The Centro Historico of Mexico City is an ancient neighborhood (as you might divine from the name) with listing canyons of Colonial edifices, streets of lumpy flagstone, and markets as teaming and surprising as coral reefs. It's my favorite urban district in the world. I've been exploring it for decades, and I know its secrets and mysteries could keep me engaged till the end of my days.

In addition to Buildings of Historical Note (of which there are a ridiculous quantity), there are scores of museums, both famous and obscure. But for your average resident, it's primarily a shopping district. You can buy everything from Italian shoes to cheap luggage to baby jesuses.

Thousands of people live here, maybe tens of thousands, but it's not considered a residential area and it tends to empty out at night and on Sundays. We keep thinking that it might empty out on weekdays too, if people start taking this seriously en masse. We imagined that we'd be able to take walks, at least. But that hasn't happened yet.

Yesterday we went out to get fresh vegetables and fruit and Vitamin D pills (and soda water, of course!). After four full days indoors, I was feeling woozy and sluggish. I almost thought I was sick, but I took my temperature, which was fine, and decided it was either my usual borderline hypochondria or my body was reacting to being deprived of natural light for 100 hours.

I expected that going outside would be exciting. I expected my senses to be heightened, like when I watched the sun set. I expected to marvel at the colors, the light, the bizarre details that have always made this area so fascinating. Instead, I just felt anxiety so intense it made me nauseated.

Here's the thing... Personal space is not really a thing in Mexico. You throw down a beach towel and the next group of people is going to set up right next to you, not as far away as possible, like they would in the US. And this can be a great thing about this country. It can also be annoying if you're not in the mood for a boombox blasting banda in your face while someone insists that you drink a warm Modelo and eat ceviche while their children crawl all over you, but, as someone with shy and antisocial tendencies, it's usually great for me to spent time around people who are more in-your-face, who want to know about you, strangers who say good morning, women who kiss your cheeks. Social distancing is the antithesis of Mexico.

Which makes this trickier...

I tend toward claustrophobia in crowds, and stepping out onto the sidewalk felt like a bad idea. We thought the street looked slightly less crowded than usual, but it was still choked with vendors, and it was impossible to stay six feet away from other people, especially since very few other pedestrians seemed to be trying.

I felt like I was in a very difficult video game. Your objective is to stay as far away from people as possible, but coughing people keep popping up right in your path.

Passing my favorite taqueria was pretty harsh, and then going into the market made me feel like I was walking into a warren of pestilence. I started to feel like I couldn't breathe, and my heart was racing.

So....not a great first foray into the great outdoors. After we returned to the sanctuary of the apartment, I felt like never going out again. Which scared me. Because staying inside hasn't been so bad. In fact, it's seemed a little too easy at times. For the first time in my life, I don't have to feel guilty for staying in and watching TV on a Friday night. I don't have to feel guilty for not taking a walk. I don't have to feel guilty for hiding away from the world.

So this morning we made ourselves get up early enough to take a run.

The neighborhood really is virtually empty on Sunday mornings, so it was much less freaky. We ran over to the Alameda, where the jacaranda trees are in bloom. On the way back, we sat in a little square and watched people walking their dogs. And, for a second, life almost seemed normal. I felt that I was in the Centro Historico, a place I dearly love, instead of in some surreal limbo.

What are your experiences with  leaving your house or apartment? How does it make you feel? Any thoughts on the long-term effects of social distancing, being holed up, etc.?

I've now been indoors for 80 hours. Yesterday we walked up to the top story to watch the sunset. There's no roof access, but I found a little balcony with a view of the Centro Historico. Funny how being deprived of outward stimulus makes simple things seem exciting. Many of you know that I'm a sunset obsessed---watching the sunset is about as close as I come to a religious devotion. So I normally pay attention. But last night it seemed like everything was extra bright and fascinating, even though the sun was obscured by a bank of grey. In addition to the towers of tangerine clouds cut through by jets, I was captivated by the blinking lights of the Torre Latinoamerica (one of my favorite buildings) and the pedestrians milling in the street below. And then, just as we were about to go, the sky fractured with lightening.

We had planned on waiting till the people dissipated so we could take a walk. But that doesn't happen till about 8 PM and in the end we got lazy after dinner, and watched our prescribed episode of dubbed-in-Spanish bootleg ALF (it was terrible but ALF looks amazing in a suit), and Breaking Bad.

Today I thought  about going to the mini mart to stock up on soda water (probably neck-in-neck with sunsets as one of the guiding fixations of life), but I didn't. Weird how staying in becomes a habit. I know we're being more careful than many people in areas with higher level of reported infection, but it's scary here because so many people aren't taking it seriously, the population is insanely dense, and the country is extremely ill-prepared to deal with the crises. Healthcare workers were protesting in the streets today because they don't have the correct safety gear and Mexico has less than half of the hospital beds per capita as Italy. Meanwhile, the sidewalks are choked with people going about their business. It feels like this city is going to go up like wildfire.

Anyway, you get to thinking...What if I got sick or made someone else sick just because I wanted some fucking soda water? Am I really that effete? Maybe I'll just stay inside and look at this comments section...

What did you do today?

3:18 PM
I've now been inside this apartment for 48 hours, except for 30 minutes yesterday, when I ran up and down the ten flights of stairs. The sounds of the metropolis filter in: the rattle of buses, honking, dogs barking, an eerie yet beautiful trumpet. I wonder if the city looks any different than it did two days ago. Are there fewer people walking the streets?

Being indoors all the time feels extremely strange. The term "outdoorsy" isn't exactly right for me. It evokes a certain level of wholesomeness that I don't manifest and implies that I own expensive hiking boots and water sandals. But I am accustomed to spending a lot of time outdoors. In fact, I just spent two months camping in an open air hut on a remote Pacific beach. I ran in the morning and swam every day, drying myself in the sun beneath massive blue skies and enjoying the breeze on my skin. I hardly got online.

I keep thinking how comparatively "normal" my life would feel if I were at home in the Oregon Coast Range. I already live alone, work from home (for which I feel extremely thankful), and seldom see other people. Instead of driving to town for supplies once a week, I'd probably set it up so I went once every two or three weeks. I'd miss drinking beer on my porch with my neighbor La Lechera and the occasional visits with other friends, but, other than that, my life would hardly change. I'd get up and run on the gravel road in the morning and garden in the breaks between the rain. 

But here's the thing. I think there's a big difference between being actually alone and just mostly alone. And the thought of being totally alone is a little scary. Is anyone out there who is isolating solo? What are your thoughts? (What do I have to look forward to?)

Here in Mexico City, I am fortunate to be "isolating" with someone I truly love and enjoy. For reasons too obscure to explain, I will call him Poodles. Poodles is good company for watching bootleg ALF DVDs and arguing about gangster movies and complaining about the terrible accents of 90% of the Spanish-speaking characters on Breaking Bad. The downside, of course, is that I am in his apartment. I've always been sensitive about imposing on people and getting in the way, and of course I imagine it's  annoying to have me snorfling around, dripping shower water on the floor, grinding my teeth, and dribbling coffee grounds on the counters.

I have a ticket home for April 5, but I have no idea if it will be reasonable or even possible to leave then. I am considering trying to change my ticket to leave sooner, but I don't know if that will be possible.

And, truth be told, I am just as scared of leaving as I am of staying here. It could mean getting stuck in the United States indefinitely. That's half a joke, but I'm also serious. My boyfriend and my mother both live in Mexico. I've always felt happier and more at home here than I do in the US. The idea of actually being cut off from Mexico makes me feel like I can't breathe.

I guess the only thing is to live in the moment and be grateful that I'm in good company and that I'm not sick, and that I have work and a place to stay other than a lonely, expensive, and probably virus-prone hotel.

It was extremely cool and heartening to get so many responses to my last post, and I was fascinated to read everyone's experiences. I hope you will keep writing.

I think it would be interesting to record what we are thinking now, at the relative outset of this epoch. How long do we imagine keeping this up? How bad do we think it will get? I am also interested in hearing from people who have been doing this longer than I have. How is isolation affecting you? Has your perspective changed much since the first couple of days?

I want to be clear that I'm not looking for sympathy. While my situation is unique, it is certainly not that bad. My goal here is, for history nerd reasons, to record my experience and the perspectives of anyone who chooses to comment. I am interested in the ways in which we are all isolated yet all in this together.

We've been laying low as much as possible for about a week, but yesterday was the first day of complete isolation. I don't actually know many people in this city, so I'm not really missing out on socializing, but I'm definitely missing the tacos and cantinas and museums.

I'm spending my time in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Mexico City's historic district. Despite its picturesque location, the  building looks more Soviet bloc than Colonial.  The windows face interior courtyards as deep as canyons. To discern the weather, or even the time of day, I have to stick my head out the door and crane my neck.

On Tuesday we went out to look for rubbing alchohol and paper towels. Ironically, stepping out the building made me feel instantly claustrophobic because suddenly we were in a throng of people. Street vendors choke the sidewalks and people wander in large groups. In short, life goes on as usual, although we did think we noticed a decrease in traffic, and I saw a few people with face masks.

I had a surreal feeling of disconnect between the news, messages from friends in the U.S. and Europe, and the reality around me. We're hearing reports from Jalisco, where the state government seems to be taking the situation seriously, but the Mexican federal government seems to be doing very little and I fear that things are going to go from "normal" to terrible very quickly here.

So far my plans for staying sane include reaching out to friends, recording my experiences, doing a virtual writing workshop with my cousin Hannah, and watching one episode of ALF dubbed into Spanish per day.

I had fun writing this article for Fathom Away. Stay tuned for their interview with me.