Sara& the Yucatan Islands

I grew up in a corn field in Virginia. 

That is only a slight exaggeration.

I lived in a small town from the time I was born until just after my 23rd birthday, when I moved to Austin, TX and discovered food that isn’t butter, cocktails that are not neon green (oh French 75, you beautifully seductive mistress), job opportunities outside of the service industry, and good coffee.

Diving head first into the unknown made me hungry for more of the same. And so, two years later, when a guy I was dating asked me to meet him in Mexico, I packed my (poorly planned) bag, strapped on my (absurd) wedged heels, put on my (not wind-proof) floppy hat and boarded a plane to Isla Holbox.

View from the water

Once on the island I was overcome. This was one of the most emotional trips of my life. Between the beautiful beach, the amazing tortillaria we found downtown, my first romantic getaway, and swimming with whale sharks, I thought I might burst with excitement.

The things I remember are peculiar to me. For instance, I logically remember my time in the water with the sharks in surprising detail, but I also remember every single shower -- and there were many -- in our little hut (the shampoo I brought with me is a huge memory trigger). I remember sitting inside the mosquito net over the bed sharing an apple, laying on the beach reading Karen Russell, acquiring alcohol to take to the beach at night and listening to music with my phone and experiencing the feeling you get when you know a moment is going to stick with you forever. I hardly remember the fight in the restaurant, could not tell you the book he was reading, remember that he spoke to a black cat at breakfast, but not what we were eating.

Isla Mujeres after the rain

And then last summer, I was ready to go back. I wanted to backpack the Yucatan Peninsula alone. I wanted to be an adventurer, stay in hostels, plan my trip as I went along. Eventually, I was convinced (by my lovely caring friends) that this was probably not a great idea, and so, two of my close friends, Ms. T and the Weesel (and her current romantic interest) decided to go with me for a week to one location. Shortly after, we rented a house, bought our tickets, and packed our bags for Isla Mujeres.

Ms. T and The Weesel ordering ice cream

Ms. T and I quickly set to exploring the island top to bottom. We woke up every morning, stumbled into clothes, went to the beach, and spent scarcely any time in the house. Alternating between silent moments of contentment and long involved discussions, we willingly charged ourselves into exhaustion by bedtime.

The Weesel and her boy, who are both hard-working, career-driver developers (understandably) opted to lay around the house reading and relaxing, but Ms. T and I were out at the local hostel every night drinking 2-for-1 rum and cokes talking to people from all over the world. We swam in the ocean in our clothes, drenching the backseats of taxi's, smiling at one another and too exhausted to speak as we rode home.

Ms. T

My two trips to islands right next to one another could not have been more different, but each showed me a side of myself, and a piece of the world I had never experienced before.

Holbox, a fight and make up whirlwind, showed me the difference between passion and love, and how dangerous it is to let the former lead you into the latter. And Isla Mujeres, an adventure-packed solidification of my closeness with Ms. T; opening a level of communication I’ve never before experienced with a best friend, was the opening chapter in accepting my own self worth.

Sundown at the southernmost point of Mujeres

So much of travel is determined by who you’re with. You step outside of the familiar and are faced with just yourself and this person you have opted to walk alongside. I think that’s why I was so determined to explore every inch of the island with T -- even the turtle sanctuary, which was not exactly thrilling -- I wanted to make sure that I was fun, adventurous, that I was capable of creating a good time. In that regard, I certainly succeeded. 

It was the moments where I stopped, though, when I lay on a salt-gritted beach chair panting from the ocean, that I was able to see what was around me the clearest. When I was able to look at the world around me and think, “I am coming for you.”