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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.)

Carved into cliffs of Ojo Alamo sandstone, this unconventional hideaway was originally intended to be an office for geologist (and owner) Bruce Black. Now, it’s the perfect place for adventurous travelers to engage in Flintstonian fantasies.

Overlooking the La Plata river valley, the cave and its two patios afford views of the Four Corners—Colorado, Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico. The cave itself is about 1,700 square feet, with a central stone pillar anchoring the main living areas: living room, dining room, kitchen, and kiva, or traditional ceremonial room, with traditional horno (fireplace). The separate master bedroom has a queen bed and a bathroom with a waterfall shower and Jacuzzi.

The cave is stocked with an assortment of DVDs and CDs, and while you can get cell service, there’s no Wi-Fi. Your neighbors are squirrels, chipmunks, ring-tail cats, and hummingbirds.

El Moro has been turning out churros and creamy hot chocolate 24 hours a day since 1935. You can have your churros three ways—with sugar, with sugar and cinnamon, or with cajeta, a creamy caramel—and your hot chocolate one of four ways—Mexican, French, Spanish, or Swiss-style. Though some regulars have complained that the quality and cleanliness of this spot have declined in recent years, a late-night pass by El Moro is a longstanding tradition in Mexico City.

Some of London’s markets are age-old. Others, like the Southbank, are almost brand-new. But as long as the weather’s fair, they’re a great place to hang out—and maybe grab a bargain.

An hour boat ride along Usumacinta River on the Guatemala border can take you to Yaxchilan, Palenque’s less visited cousin in the tropics of Chiapas, Mexico. Twelve-thousand-year old architecture brings many questions to mind. But at this moment, I wondered what life was like for these two gardeners, who spend many days working in the shadows of this ancient civilization. http://www.lonelyplanet.com/mexico/tabasco-and-chiapas/yaxchilan

Hernán Cortés built a summer home here on top of the ruins of a pyramid. Over the next few centuries, Mexico City‘s political and economic elite and movie stars--and even the Shah of Iran--took up residence in this town. Cuernavaca--with its stately mansions and haciendas and blooming gardens--became known as Mexico City’s more glamorous and beautiful sister. Nowadays, an ever-increasing population means Cuernavaca has lost some of the mystique from its heyday, but its lovely gardens and Spring-like climate (and the fact that it is only an hour south of Mexico City) still make it a perfect getaway from that bustling megalopolis. Be sure to check out the Palacio de Cortés and Jardin Borda while you’re there. The former is Cortés’ old digs, and it now houses the Museo Regional Cuauhnáhuac, which, over two floors covers Mexican history from pre-Columbian times to present. The latter is a grand Versailles-inspired mansion and garden which will give you a wonderful view into how Mexico’s aristocracy lived in the 18th century.