Mexico City for The Slow Weekenders: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

An art-deco oval of a park laid over an old racetrack, with a duck pond, a clock tower and benches under the jacarandas; walk it once and sit.

A 1911 mansion turned cultural centre, with a free gallery, a bookshop and a courtyard café that does not mind how long you take over a coffee.

Elena Reygadas's townhouse of pasta and Mexican herbs in a room of plaster and plants; book the upstairs, order the bread, stay for the last course.

A hot stone massage on the fifteenth floor with Reforma below, then the relaxation room with tea; nothing on the itinerary until lunch.

A family restaurant since 1957 where the Caesar salad is dressed at the table and the menu changes with what Gerardo Vázquez Lugo's mother cooked; three hours is normal.

The city's tree nursery is also its gentlest park: a flat loop under cedars, squirrels that beg, and a bench for the hour before dusk.

A small botanical garden of cactus beds and an orchid house inside the park, quieter than anything around it on a Sunday; sit by the lava rock pond.

O'Gorman's two studio houses joined by a bridge, hers blue, his pink; a half-hour visit, which is the right length before a long lunch next door.

Sunday lunch in a seventeenth-century monastery with the margaritas in silver bowls of ice; the courtyard tables stay until the lanterns go on.

A long garden with a pond of model sailing boats, an aviary and an open-air theatre, where the dog walkers of Polanco set the morning's pace.

A bookshop with a café up a spiral stair and plants hanging from the mezzanine; buy something in Spanish you will not finish and read the first page here.

Enrique Olvera's neighbourhood café, chilaquiles and good coffee at marble tables, ten minutes from Reforma and the airport road.