The Abandoned Acropolis Mall photo shoot in Vértiz Narvarte, Mexico City.

It’s a given, that if you’re able to speak the language of the country you visit, and ask the right questions, you will get a more intimate exposure to it. After taking jobs at an international school in Mexico City, my girlfriend and I spoke acceptable, if ugly, Spanish.

We’d been given free lessons, for 3 hours a week, there was no excuse not to learn something! We were rewarded with frank conversations about corruption; the rampant buying of prime location properties by Americans; the virtues of Salsa Verde; and, the importance of having "cambio" (change).

We didn’t anticipate that a throwaway conversation about my interest in urban decay, and abandoned places, would lead to an invitation to “explore” Acropolis, a crumbling mall, but were immediately game. With a name taken from the Greeks, conjuring visions of grandeur and stone pillars obliquely linked to shopping, who could resist?

Though the usual frantic weaving and screeching across highways left my nerves in shreds, one look at the entrance, after rounding the final bend, killed any reservations. Acropolis was sublime in its ridiculousness, a true Vegasesque riff off the genuine article. There were steep stone steps to the looming entrance of columns and hieroglyph inspired branding, ‘’Acropolis Ciudad Comercial’ (commercial city), alongside the usual smashed glass and spray-painted scrawls.

Unlike in the UK, it was easy to bypass the warning signs and shimmy around a piece of hardboard intended to block access. Then it was like greyhounds after the gunshot, we were off. Each of us drawn into our own bubbles of thought as we roamed and brushed fingertips over forgotten surfaces.

Acropolis has been falling into a state of disrepair for two decades, but in its heyday imitated a bazaar, with open-fronted kiosks instead of traditional isolated shops. I imagined how noisy it must have been with traders calling out to the browsers funnelled down aisles without turnoffs until they’d seen it all.

The kiosks had retained their integrity; each one now hosting graffiti. Some of them clamoured with competing images and messages, some housed endless tags, and, in my favourites, you’d also find postbox red grinning animal heads, all yellow tongues and playfulness.

We reconvened by chance, all struck by the light as the space suddenly opened both around us and overhead. We stood in a huge concrete emptiness with an improbably large panelled glass ceiling above us. It was unmistakably shaped like a star.Many pieces were missing, and the blue sky above looked like a glorious second ceiling. Later, Google would inform us that when the sun is at its zenith, it is perfectly aligned to hit the centre of the ceiling and dazzle customers with a reproduction of the star across the floor.

Naturally, when nobody else is around to watch, adults let their guards down in abandoned places. So, we made the whole place our playground. We’d already imitated archaeologists, it seemed only right to give modelling and role play a go! We donned a Jaguar mask, climbed balconies, attempted synchronised jumping and did impromptu photo shoots until security turned up.

The Mexican faction of our group did some sweet talking, some money proffering, and secured an extra 20 minutes to explore. No voices were raised. As we left, we saw the band who’d booked the place for a music video shoot arrive. It seems our interest in the places that time forgot isn’t unique. But I doubted whether they’d had the foresight to bring a Jaguar mask.