Far from God, close to the stars.

Mexico City, urban jungle. Tue 15: Mexico City. The airport taxi, after assuring us in every way that it was 'seguro', perhaps seeing our tense faces on arrival, takes us to the Hotel Isabel, two blocks from the Zocalo, the city's main square. It's as I imagined it, a bit darker and gloomier perhaps, but with its patios and plants and the smell of fumes drifting in from outside. I barely stick my nose out to breathe the capital's stench a little better, then dinner in the hotel restaurant, safe... there's also a very popular 'cantina' inside; tonight guacamole and spicy tacos, getting our stomachs ready for the climate. Wed 16: we face the smog and chaos of the most populous city in the Americas and within minutes we're at the Zocalo, visiting the Cathedral and the fabulous Diego Rivera murals inside the Palacio Nacional.

Then we go up the Torre Latinoamericana, the tallest building, full of offices, a bit run-down despite its modern looks, and we immediately grasp the vastness of the D.F. (Distrito Federal), as Mexicans call Mexico City. Afternoon at the Bellas Artes, a museum-theatre, with more splendid murals by Rivera, Siqueiros and others; there's also a fine Echevarria exhibition, then we wander the busy, noisy avenues back home. Evening with my friends Jazel and Italia, in Coyoacan, a residential district that's home to the Frida Kahlo museum and where you breathe the air of a healthy provincial town. Thu 17: we set off by car with Italia and Oskar towards Oaxaca, they're going for the weekend, and it takes three hours to get out of the city, it's also Easter weekend, but finally the colours of nature replace the metropolitan squalor of the endless 'barrios'.

Oaxaca, world heritage site. From 17 to 21 April: the Zocalo here is already lively as soon as we arrive, in the late afternoon, there are stalls and music everywhere, there's a stunning sunset among the low roofs of the buildings of this city, capital of the state of the same name, where the pace already seems slower and more soothing after the metropolitan anxiety caused by the D.F. The Santo Domingo square will become my favourite place, the church is an architectural gem, full of relief statues of saints all over the ceiling. The adjoining museum is the most complete for understanding the country's history from pre-Columbian civilisation to the present day. I don't miss a single procession or the visit to the Saturday market with the Indians who come down from the nearby mountains to sell fruit, vegetables and animals.

Around the city we visit Monte Alban (Mayan ruins), Hierve el Agua with its sulphur-water pools and the two-thousand-year-old tree called El Tule. But it's the city itself, with its old centre and its pedestrian street, that will stay in my heart.

Puerto Escondido, a myth becomes reality. 21-28 April: the van journey lasts six hours to Pochutla but feels like an eternity, and crossing the Sierra we stop several times because of car sickness and pauses at villages where passengers get on and off. From Pochutla a shared taxi (colectivo) takes us in 45 minutes to Puerto Escondido, the surfers' beach of Zicatela. The next day we move into town, where we immediately notice the presence of the Italians who have taken refuge here, even before the famous Salvatores film; we have lunch at Claudio's and stay at Mario's, but we'll be off right away, to Zipolite, to breathe that 'freak' air that Puerto no longer seems to have.

The beaches of Zipolite, Mazunte and Puerto Angel are something truly magical and it becomes hard to tear yourself away; I sleep in a hammock, cook a risotto for about ten people at the posada's restaurant and already feel part of this world. Not to mention the sunsets and the stars seen from here; I stay in this corner of the Pacific for six days, then decide it's time for Chiapas.

San Cristobal and Palenque, internet and Maya. 28 April - 2 May: I've left my travel companion at the sea and, after several hours by bus, I arrive in Chiapas. San Cristobal is the place with the highest concentration of internet cafés, and the cheapest, that I've ever seen. Even eating and sleeping here is less expensive than elsewhere. I visit two small Maya villages a few kilometres away on a mini tour that leaves the centre, and I realise that entire families here live like their ancestors, without electricity or running water; pagan religion and Christianity blend in their rites and the women all wear the traditional costume. In San Cristobal I meet the first Italians, in groups, and three Dutch friends I'd already met on the plane and then in Puerto Escondido.

It will happen again that I meet people I've already seen and known in different cities days apart, but I never meet Italians travelling alone. Italians who have instead made Mexico their adopted homeland, yes, and quite a few. In humid, muggy Palenque I find lodgings at a campsite on the road to the ruins, deep in the jungle; it's an enchanted, almost magical place, and it's a shame the days ahead are so few. The ruins themselves are simply delightful, as are the Agua Azul waterfalls that I'll visit before leaving for the long journey (15 hours) back to Oaxaca.

Oaxaca, one last embrace 3 and 4 May: I return to the posada near the Santo Domingo square for two more days in the city I've elected as my favourite, to meet again a few people I wanted to hug once more before leaving Mexico. I go out on a limb and promise my swift return, perhaps as early as next winter, and I spend these days shopping for hammocks and handicrafts, visiting museums and attending festivals and celebrations, with children dressed up in their best and music all day in the streets. I'm exhausted and moved as I wait for the bus that will take me back to Mexico City, with this place burned into my heart.

Mexico City and the pyramids at Teotihuacan I arrive at the eastern bus station and leave my bags so I can make the most of this last day too, before the flight back to the old continent at 9 this evening. I need to take the metro and set off from the northern station to reach Teotihuacan. Traces of fresh (human) blood in the station corridor and the constant searches of passengers bring me back to the reality of this monstrous urban sprawl called Mexico D.F. Yet the pyramids of the Sun and the Moon and everything around them create that magic that will come back to me in my dreams once I'm back in Italy. It's raining at the airport as I wait to board and I ask some guards whether the rainy season has already begun; they tell me it hadn't rained for twenty days, oddly enough since I set foot on this land that has given me emotions hard to forget and a great desire to return...