Our Story

A Georgetown friend's birthday in New York City, where Ximena was visiting for the week. Alexei was a last-minute add — nomad passing through, no plan, no coat. Later that night an underground party swallowed the crew whole; somewhere between the bad strobe and worse speakers he asked two questions in a row: are you single, and do you like pancakes. She said yes and yes. The next morning they went on their first date — pancakes and oysters. Her one-week trip turned into almost three weeks of dating. Gonzo start to a gonzo life.

Mexico City and New York, with detours that read like a fever dream itinerary: Lisbon, Athens, Bordeaux, Paris, Ajaccio, Biarritz, San Sebastián, Mykonos, Istanbul, Cartagena, Steamboat Springs, Jackson Hole, Livingston Manor, Albuquerque, Medellín, and Brooklyn. Airports as living rooms. A shared notes app called "next time" that got dangerously long. Distance turned out to be a decent filter — and a great excuse for the wild turn.

She moved to New York. The Park Slope loft absorbed her: too many books, better coffee, and Tiggy — our retired greyhound, unbothered by any of it, generally horizontal on the good rug.

He recreated the first date, four years on — then Domino Park in Brooklyn, river at their backs. Ring out of a pocket, a few witnesses on the lawn, and Lee behind the camera catching all of it. She said yes. We got pancakes and oysters after. Some rituals earn their keep.

Which brings us here: 26 and 27 February, Oaxaca. A brass band, a cactus at golden hour, and everyone we like in one place. Buy the ticket, take the ride.