in the Park
Tucked away on a secluded bench, lovers passionately kiss. Their world revolves around holding each other. Not the dogs trotting on the pathway, not the lush green canopy arching overhead, and certainly not the nosy American voyeur watching them caress.
Mexico City is a sensual place. Elegant cafes offer sumptuous delicacies. On the sidewalks, savory pork roasts on a spit, the drippings sizzling in flames. Next to the al pastor, grilled huaraches bubble and blister. Produce stands sell sweet, ripe fruit, freshly cut and sprinkled with Tajin. And of course, the creamy, sweet coffee isn’t limited to mornings.
Then there’s mezcal, a heady perfume that you can drink. The fragrance and delight linger, like the scent of the lavender and rosemary shrubs that border the CDMX sidewalks.
In Parque Mexico, where I saw the couple kiss, sensuality is a cherished bouquet—not only by secreted lovers but by dancers on the plaza, declaring their ardors through close, intimate movements.
But the park isn’t just for lovers. Some nights, boxers skillfully spar in the shadows, children play soccer and chase funny dogs. Artists sketch portraits, black metal bands devour cheap pizza, and those seeking solitude are quietly respected.
We visited Parque Mexico many times, but that first night, the heightened awareness of a new place intoxicated me like a strong mezcal. We walked home saturated in new sights, smells, and sounds and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
I ran a warm bath, turned off the lights and climbed in the tub. Jazz lilted through the open window from the street below. People were drinking and talking and laughing. Happiness filled the air.
My lover joined me.
