Mexico was a dream. The kind you don’t want to wake up from.
To kick things off, we scored an upgrade on our trip down. First class! Not only that, but Tatiana Ali—The Fresh Prince of Bel Air’s little cousin—was just a few rows in front of us. For three and a half hours we ordered frothy drinks and reclined our chairs and pretended to be rich and famous.
Then reality set it. We piled into a stuffy cab and drove through what has to be the armpit—and ghetto—of Pacific Mexico. Winding through the graffitied buildings and littered streets crowded with barefooted children selling flowers and knick-knacks made me sweat. But pulling up to the resort was like landing on another planet; it was beautiful, a complete contrast from its outskirts.
We hit the beach immediately and stayed there for five days, taking breaks only for eating and sleeping. I can never get enough of the roaring waves, the warm sand between my toes or the look and feel of the late-afternoon sun, right before it’s swallowed by the ocean and a pink dusk appears. I think it’s in my genes to love the beach.
One day we took a catamaran through the sea, slowly and peacefully. I spotted birds I’d never seen up close and snapped photos with my new camera. We kayaked and snorkeled (although we didn’t see any fish) and ate lunch on a nearly abandoned island. It was our one and only adventure in Mexico, which was just fine with me. This vacation was all about relaxing. And it was gorgeous.
See for yourself.