The day Europe got boring
Bethany Platanella is a travel planner and Michelin Guidebook writer based in Mexico City. She lives for the dopamine hit that comes directly after booking a plane ticket, exploring local markets, practicing yoga and munching on fresh tortillas. Sign up to receive her Sunday Love Letters to your inbox, peruse her blog, or follow her on Instagram.
I can tell you the date and the hour.
The first time I went to Europe I was 16, and I fell in love. With Spain, that is. So much so, that when I returned to my suburban bedroom in South Jersey, I painted the walls yellow, tossed a red throw blanket and pillows over my comforter, and cried myself to sleep for a good month before, finally, the sharp sensation that pierced my gut every time I thought about sunny Costa del Sol diminished.
I was determined to return, and I did. When I was 24, I saved US$8,000, quit my job, left my boyfriend and moved to Barcelona. A long love affair with Europe commenced, one that took me through too many cities and seaside towns to remember, for pleasure and for work. That love affair ended, temporarily, with Covid. For four long years I didn’t return, and I ached for it. On the bright side, it was then that I moved from Miami to Mexico. Mexico City stole my heart in 2016, and I relocated in 2022.
In 2024, I went back to Europe for a visit. Italy. It was like I’d never left.
In 2025, I went back to Europe for a visit. France. It was like I’d never left.
It’s 2026, I’m back in Europe. Spain.
It’s 4:00pm, I’m typing away from my rather-stiff-but-not-complaining bed beneath a slanted wooden roof, Andalusian sunlight pouring in through the skylight, and the only real reason I’m inside at all is not the 32 Celcius temperatures nor a lack of Moorish architecture to photograph. It’s because, like the centuries before our current, it’s siesta, and there’s simply nothing to do.
Again, it’s like I’d never left.
Everything is the same as it was when I arrived on Spanish soil in my teens – albeit more expensive, and noticeably less snacks (I remember a time when nuts, olives, bread or chips were standard with every tinto de verano. Not no mo’.) Historic preservation is indeed impressive, as is each country’s commitment to traditional cuisine. Fashion is as elegant as it ever was – within a limited framework of color and material, a script which everyone partakes in blindly. From what I can tell, I’m hearing the same complaints I’ve been hearing for decades (taxes, bad healthcare system), now with added fears around security, tourism and degenerating public transportation.
All totally fair grievances.
However, Europe – and when I say Europe, I’m unfairly referring to the Mediterranean, which is where I’ve spent the majority of the previous years (i.e., I’m fully aware Scandinavia is lightyears ahead of most of the world in terms of development) – is still, and likely always will be, comfortable. Quiet. Largely safe. Predictable.
Not a surprise in sight.
No one is doing anything, it seems, to generate change. New construction looks exactly like old construction. Cars are mostly white. The boldest fashion choice I’ve seen is a pair of red flats (with, of course, a white linen shirt and navy skirt). I saw one man playing music in the street – another man threatened to call the police. On the train from Madrid to Cadiz, no less than four of my neighbors pulled out a homemade ham and cheese sandwich to hold them over on the five hour ride. Every menu is pretty much the same as the menu next door.
And I ask myself, again, as I’ve asked myself since the day I arrived in Madrid ten days ago, when did Europe get so boring?
I can tell you exactly when Europe got so damn boring.
August 10, 2022. The day I moved to Mexico City. The day I was blasted with all of life’s unexpected thrills: sounds, smells, humor, spice. In a country where bicycles double as ice cream carts and mole can be made in hundreds of ways, the well of creativity runs deep. As the old English proverb says, necessity is the mother of invention, and Mexico is indeed a society lacking European creature comforts. So the architecture, the clothes, the cuisine – it all stops you in your tracks.
According to WIPO’s 2025 Global Innovation Index, Mexico sits alongside Sweden, the United States, India and Nigeria (among others) in optimizing innovation investments for greater returns. Mexico City is now one of the world’s 100 most concentrated centers of measurable innovation – despite far less investment in R&D than leading European capitals.
You’re at liberty to paint your house bright-as-the-Caribbean-Sea blue if you want to. Did you know at least three colors – Maya Blue, Cochineal Red, Mexican Pink – were invented in Mexico? Tacos can, and should, be topped with crispy insects and salsas picantes; chefs are encouraged to reinvent traditional dishes with cutting-edge techniques (just look at Pujol). Mexican restaurants regularly make the World’s 50 Best list, and 29 restaurants in Mexico hold MICHELIN Stars – for reference, Peru, a global powerhouse in fine dining, has none. And the art scene here? It’s pulsing. Art Weekends reports that Mexico held 37.8% of the Latin American art market in 2025, the most of any country in the region. In fintech, Mexico ranks second in the LATAM market, just behind Brazil.
The point is, Mexico is vibrating with innovation, and you can feel it when you walk down the street. It’s how I imagine New York City in the ‘90s, when the possibilities seemed (and were) endless and inspiration hid around every corner. Mexico is still learning who it is in this big world, figuring out how to make the most of its resources, history and youth. That's both exciting and challenging for a country of its size. But I'll take a country still finding itself over one that's sure it has nothing left to learn.
Outside, siesta is winding down. Soon, the locals will roll up their shutters and somebody will pour me a tinto de verano, no olives on the side. I'll drink it happily. Spain was my first love, and some part of me will always paint the walls yellow for her. But in a few days I'll head home to Mexico City, where the streets are alive with the calls of fruit vendors and the smell of freshly baked pan dulce (which, by the way, far exceeds any croissant I’ve had here). I’m already buzzing to get back. A writer can't ask for more than a city that surprises her.