I’m not a natural-born runner; my body resists it in every way. But I took up the hobby last year, realizing that if I were going to stay fit on the road, I’d need to rely on means that don’t include going to a gym. Besides, running doubles as an aerobic form of sightseeing – albeit without the camera, the only thing I regretted about today’s run.

(From Friday’s walk: One of several fountains on Amsterdam Street)

I headed straight for Calle Amsterdam, a verdant loop through the heart of La Condesa with a tree-lined path in the center. Formerly called Calle Hipódromo, the loop is what remains of the old Condesa racetrack. Now laced with fountains and gardens and lined with colorful cafés and boutiques among the classic art-deco architecture, it bears no semblance to a racetrack – except for the presence of the other joggers.

The high point was Parque México, an enormous stretch of greenery filled with children learning to rollerblade, boys kicking a soccer ball, tiny dogs in colorful sweaters and their attentive owners, elders perusing newspapers, youngsters listening to MP3 players and families pedaling a four-seated bicycle contraption for rent in the plaza.

Smells of roasting corn, savory pork tacos and fresh flowers filled the rain-washed air. A gentleman sat in front of a booth surrounded by small tables and filled with wooden objects and painting supplies; for $3 you could buy a small animal or for $6 a little wooden jewelry box, and you could paint it however you liked.

Further along I found Mejor en Bici (Better on a Bike), a nonprofit group that provides free bicycles for “rent” in several parks around the city. All you have to do is leave your ID and a 200-peso note, and you can take the bike for a spin.

I don’t know whether it was because of the altitude (Mexico City is about a mile and a half higher than Houston!) or that I’m out of shape after three weeks of huddling in the cold, or simply because there was so much to see, but it was a run-walk type of run. At any rate, it felt great to unclench my huddled shoulders and feel the sun on my skin again.

My first evening found me in Cafe La Boheme, a charming cafe that was serving Rosca de Reyes, a seasonal specialty featuring candied fruits and a delicious cream filling. I found an internet signal, a cup of cappucino and sat down to enjoy my rosca and e-mail. Just as I prepared to leave, a local musician by the name of Sergio Fernandez Pavón took the mike and dedicated his performance to the great Argentine singer Mercedes Sosa, whose recent passing created a vast void in the Latin American folk music scene. I was hooked. The next two hours held music and poetry, laughter and comraderie and a little boy with a little guitar to match. An altogether excellent first night in D.F.

Thursday started bright and early with a breakfast in La Condesa with the Angelica Foundation´s Ana Paula Hernandez, a human rights advocate who has been working with indigenous people on land rights and environmental issues. I´ll write more about Ana Paula later; meanwhile, here´s a tour of the beautiful Condesa.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

The high point, however, came on Thursday evening, when I went to get a haircut at a trendy little boutique salon in La Roma, a neighborhood bordering the very chic La Condesa. My stylist, Miguel, was very charming and was doing his best to give me a much needed hairstyle when the lights went out. Not just in our salon but down the entire street.

We sat there for half an hour in the dark, trading jokes and stories, and finally I decided to seek another hairdresser to finish the job. I greatly underestimated the professionalism of this group; I was told quite firmly by a very muscular and tattooed hairdresser down the street that I should let the original stylist finish what he had started, since it would be impossible to know what he had planned to do.

I sighed and went on a search for tacos; my half-cut hair did not diminish my pleasure at finding a bustling everyday festival of outdoor eateries, each with its own savory specialty, surrounding the Chilpancingo Metro station. For 50 cents I chose my favorite – the pineapple-tinged smoked pork tacos al pastor,  with fresh cilantro, onions and a squeeze of lime – and was not disappointed. I stood side by side under the plastic overhang with other diners, taking respite from the drizzle in the bright and cheery outdoor cafe, watching the kitchen magicians do their work, and felt thoroughly happy to be here.

I made my way to the famous La Espiga bakery, where people stack trays high with their favorite pan dulces (sweet breads) and chose a tiny fruit tart for Miguel. I headed back in the drizzle, just in time to deliver the pastry and collect the end of my haircut before closing time.

I´ll let you be the judge: How did Miguel do?