This is the list of my entire wardrobe ported to Mexico last summer for 42 days.
Two dresses, two skirts, two tank tops, two cardigans, and two pairs of incredibly deelish-feeling smartwool leggings. I mixed & matched different moods/lengths/shoes/socks to make 10 or 12 discrete outfits, like the hare-brained magazines promise. One pair Birks, one pair boots, a pile of underwear & a nightgown. Every piece I brought (Fille, too) was merino wool & guess what, everything they say about it not stinking is true.
it seems it seems all fucking unbelievable, but I wrote it down, I know it's true. I have to do it again and for longer! Fun.
July & August in Mexico City is highs of about 75F, 40s at night (and the sun doesn't come up until after 7, qui sait). A week or so of our trip was warmer-than-usual last year, and we thought we'd misjudged, but everywhere we turned, someone remarked on the unexpectedness of it, since the up-to-80F season is May & June. Merino was a fine fabric for this heat surge bc it doesn't feel wet or clammy, when you are perspiring delicately (ha).
But we will be there this year in June, mostly all of it, so what to pack which will span the hot season before we get back to the eternal spring of the highland climate, and in the most economical, mix-n-match way? In a city so formal as D.F., where I have determined the dress code is "convent school field trip" bc for obvious reasons, then and now, we don't want a buncha U.S. stank on us before we even open our mouths.
Speaking of our open mouths and blending, we spend a lot of time watching & repeating Coco, parts of it with long pieces from Angélica Vale, in the hopes of having better Mexican accents. It isn't too much of a big deal for me to come on so quelle Espagne in the capital city, and it does burnish our mystery with people we don't want to know, but I actually hold out hope of switching back & forth.
Last year, we denied to strangers that we spoke English. I taught Fifille how to startle at someone (say, a fresh shopkeeper) speaking English to her, then shake her head & say, hopeful in the presentation of any language but the Spanish she had fumbled, Vous-êtes comprenez le français? Which, answer=never & so then she was back, free to practice her Spanish some more. After that, we would be stuck murmuring uselessly to one another while in earshot of the denied, me using French she barely understands, she responding cutely with a mix of ballet combinations and Serge Gainsbourg lyrics, but we survived. I mean, "survived," lol. I live exactly right there at noyb and strong lessons in dissembling will do a pretty girl no harm.
When strangers asked where we were from, we told them Canada. It seemed like an abundance of caution until when the evening came we were in a taxi with a driver who railed (!!!) against Americans & Trump & all the Americans who voted for Trump & the rest who let it all happen, etc. Ok, wow, ok. I mean, the odds are very high that if we had not revealed ourselves as non-U.S. North Americans, he would have never said a word, like if I had reported our visit was from Azores or Beirut, and very likely that if I had said we were from Miami or NYC, he would not have intended to offend, so kept it to himself, but omigosh, he was like Arquero Bunker, no kidding.
Anyhow, we would never have been able to keep all that up if we had been wearing leggings-as-pants with smock tops and cork wedges, so what to pack? I know! Gtg bc whatever won't walk itself into the suitcase xox