DOS·PIES·EN·EL·SUELO: idiom \dos-Piēs-en-el-Suēlo\ both feet on the ground

I was late. I had plans. I ended up in Mexico. I rearranged.

After more than eleven hours in an airplane, the sharp jab in my side sent me quickly out of my jetlag and sitting straight up. There I was, taking a taxi from one side to the other of one of the biggest metropoles on the planet: El De-Effe or: Mexico city. Sweat crept down my spine and memory of the prior night came to mind: wine, lights moving, traffic jams and the idea of a trip that would culminate my shitty 2015 in a voyage to remember. 

Work brought me here and before I could even get my first proper Mexican delicatessen, I felt myself being different, being "the other", the "exotic" that people tend to miss whenever I'm in Europe. I felt a sense of possession of the place, they way it smelled and the accent locals had. I wanted to lay claim on Mexico, call it my own, without the dictates of paperwork or the convention of bills. 

And there it was: the green of the foliage, people passing along endless motorways, disappearing into close-quartered coloured houses and me being part of it all, once again. 

It was the beginning of my resurrection and the comeback of my love affair with Latin America. Me with two feet on the ground, finding home in a foreign land. 

Here's a glimpse of what Mexico had to offer, only a glimpse, expect more, much more.