In this moment, I’ve just discovered that I’m more of a travel ranter than writer. So when I sit down to write about a place as perfectly pleasant as San Miguel de Allende, I just grin at my photos and type nothing. OK, now I’ve typed this. So that’s a start.

Fortunately/Unfortunately, this post will have no anecdotes of transportation near-misses or cultural misunderstandings. There will be no great challenge to overcome, no witty retelling of good travel gone bad. Who wants to hear about a couple of googly-eyed Americans wandering aimlessly for four days around the most photogenic city in the Western hemisphere?

No really. If you don’t want to read that just stop here.

OK. Who’s left? In the mornings we strolled among endlessly charming cobblestone streets. We lingered over churros and chocolate. We unironically enjoyed the stylings of a bedazzled 12-piece mariachi band. There was a bit of yoga on the terrace of our apartment with the view of the neo-Gothic, sandstone pink church.

There were decadent multi-course meals that didn’t break the bank. There were mezcal cocktails in restaurants, in cozy bars, in rooftop bars. Mezcal cocktails with ginger, with tamarind, lined with spicy worm salt. Mezcal shots accompanied by grasshoppers and Oaxacan string cheese. Needless to say, without the kid in tow, there was plenty of mezcal.

Everyone should have the opportunity to experience writers block in San Miguel de Allende, the least rant-inducing city in the world.