One Night In a Kaleidoscopic, Snake-Shaped Apartment Complex Near Mexico City

Welcome to One Night In, a series about staying in the most unparalleled places available to rest your head.

On my first-ever trip to Mexico City in late 2021, I snagged coveted tickets to tour Mexican architect Javier Senosiain’s Casa Orgánica, a sculptural home that looks like it came from another universe, designed in the organic architectural style popularized by Frank Lloyd Wright that promotes harmony between buildings and the natural world around them. The tour of this property made me eager to visit other signature works by Senosiain, including El Nido de Quetzalcóatl, a serpent-shaped residential complex surrounded by gardens and forest in Naucalpan, about 30 minutes outside of Mexico City.

Built between 2001 and 2007, El Nido de Quetzalcóatl hosts 10 private apartments—seven occupied by full-time residents, one with a museum of Senosiain’s works, and two available to rent via Airbnb. Unfortunately for me, the latter were fully booked through the next year (and then some) when I planned a return to Mexico City with my grandmother and sister this past January. But when I checked again one day on a whim, I was shocked to find last-minute availability during the week we’d be there. I excitedly prepped for my three-day, two-night stay at the whimsical property.

Saturday

2 p.m.: My sister, grandmother, and I land to warm weather and clear skies, a welcome relief from the frigid temps of New York City. After collecting our luggage and making our way through customs, we decide to make two stops on our way to the complex, since we want to spend every moment of the next few days soaking in those surroundings. First, we head to the popular Panadería Rosetta for enough baked goods to feed a small army, then to a nearby grocery store to pick up some tortillas, shrimp, and pasta for our home-cooked lunches and dinners.

4 p.m.: After gathering our food supplies, we squeeze into an Uber and start the roughly 30-minute trek outside of the city, which is made longer by standstill traffic. As our driver weaves in and out of lanes with impressive precision, the dense cityscape slowly gives way to faraway mountains.

5 p.m.: We pull up to the property; on the green, lizard-shaped fence, there’s a note warning curious visitors that guest access to the complex and connecting park must be reserved through Airbnb. We ring the bell and are greeted by one of the groundskeepers, who grabs our suitcases and quickly rushes off down a winding path in a long, stone-lined tunnel that doubles as the backside of the snake’s body. The scene reminds me of Willy Wonka giving a hasty tour of his chocolate factory. As we rush to keep up, I take in my first few glances of the technicolor structure surrounded by lush forest; it’s unlike anywhere I’ve been before. We arrive at an arched door with red, blue, and yellow stained glass cutouts, and I’m prompted to enter the access code.

My sister and I rush inside the apartment: The first thing that strikes me is the lack of straight lines throughout the space. Tiled spiral steps connect the four levels, each with curved walls, rounded furniture, and large, circular windows that can be pulled opened to create an indoor/outdoor feel. The first floor holds a small office with a built-in wooden desk, an egg-shaped office chair, and an impressive collection of Mexican-authored design books. On the second level, the kitchen and living room are spacious and simply designed with earthy materials—white terrazzo counters, light wood millwork—and minimal wall art. The third floor has two bedrooms with a shared bathroom in between them, and the fourth holds the principal suite, which I claim for myself. It has what I would argue are the best views of the serpent’s head.

Not wanting to waste a minute of our time here, my sister and I head outside to explore the labyrinth-like grounds. We follow a slippery rocky path into a cave formed by the snake’s open mouth, where we walk into the darkness but get too scared and run out.