Moved to Mexico at 38, here's what I learned in the first 2 months !
- Miles by Launchpad2a
- Mar 6
- 4 min read
Updated: Mar 10
Moving to a new country is never just about booking a ticket. It’s about answering the endless how, what, why, and how long — to your family, your friends, and sometimes even to strangers who suddenly feel entitled to an opinion. And when that country is Mexico, the opinions multiply.
It was only when I seriously considered moving to Mexico that I began hearing all the reasons I shouldn’t. It’s unsafe. It’s all cartels. It’s corrupt. There’s no help. Everyone who can leave, leaves.
The narrative wasn’t new to me — anyone who consumes global media has heard some version of it. But when you’re standing on the edge of a life decision, repetition has a way of seeping in. I had about six months before my move, and by month two, doubt had quietly begun to haze my excitement.
For context, I’m Indian and had lived in India all my life, as well as I was working as an AVP in a reputed bank. Back home, having house help is common — sometimes even more than one. I had two: one for cooking and one for cleaning. So naturally, the practical anxieties followed. “How will you manage everything yourself?” “Dishwashers don’t clean properly.” “You won’t get good help.” The fear wasn’t about safety alone — it was about comfort, lifestyle, and the invisible scaffolding that makes life easy.
But here’s the thing: no amount of perfectly scrubbed dishes or expertly cooked meals could compete with my desire to explore a new life in a new culture. I’ve always been a little rebellious and have been an avid traveler. I even ran a travel blog a decade ago before tech work took over and the blog quietly went offline.
2 months later, here I am in Mexico City — and what I’ve learned has far less to do with headlines and far more to do with humanity.
First impressions
From the very first day, the city surprised me. Starting at immigration, I was greeted with a warm smile. My first taxi ride included polite conversations and respectful silence. The security guard at my building held the gate open with a cheerful “Buenas noches.” I responded with a slightly awkward smile and a cautious “gracias,” unsure whether this warmth was exceptional or routine. It didn’t take long to realize — it’s routine. Greetings here don’t just end with good morning or good night; they often come with “have a great day” and a generous smile.
I arrived bracing myself for subtle racism, shaped by experiences across parts of Europe and Southeast Asia. Instead, what I found was patience. I don’t speak Spanish — the primary language here — yet in markets and restaurants, people have gone out of their way to help me. I’ve seen strangers help me locate groceries, waiters patiently stand by while I fumbled with Google Translate, or call over someone who speaks English so I’d feel more comfortable. They didn’t have to, but they did. And 15,000 kilometers from home, that kindness mattered.
Then came New Year’s Eve. I learned that the city hosts a massive free open-air concert in the historic center. Conditioned by every warning I’d ever heard about big-city pickpocketing, I left valuables at home and clutched my fanny pack tightly in the crowd. But what I witnessed was unexpected: no shoving, no chaos, no frantic scrambling for a better view. Just space, music, families, elderly people in wheelchairs, pets dressed up for the occasion, and thousands of people simply vibing their way into the new year. Slowly, I left my grip loosen on my fanny pack.
Crossing the road became another quiet revelation. Cars often stop for pedestrians at the zebra crossing — even when the lights are green even when they technically don’t have to.
Pets are welcome in markets and restaurants, treated with dignity and care. People clean up after their dogs whether anyone is watching or not. It made me reflect on how easily we normalize certain shortcomings back home.
And the food — that deserves its own chapter. I was thrilled to discover mangoes in abundance, vibrant local farmer’s markets set up across neighborhoods, and fresh produce that feels both accessible and affordable. Spice? Very much present. “Picante,” as they say. Tamarind weaves its way through the cuisine — in candies, sauces, and even in micheladas (must try beer based cocktail) — that familiar tang tasting strangely like home. Fresh meat and seafood are easy to find, whether in neighborhood markets or supermarkets.
Art spills into everyday life here. Buildings are colorful canvases. Weekends often host open art exhibitions where you can wander, browse, and even pick up supplies at reasonable prices. Parks are clean, streets are maintained, and garbage bins are easy to find — simple civic systems that quietly elevate daily living.
The weather feels almost indulgent: sunny days, cool evenings, occasional soft drizzles. Layers are your best friend, as temperatures shift between day and night, but it’s a rhythm that’s easy to fall in love with.
Having said all the above, I do acknowledge that the country has its own share of troubles, but it is worth taking a pause and looking at what else the country has to offer.
Perhaps my biggest lesson, though, has little to do with Mexico and more to do with people. We often form strong opinions about places we’ve never lived in — sometimes never even visited. Media narratives amplify extremes because extremes sell. But countries, like people, are layered and nuanced. Unless you’ve walked their streets, ordered coffee in broken local language, or stood in their crowds on New Year’s Eve, you’re only holding a fraction of the story.
Moving to Mexico didn’t just introduce me to a new city. It reminded me that fear is often inherited, not experienced. And sometimes, the only way to replace borrowed doubt is with lived reality.
Comments