2026 shall be the year I start allowing Scrabble points for "Quetzalcōātl."

Behold, a few Monday streetscapes, etc. from a speedy sortie with JAB to Tpoztlán, a self-proclaimed magic town whose scenery is more wondrous than a pile of dreams. I had to gargle the Nahuatl for "third wheel" to get "Mr. Q" (see above) off our backs — half my life is now seemingly spent negotiating with patched-up deities, esoteric patron gods, chaneques, duendes, and other soul stealer types — but, to quote Blaise Pascal, the 40-year-old-virgin before the 40-Year-Old-Virgin, we run heedlessly into the abyss only after installing something in front of us to stop us seeing it. In short, we went in as blind as a baby rat and the gods of user-friendly adventure shined upon us.

Tpoztlán is mere 15 miles away, as the crow staggers, from Amatlán de Quetzalcóatl, where the latter's eponymous celebrity still lays his kooky head at night. (I am told "Amatlán" translates to something like "bunk bed fort.")

Travel advisory: Tpoztlán and environs has the hilly dimensions of those later Mario World/Sonic the Hedgehog games, and by day 2 even the most intrepid amblers' leg muscles will have turnt into pure uncut silly putty, and, in general, if you pull out your credit card to pay for something, the good people of the town's stores/restaurants will look at you like you're pointing a loaded Ruger at their ballsack so, yeah, bring cash.

#tpoztlán #tpoztlanpueblomagico #mexico #quetzalcoatl #indridcoldisdead

Tpoztlánacana

Museo Metro CDMX