We know that spring has arrived in Mexico City when street carts crowned with whole mangoes begin to roll into town. While wandering the Centro Histórico’s bustling streets just last week, we bumped into Maria, a seasonal worker whose cart is currently laden with this favorite springtime fruit. Intrigued, we stopped to watch as she deftly skewered the mango in her hand with a stick, peeled off the skin, made decorative cuts to transform the bright orange flesh into a beautiful flower, which she then brushed with chamoy, a classic Mexican sauce, and dipped in one of the brightly colored powders stored in plastic boxes: salsa tajín, chamoy, salt, chile or everything mixed together.

Across Marseille, winter’s neon-yellow mimosas have given way to amandiers’ (almond trees’) fragrant white and pink blooms. Here, the French adage, “en avril, ne te découvre pas d'un fil. En mai fais ce qu'il te plaît,” (in April, don't remove a stitch. In May, do as you wish,”) is oft quipped, for our springtime weather can be fickle. Last weekend, I took a dip in the Mediterranean to cool off after a sun-soaked, 70-degree hike; as I write this, the local mistral wind has iced down the air temperature to just above freezing. Despite spring’s yo-yoing thermometer, ‘tis the season for Marseillais to fill up outdoor patios.

It snowed in Tokyo on March 22 – a wet, rain-like snow that puddled as soon as it touched the ground, but snow nonetheless. It was un-springlike as the week before was sunny. Early spring is sly and tricky here. One moment the kawazu-zakura have blanketed trees in pink popcorn blooms, the next moment it’s cloudy skies and planning hotpot dinners all over again. But it is glorious when temperatures aren’t whipsawing wildly from hot to freezing, when spring finally deigns to show up in the form of balmy, blue-skied days and flowers blooming everywhere. Spring days like this are beautiful for cycling in Tokyo. Fresh air, warm sun and, best of all, no freezing fingers and ears when you’re on a bike.

It’s hot in Mexico City and Gerardo Vazquez, head chef of Nicos Restaurant, is thinking about cooling off. “Spring in Mexico City is hot,” he says, “And for me, it is very connected to Lent…so, fresh foods, cool things, vegetable-focused dishes.” Tostadas are on the menu at Nicos today – crunchy baked tortillas, one with a cobia fish ceviche, and another with smoked trout, yogurt, arugula and tomato – as well as an Acupulco ceviche with olives and capers, and a cool mango ceviche.

A ripe loquat is a thing of beauty. For a short window of time, usually in April and May, trees heavy with the fruit can be spotted across Lisbon, in both public parks, private gardens and tiny backyards. We have a few favorite ones that we frequent, sometimes surreptitiously, during loquat season to pluck the small, butterscotch-colored fruit and fulfill our craving. But we have to be quick – loquats are as short-lived as they are delicious. Adriana Freire, the founder of Cozinha Popular da Mouraria, a community kitchen, knows the city’s loquat trees even better than we do. Although a popular spring fruit in Portugal, many of Lisbon’s loquat trees are ornamental in nature and often left unpicked.

The aggressive spring winds took a break, and I can finally hear the village: the nearby river rolling through the valley, roosters singing, chickens gossiping and our dog barking at who knows what. Garikula is our summer retreat, but thanks to Covid-19, we got here a season early. The young cherry blossoms just popped this morning, and the tulips – gifts from our Dutch neighbors trapped in Rotterdam – opened wide yesterday while the plum, apple and pear trees are in full bloom. In ordinary times, our patio is full of boisterous friends as the delirious waft of mtsvadi roasting on oak coals fills the air. The only infections we are used to here are laughter and inebriation. But now, even our neighbor Zakhar stays away.