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Nineteenth-century Cuban independence leader José Martí lived a short but full life, creating a considerable body of writing and traveling extensively. He spent long enough periods of time abroad that he could have been considered an expat; he lived in Mexico in 1875 and again in 1894. During his latter stint in Mexico, he lived on Calle San Ildefonso 40 in the Centro Histórico. A plaque on the building’s wall commemorates the historic inhabitant. Martí appears in other scenes you might see around Mexico City, especially in the murals of Diego Rivera. In “Sueño de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central,” Martí stands next to Frida Kahlo, tipping his black hat at two ladies. Alameda Central, the park located next to Palacio Bellas Artes, was a favorite spot of Martí’s when he lived in the capital. The mural’s subject is significant moments in Mexican history and in addition to Martí, it depicts a number of important Mexican politicians and thinkers.” Today, the mural is part of the permanent collection of the Museo Mural Diego Rivera in Mexico City.

Built for the 1968 Olympic Games, the Palacio de Deportes remains an architectural icon of the second half of the 20th-century. Its unusual exterior somewhat resembles the exoskeleton of an armadillo, and its texture stands out as you look at Mexico City from the air just before landing at Benito Juárez International Airport. Today, the Palacio is the site of concerts and sporting events, including motocross and American football, among others. For a full listing of current and upcoming sports events, check the venue’s website.

Yes, it’s tiny—and no one knows its name—but this hole in the wall is a new favorite, simply because it’s like no other vibe we’ve seen in the city: an open kitchen and a rustic setting, both a lunch stop and a forum for learning about corn, the ingredient that lent form to Mexican cuisine as we know it today. The big idea came from taco-maker Paulino Martínez, founder of iconic Taquería El Parnita, who reasoned that to make a better taco, you had to get involved starting with corn. It translates to superior grain in everything from sopes and gorditas to atole and tejuino (a slightly fermented corn, brown-sugar and lime beverage).

If you’ve never eaten a taco in Mexico, then perhaps you think, “Well, a taco is a taco is a taco.” Not so, as you’ll find out if you swing by Tacos Joven for an order of their tacos en canasta (“tacos in a basket”). Since 1971, this fast-food spot has been turning out what many folks believe are the best tacos in Mexico City. Though a bit more expensive than comparable spots with the same fare, these tacos are stuffed until chubby with either potatoes, beans, shredded beef, or chicharron (fried pork rinds), and their size is outmatched by their flavor. You have to stop by early, as business ends at 4:30 pm each day, and a bit earlier on Sundays.

The imposing, white-domed wedding cake now known as Palacio de Bellas Artes was originally planned as a national theater, and construction was begun in 1904. The Mexican Revolution, among other things, postponed its completion until 1934, which explains the stark contrast between its creamy art nouveau exterior (note amazing iron- and stonework with local motifs like serpents) and its art-deco-inspired interior, finished in black and red marbles, and with walls that feature dazzling murals by Rivera, Siqueiros, and other postrevolutionary masters. Today the beloved edifice is home to a concert hall, exhibition areas given over to blockbuster shows, and Mexico’s National Architecture Museum; take an auditorium tour—or better yet, see a performance—to lay eyes on the theater’s magnificent Tiffany glass “curtain,” a mosaic formed (they say) by more than 1 million separate glass components.

Years ago when Mexico City’s southern neighborhoods were in fact small, independent cities, the quarter known as San Ángel Inn was a sylvan getaway for well-heeled urbanites. No longer an inn, the area’s namesake—a former Carmelite convent from the eighteenth century—persists as an iconic, country-club-style restaurant and lounge. Its venerable walls, gardens, and fountains call up colonial gentility and ward away the urban chaos just outside the door; strolling mariachis are the sole “disruption.” Sip what many believe is the city’s best margarita amid an impeccable, songbird-serenaded garden.

This used to be a hacienda, but it was turned into a restaurant almost 50 years ago. The food is phenomenal and the margaritas are famous—in fact, they’re my favorite thing on the menu. There is always a band or a pianist playing.

To get from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, don’t take I-25 North--it’s busy and sterile. Drive east on I-40 to the backside of the Sandía Mountains, get off on exit 175, and head north on Highway 14, also known as “The Turquoise Trail.” You’ll wind through forest to plateau, through mining towns and old Spanish land grants. Halfway to Santa Fe you’ll come to Madrid. (Note--do NOT pronounce it the way you would the capital of Spain; here it’s “MAD-rid.”) In the early 20th-c., some four thousand people lived here; by WWII it had become a ghost town when the local coal demand dropped. By the 1970’s the town began to be reoccupied--artists moved in, galleries set up...it claims to have more artists per capita than any other town in the country. (The population is around 400.) And in 2006, the town served as the set for the John Travolta film “Wild Hogs.” Driving in from the south, you’ll note the brightly painted houses; just after the highway curves, find a place to park among the motorcycles and grab a coffee at Java Junction (they have a B&B upstairs)--their motto: “Bad Coffee sucks.” The morning I stopped here, the café had a welcome sign in German; some Mercedes businessmen were having a road-trip meeting...Madrid is alive and well.

After years at its original, jewel-box-like (and maybe even a little solemn) location, the city’s high temple of Mexican regional cuisine has moved to a more expansive—some say more relaxed—space. It includes more light, a bar area for “taco omakase,” and large windows overlooking the garden, plus a groovy, midcentury accent that might recall Manhattan’s late, lamented Four Seasons restaurant. Changes aside, diners can still count on a six-section prix fixe menu, with each section home to multiple bites involving an astounding variety of local ingredients that even most Mexicans have never tasted, all exquisite enough to have placed Pujol on several best-restaurants lists for years running. And yes, you still get a taste of chef Enrique Olvera’s mole madre, well over a thousand days in the pot as of this writing.

The concierge at the hotel was skeptical. The cab driver was amused and skeptical. Lucha libre, or Mexican wrestling, is clearly an unsophisticated embarrassment, tantamount to telling a visitor to the U.S. to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Attending a match, though, is a way to see a side of Mexican culture not found in museums or historic churches, but one that definitely uses some of the same mythology, iconography, and pageantry seen there. The crowd shouts, chants, and laughs through performances featuring dancing girls, inept referees, men in lavish and ridiculous costumes (a caveman with a plastic club, fur boots, and a skimpy loincloth), and some honest-to-God astounding feats of athleticism. Matches—loud and funny and thrilling—take place on Friday nights and occasionally during the week. Tickets can be bought in person at the arena, but arrive early to avoid a long line and use your time to shop the stands set up outside for handmade lucha libre wares (wrestling capes, masks, T-shirts, onesies for infants).

The ocean churns as a 36-ton mammal swims up to the boat. With your arm plunged into the cool water, you await the touch of a California gray whale. Like a house cat craving a scratch on the head, the whale pushes its rubbery skin, rough with barnacles and battle scars from boats and orcas, against your palm. From January through March, hundreds of gray whales settle in Magdalena Bay, on the southwest coast of Mexico’s Baja peninsula. From their feeding grounds off the coast of Alaska, they’ve made one of the longest animal migrations—more than 5,000 miles—to mate, give birth, and raise their young here. Visitors who join local fishermen and outfitters in the bay are practically guaranteed to see whales, and the luckiest will encounter “friendlies,” including proud mothers who nudge their wrinkly black calves toward the surface. Sea Kayak Adventures offers a new trip that combines gray whale sightings in Magdalena Bay with blue and fin whale watching in the Sea of Cortez. From $1,495. (800) 616-1943, This appeared in the January/February 2013 issue.

If you love antiquing or if you’re just searching for a Mexico City souvenir with a bit of history behind it, it’s hard to imagine a more pleasant way to spend a Saturday morning in the capital than visiting Plaza del Angel, a giant antique market with dozens of galleries, located in the Zona Rosa. You can visit during the week, too, but on Saturdays, temporary vendors join those who have permanent spaces here to sell all sorts of wares, from postcards and pictures to religious relics, furniture, books, magazines, and handcrafts.

If you’ve had a tough time finding authentic souvenirs, you might find something suitable in an unlikely place: Cabo’s biggest shopping mall. Puerto Paraiso may be the last place you’d think about going while in Cabo, but it has several stores, including 100% Mexico Hecho a Mano and Mi Mexico Magico, that sell handcrafted and artisanal goods made in Mexico. Look for pottery, textiles, toys, leatherwork, and small-batch food products like organic chocolate and local honey.

Enjoy these stunning oceanview and beachside cabanas at The Westin Lagunamar Ocean Resort, a seaside resort in Cancun, Mexico. Enjoy the turquoise blue waters of the Caribbean, a sweet haven for the sun-seekers. A perfect place to soak under the sun, swim or people-watch. $400/night.

Established in 1917, this cantina keeps tradition alive while not shying away from new, trendy touches. Swing through saloon doors to find live music, drinks served in mason jars, and lots of free regional nibbles in a lively barroom that extends to a large open-air patio. On weekends the space fills up with twenty- and thirtysomethings swinging to salsa beats and sipping cocktails or some ice-cold, locally brewed Montejo beer. The limonada eléctrica, a drink in the namesake shade of blue that’s charged with a powdered-chili rim, is a real crowd-pleaser.

The entire north side of Santa Fe’s downtown plaza is taken up by the 1610 Palace of the Governors, the oldest continually occupied public building in the United States. Its front adobe facade is completely shaded, and in this “portal,” the Native American Vendors Program has been operating for over six decades. A daily lottery ensures a rotating selection of artisans from the various pueblos throughout New Mexico. Yes, there might be some “finer” pieces available in the chic boutiques elsewhere in Santa Fe, but here, in the shade of a four-century-old adobe building, you can meet the artists and even haggle a bit. Be respectful, though—these are not cheap trinkets made in a sweatshop abroad: The crafts and the jewelry are usually made by the person with whom you’ll be conversing. (An interesting side note: The Palace was taken over in 1680 and occupied by Native Americans during the Pueblo Revolt until 1692, when the Spaniards returned. This is the only government seat in the U.S. to have ever been taken over by Native Americans. It then served as the residence of the governor during the Spanish, Mexican, and U.S. territorial regimes, until 1907. In 1912, New Mexico became a U.S. state. Today, the Palace serves as a museum.)