Circulo Mexicano

Our tantalising first glimpses of Mexico City were caught, fleetingly, within the frame of a taxi window as we bounced along in a steady flow of evening traffic. It’s fair to say that we were hooked almost immediately. The anonymous architecture of the international airport quickly became a distant memory as Mr Smith and I were propelled through busy, colourful streets. Our car took one final left turn and completed its spiral into the heart of the city. Night had fallen. Mine and Mr Smith’s eyes, that had been locked on the bustling back-lit pavements, were now suddenly yanked skyward, first, to the looming Baroque presence of Mexico City Cathedral (or, the Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven, if we are being proper about it) and then to the warm sandstone façade of Circulo Mexicano. Our taxi deposited us across the street and the temptation to explore was immediate. I caught Mr Smith giving the nearest food cart a longing look. But we didn't linger, tired as we were and keen to discover our hotel, we crossed the street to Circulo. 

Given the architectural roar of its neighbours, the Circulo’s façade whispers. The building’s 19th-century rendered exterior stands apart from the pointy black volcanic rock from which almost everything else in the city is built. The hotel’s name is spelt out in faint painted letters across its frontage, the architecture is preserved rather than polished. This leaning towards softness and subtlety, in a city not always associated with it, is no unconsidered thing, as Mr Smith and I quickly came to realise: nothing is by chance at Circulo.

As we walked through the stone archway into what would have once been an open atrium but is now a glass-topped courtyard, we were a little unsure of ourselves, exchanging glances and wondering ‘Where do we go?’ Because the reception desk of Circulo sits tucked away, discreetly, at the back of the space inhabited by (what we would later find out to be) charming chocolate shops and clothing boutiques and a restaurant. Once orientated, we were greeted warmly by our new hosts. A glass of mezcal was politely offered and less politely drunk as myself and Mr Smith giggled our way through our first sample of Mexico’s national drink – we would enjoy plenty more over the coming days. As we were led to our room, the full extent of Circulo’s quiet luxury began to reveal itself.

What was the warm scent that hung in the air? ‘Cedar?’ suggested Mr Smith. And the lighting, so low as to be instantly soothing. The brick walls were exposed and raw and tactile, an industrial steel staircase looked magnificent set against them. A single huge, hulking, timber table sat in the shadows. Our travel-weary and architecture-sensitive selves drank it all in. ‘It’s almost monastic,’ I breathed to Mr Smith, for Circulo felt like a place where one says things quietly. Mr Smith gave an appreciative nod and then, as I began to think him driven mute, he quietly muttered ‘spiritual’.

In truth, our experience of architects Ambrosi Etchegaray’s calming and exacting vision of a hotel had only just begun. Over the next few days we marvelled at the quality and subtlety of the building’s details. Every day we relished the little ritual of pushing open our pleasingly heavy wooden door and stepping into our own serene private terrace. Mr Smith explored every square inch of the hotel’s rooftop terrace with its hot tub and sauna and petite pool, while I took sanctuary in the exquisite bedroom with a bed so big there surely can be no name for it (triple king? Where do they find the sheets?). I imagined Circulo as a living collage, a bringing together of the best details from the international travels of an especially sophisticated and discerning travelling architect. We recognised the qualities of Shaker functionality in the bespoke furniture, the aesthetics of a contemporary Japanese interior in the minimal material palette, the edginess of a New York loft, the warming atmosphere of a Finnish sauna or a hammam. 

All of this relaxation and serenity is set against the vibrant pulsating heart of Mexico City. Preliminary research (hey Google) had informed us that Circulo was located within Mexico City’s historic epicentre – and wasn’t that the truth. Mr Smith and I marvelled at the stamina of the street performers whose drums, recreating ancient rituals, we could hear across the cathedral square from the Circulo rooftop. The floodlit ruins of the Aztec Templo Mayor were almost within touching distance. But Circulo reminded us that Mexico City is firstly a contemporary city. As we sipped our mezcal cocktails, ate our herb salad and fish tacos, high above the busy streets, and all the time surrounded by a fascinating ever-changing company of fellow travellers, Mr Smith and I confessed; we were entirely seduced by modern Mexico and Circulo Mexicano.