You understand and live the world differently, more vividly. It’s as if another subtle version of yourself suddenly popped into the earth.

You get to experience the world around you in a entirely new way. Having names for things, feelings or situations you never had one for before, and struggling when you cannot bring them into another of the languages you speak.

It’s mind opening to understand how the way you speak is completely different in another, that some verbs simply do not exist or that there are many more than you ever taught possible.

It is a gift to be able to understand someone in their mother tongue and feel included in jokes and conversations.

It allows for a deeper appreciation of life that once was unfamiliar to you, and brings you closer to understanding and loving the world a little bit more.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way, mostly around Mexico.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

Growing up in Guadalajara and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, in a Mexican family, Spanish was my first language. The one we would always speak at home, with friends and at school.

And I remember the first time actually noticing how someone around me was speaking something else I could not understand. Both the confusion and interest were greatly felt in the way how someone was saying something in words I could not comprehend and that moment created such a curiosity in me that has never faded away.

English was never far away in the town of San Miguel. We have had a big population from the US and Canada for decades now on the city and you would frequently hear it around town. Some schools also were keen on teaching us, and on mine we would have plenty of English classes every day, so it became natural for some of us in town to learn English as a second language.

I still remember the thrill of learning new words, new verbs, new expressions and how, with time, they became more than just words but had such meaning when you could have a longer conversation. It was exciting to be able to speak in a language that was distinct to the one I had grown up with, like the world was opening its possibilities right in front of me.

As the years passed, I became fluent in English and that allowed me to live some experiences that changed my life forever. I was part of a program called CISV when I was fourteen and fifteen- an international educational program where participants from around the world come together for several weeks to explore topics such as sustainability, human rights, and global citizenship through shared learning and cultural exchange. I have talked before about the CISV camps in this article here, where I share how deeply these programs allowed me to become the person I am today. And it was in these summers that I got to truly speak more in that second language I had learnt, English, and what an experience that was.

Learning to express yourself in a language that does not feel like your own at first is challenging but so rewarding when you get to convey what you’ve been trying to. Hearing how other nationalities spoke English made it in a way a bit more challenging to understand too, as they all had different accents to the ones I had been used to listen, though at the same time I found it absolutely fascinating. The way someone from Jordan spoke was completely different from someone from Portugal of from the Philippines, and over the years, I became surprisingly good at guessing where people were from simply by listening to their accent when speaking English.

This new vocabulary and language I had learnt allowed me to make new friendships with people from all around the world, something a few years back I would have never dreamt of, and learn about their culture, their traditions and the way they view life, which eventually would expand my own way of seeing it too.

I attended two of these programs before agreeing on moving to France at the age of fifteen to live with my aunt and cousins in a town called Grenoble, near the Alps. The confidence that I gained from spending months with people I did not know from all around the world and eventually call them good friends, gave me the base to want to have more unique and challenging experiences. Moving to France though, proved to be more challenging that I ever imagined.

Arriving without knowing any word in the local language can be daunting. Thankfully my school was an American School mixed with some classes in the French side of it. No difficulty in the English part of it, but a nightmare at first when we had all-French lessons. It took some time and some help from people who were eager to lend a hand for me to start listening more to conversations, picking up a few words and eventually being a bit involved in conversations in French myself.

When you are as immersed in a place where the language is different to the ones you know, you usually have a choice. Either to be curious and want to learnt the language head on or simply don’t and find people that know the ones you already speak. I have seen this last scenario way too many times, especially in Mexico, where many people come to live here and do not bother to learn more than the basics, as English is widely spoken in some areas and so they decide to rest in comfort instead of trying a little bit more.

My choice has always been to learn, as I believe that when you choose to stay somewhere for longer, you begin to experience a place beyond its surface if you choose to immerse in the language. You gain a deeper understanding of its culture, traditions, and people. In many ways, it also feels like a small act of respect towards the place that has welcomed you in. And so, once I started with the French, it became so beautiful once again to understand all that was being said around me, to be able to answer back to the baker or the street stall vendor, to be part of conversations rather than just an observer.

I slowly began to see the world the way they did through their language, using words that made so much sense for feelings and situations that were not in the other ones I spoke. I became obsessed with the savoir-vivre- and art of living, knowing exactly how to act appropriately and gracefully in any social situation, un bon vivant- someone who lives life to the fullest, especially by enjoying good food, good wine, and great company and the retrouvailles- a joyful feeling of reuniting with someone you care for after a long time apart.

Just as it had been with English some years ago, the words I had been learning took on a new meaning when I could use them in conversations and understand the world around me.

I had a French-Portuguese boyfriend at that time, and so the challenge of languages became even greater when I met his family, as they mostly spoke Portuguese between them. The curiosity was there again on catching as much as I could and learning a few words that would eventually make sense to speak as a whole to them.

I lived for three years in Grenoble, using a mix of French, English, Portuguese and Spanish in my daily life. This was the base that would allow me to change languages quite fast in different scenarios and usually within the same conversations since then and throughout my life, proving to be one of my favourite abilities of all time.

Once returning back to Mexico, it felt strange to be surrounded mostly only by one language. Something I learned after leaving France, and eventually from Canada and even Australia and returning back to my country again, is that you never truly forget a language once you have learned the basics and spent time speaking it once. Even if years go by without using it, much of it remains somewhere within you, something that would prove true for me almost a decade later when I began speaking Portuguese again.

It would not be long before I was enveloped by many languages once again when I moved for a year to Vancouver, Canada, to study. The feeling of being around people that spoke many felt like home again, a way of living that I had become accustomed to after many years that way.

Even though we mostly communicated in English, Spanish was always present through my Mexican and Spanish friends, with whom I spent most of my time there. Being surrounded by people who naturally moved between different languages felt familiar to me. There was a certain comfort in being around fellow polyglots, people who understood what it was like to switch between languages depending on the conversation, the place, or even the emotions you wanted to express.

It was also always fascinating to hear someone speaking a language different from the one you were used to hearing them speak. A friend you had only ever spoken Spanish with suddenly speaking English, French, or Portuguese felt like a revelation of a different side of them, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

This time in Canada allowed me to get deeper into English, and it was there that I realized how, when immersed in places that spoke a different language than Spanish, for over a certain period of time, my thoughts and even dreams would be in that language I was surrounded with most. It happened when I lived in France, it was happening here in Vancouver.

English became I language I felt extremely comfortable in, one that I felt I could communicate easier somehow, even shadowing Spanish in certain situations too. It had been a constant language throughout my life, and it proved to be that would allow me to communicate with a man who would end up being my husband.

I returned to Mexico after living in Canada and went back to work both in film and as a volunteer at the CISV programs. And it was during the summer of 2018 that I met the Brazilian man I would fall in love with.

His English was not very good, neither was his Spanish and my Portuguese was rusty but it was a mix of those three that allowed us to understand each other and have the most beautiful summer romance, which I thought would end at that. How far from the truth that would be.

My first visit to Brazil after meeting him would come six months later to spend a month together roadtripping around his naturally and culturally gorgeous country. We continued to communicate in English, slowly learning Portuguese words once again as I interacted with Brazilians we met along the way, with his friends and his family.

French also helped during this time, as his mother spoke the language and it was, in a way, easier to get back to it to find better ways to communicate.

We became inseparable that month. Learning about his culture and life, eating the kind of food he loved and enjoying a country that had a very beautiful energy to it. He had plans to move to Australia to become better at speaking English, and so, in the excitement of the moment, I decided to apply for an Australian visa as well. To my surprise, a few days later I had got one too.

We lived in Australia for around a year, and English was the language that connected us to it all. To the country, to the culture, and to each other. Along the way, we slowly added words and phrases from both English and Portuguese that would completely confuse the people around us, who could never quite catch what we were saying. It was a period of our lives that became the foundation of our relationship.

Today, back in Mexico, the main language remains Spanish, though I use English for almost all of my work-related tasks, and Portuguese with him and whenever his family or friends visit. At home, we tend to speak a mix of Spanish and Portuguese. And apparently, whenever I talk in my sleep, the words that come out are usually in French. A sign that languages never truly leave you once they become part of your life, even if you have not practiced them for years.

Now, speaking a mix of those three languages in my daily life allows me to continue seeing the world through different perspectives. To use words like saudade in Portuguese or apapacho in Spanish, with someone who truly understands them makes all the difference.

I am certain I will remain curious about languages for the rest of my life. Like the time I tried to learn Japanese but had to stop when my teacher moved cities, something I am sure I will return to one day. Or when I tried learning Arabic with my brother-in-law from Morocco, which lasted only a few weeks before I realized the complexity of the language was one best understood through full immersion in a country that speaks it.

What I would do to spend a year in Japan learning Japanese, a year in Greece learning Greek, or a year in Morocco learning Arabic.

Language shows us so much of the culture, of the people, of their way of understanding the world. It teaches us that there are infinite perspectives on the way we choose to use words and expressions, and even though a same language can be spoken in different countries or regions, there always tends to be something that, if you look closer, shows more of the local way of being and living, of their culture and traditions, of what they value.

I will forever be in love of learning, even if just a bit of a local language, everywhere I go. How I wish I could know them all. Because every language truly opens a door to a different way of seeing, living, and understanding the world around us.

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I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

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Every time I am outside the usual four walls we so frequently are inside in, when I am surrounded by beautiful landscapes, by trees, by the sound of birdsong, I feel another frequency filling my energy. One that lights up and recharges every cell in my body.

I have learnt much from moments outdoors, immersed in beautiful natural places and even just being out for a walk in the afternoon and watching a sunset.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

4 beautiful lessons nature has taught me that perhaps you have noticed too:

#1 Nature never rushes and it always arrives to where it needs to be

Patience is one of the biggest lessons I constantly see from nature, everywhere. A tree we are in awe of took years, even decades to grow to how it is now. And it did in the right time, at its own pace, despite others growing at a different rate around it.

As humans, we tend to see other’s growth, change or life, as a comparison… constantly asking ourselves ‘why am I not there yet?’. But when you pause to think and take enough time to notice, we, just as every living being on earth, have our own path, our own way, our own pace, and it was never supposed to look like anyone else’s.

We can learn from nature how rushing is just not the way to grow. It is about patience, adapting, learning, failing, changing and finding our own unique way to become who we want to be and by trusting that, just like nature does, we will arrive exactly where we need to when the time is right.

#2 Diversity allows the world to thrive

The places that feel the most alive and spectacular often rely on the diversity of living beings to become what they are. It is that complexity, that coexistence of plants, animals, ecosystems and life itself that creates some of the most impressive places we see in nature. Why would it not be the same within us?

More and more, I see conversations and arguments about immigration, about people moving around the world searching for new opportunities, new homes, and new places to belong, and how, for many, this is seen as a problem.

And I do believe that as intelligent beings, we have a responsibility that whichever place we choose to make our home, we should do so with respect towards the place and the people already there. To learn about traditions, customs, history and language, and to understand that becoming part of a place also means caring for it.

But I also believe that diversity of people, minds, cultures, and ways of seeing the world is one of the things that allows communities to evolve, connect and thrive in beautiful ways.

Nature has always coexisted through balance, so perhaps the problem is not people arriving, changing, mixing and sharing space. Perhaps the problem begins when we take from a place without caring for it in return.

The beauty of diversity only works when there is mutual respect, care, and understanding for the places and communities we become part of.

Just do not become the invasive species that only takes and never gives back.

#3 There is beauty in living and being present in every season

There are moments for blooming, as well as going deeply within. Moments to shine and release our energy and others to take more care of it. This is true for every living being on earth, and should be for us humans too.

We were never made to spend hours working non-stop through day and night, to be forever on a productive frenzy, to have stressful lives and sleepless nights all year long. What would happen to a tree if even during winter it forced itself to continue producing fruit and leaves all year long? Or to a bird that never stopped building nests, gathering food, caring for others, without ever taking a moment to rest?

Every living being understands the importance of seasons, except, most of the time, us humans.

We all need time to rest, to recharge, to winter. Moments in life where we take a pause physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally, allowing ourselves to regenerate, to refresh, to come back with energy and eventually to bloom again.

#4 Longevity and old age are something to be proud of

For decades now, there seems to be a rejection on growing, on changing, on getting older. People wanting to hold on to youth forever, as if aging was something to fear rather than something to honour.

But how beautiful it is to have more and more days, to know that doing so means you are fully alive?

I look at a radiant 85 year old woman, a 200-year-old tree, at mountains that have existed for millions of years the same way, and I never fail to be in awe of their beauty, their presence, and everything they have witnessed through time. Their age is not what takes away from their beauty, it is part of what makes them so extraordinary.

Growing older is one of the most natural processes of life. It means we have lived, changed, experienced, loved, lost, learnt, adapted, and continued moving through the many seasons life brings. It brings so much wisdom and inspiration and there is something very beautiful about embracing and being proud of that.

I will forever continue being inspired by the world that exists all around us, and as we choose to pay more attention to the seemingly little details of all that life happening outside (and sometime inside) our homes, we get to understand deeper how truly connected we are to all nature and how many lessons can be taken from it if we give it the chance to teach us.

Is there something that nature has taught you?

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I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

Perhaps you were born there, moved there at a young age, or maybe even only arrived at a later time in your life.

However this place came to be for you, they tend to hold such a special energy that frames parts of who you are at one or many moments of your life.

As the sun slowly rises from behind the mountains and extinct volcanoes that surround the city, the morning light beautifully illuminates the main parish of the town and the surrounding houses in soft pink and orange hues.

What a beauty it is to watch the city waking up from above, even after having seen it for decades.

To see its streets slowly coloured by the light of the morning, to hear the bells of churches around town announcing the start of the day, to listen to San Miguel waking up for another beautiful morning.

San Miguel de Allende is a city for dreamers.

You sense it in the voice of locals speaking Spanish, you feel it in rainy days when the drops make a soft melody as they hit the cobblestone streets, you see it in the way people walk and go about their daily life. And as you live through its authenticity and uniqueness, the city inspires a slower kind of life, one that leaves more space for conversations, connection, and for noticing the beauty that exists all around you all the time.

This city has taught me about how special everyday moments and everyday spaces are, and how unique they become once you truly understand what is right in front of you. It has taught me about connection and community through both blood and chosen family, and paved the way for my curiosity about history, culture, and memory, in how beauty quite often lives in routine and familiarity, in the places and moments we stop questioning because they simply become part of us.

And I believe that is one of the greatest things that San Miguel, my hometown, gave me: the ability to romanticize ordinary life and understand how deeply places can shape the people we continue becoming.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

Growing up in this magical city

Many of my favourite childhood memories happened around the city centre. And even as a kid, I could feel its magic.

Kids that grew up when we did in San Miguel were mostly from the same families our parents grew up with. It was a place where we all knew each other, and many of the things we did had already been done for generations, such as walking around el jardín, the main plaza’s central garden.

Stories were told about how generations ago women would walk around the plaza clockwise and the men the opposite way, and whenever you saw someone you liked, you would both step away from the walking line and sit down together on one of the many benches scattered around the square.

Even though times had changed by when we were growing up, we still had our own unique moments.

As kids, you became familiar with the benches where older men would get their shoes cleaned and polished by the bolero, the shoeshiner. You knew where you favourite ice cream cart parks every day, and which house to go to if you needed anything, let it be some money, a glass of water or even using the bathroom.

The rhythm of downtown was part of our everyday life, and some of the moments I remember most from my childhood and adolescence happened during those mornings and afternoons around the plaza.

Mornings as a kid were spent at my grandmother’s blown glass shop on Correo street, marveling at the pieces of glass transformed into objects of different colours and shapes. Though without a doubt, our favourite part was getting a few bills to go buy nieves de garrafa, a traditional artisanal Mexican frozen dessert similar to sorbet, and chips with salsa at the plaza, very typical Mexican snacks and our absolute favourites.

We continued visiting the store as we got older, but now our days revolved around standing in different corners waiting for our friends to arrive, grabbing a coffee and walking together around el jardín until sundown.

Other days meant visiting my other grandmother and spending time in the streets of Guadiana, a residential neighbourhood that still has one of the most beautiful central parks filled with local trees and bushes. As you arrive to the front door, the smell of freshly cooked chiles rellenos or mole would quickly fill your nose and got us just as excited for when lunch was over and we would go to the corner’s paletería, for a fresh fruit ice pop.

As a child, I never realized how special all of this was, it simply felt normal, like I believe almost every moment when we are younger feels like. Those ordinary days were the ones shaping us the most without us even realizing it.

Only later would I understand how unique this upbringing was, and how the pull I always felt to return to San Miguel after living away for a decade carried something much deeper than nostalgia for me.

Memories and change

My memories of those years have remained incredibly intact. Times where we felt so free and wild in a way, where entire afternoons could disappear walking around town, visiting family, eating snacks at the plaza, and simply existing within the rhythm of the town. And with time, I have learnt to adapt what San Miguel once was to me and to us to what it has now become. It did take me a while to understand it from a different perspective, not better nor worse, simply different and equally beautiful in its own way.

I always wanted to live in the city centre. Many mornings, both during weekdays and weekends, were spent walking around the main plaza, where we would greet families and people we knew. And if we had visited my grandmother’s blown glass shop right next to the plaza, we would usually have enough money to buy ice cream or chips with salsa, our favourite snack.

We would frequently walk from el jardín to my grandmother’s home in Guadiana, a neighbourhood not far from the city centre. It would often take us around twelve to fifteen minutes to get there by foot, and back then it felt like forever.

Walking on cobblestones has never been easy, but as locals, we somehow learn to embrace both the beauty and the challenge of it.

I still remember the smell of wet stone after the rain, the sound of church bells echoing through the streets, musicians playing near the plaza, the scent of tortillas, bakeries, coffee, and old stone homes that had been standing there for so many generations.

Passing colourful facades covered in bougainvillea and heavy wooden doors, hearing people greet my grandmother and my mother as we walked by, often saying, “Oh, you’re Martha’s daughter, how alike you look.”

How I miss that familiarity.

Being born and raised here, these kinds of moments simply became normal to me, the way the city just was. I became used to the colonial architecture and colourful streets, to the diversity of art, culture, and traditions we have, and to the kind of people that live here.

But growing older and living back here again allowed me to appreciate the city differently. I began understanding the layers of history, culture, and memory surrounding me, and how rare it truly is to grow up immersed in a place like this.

Over the years, San Miguel has changed immensely. What was once a quieter colonial town became an internationally recognized destination, attracting people from all over the world through its beauty, culture, art, gastronomy, and pace of life.

And while there are certainly busier streets now, more visitors, more restaurants and cafés, I believe the soul of the city still exists beneath all of it.

You still find older generations sitting in the plazas during the afternoons. Local markets continue filling the streets with colour and conversation. Church bells (and fireworks that keep going all night) still wake up the town every morning. Neighbourhood life still exists beyond the main streets tourists usually visit.

And perhaps that is what I love most about San Miguel today…that if you allow yourself to wander beyond the obvious, the city still reveals its more intimate side to you, the one many of us locals, lived more intimately every day long ago.

The lives built through routines, traditions, community, and everyday life.

The one that shaped me so uniquely back then.

And because of that, I care so deeply about sharing places more consciously now, especially ones that feel so close to my heart.

Not only the aesthetics of a destination, but the feeling of it. The people behind it. The neighbourhood cafés, restaurants and spaces, the family-owned businesses, the mornings, the traditions, the conversations and the stories that continue giving life to a place long after photographs are taken.

Because when you get to experience San Miguel (and any other place really) the way we locals tend to do, the experience is different, it is more authentic and ‘real’ in a way as you allow yourself to truly be part, if even for a while, of the magic and uniqueness of this particular place.

That is the greatest gift certain places leave us with. Not only just the wonderful memories, but a way of seeing the world, of appreciating what is there at that moment in time, because if you come back again, it will just simply never be the same.

A way of noticing beauty and how quite often it lives in routine and familiarity, in the places and moments we stop questioning because they simply become part of us. This town gave me the ability to romanticize ordinary life and understand how deeply places can shape the people we become.

San Miguel de Allende will always be, for me, the city that allowed so much of presence, curiosity and love bloom within me, always shaped by memory, history, community, and everyday beauty.

A place that taught me how meaningful life can feel when we truly allow ourselves to live within it at every stage.

If you’re planning to spend a few days in San Miguel, I’ve put together a full slow travel guide with the places I always return to and genuinely recommend: cafés, restaurants, business, neighbourhoods, stays and experiences that truly reflect the spirit of the city beyond its postcard beauty.

San Miguel Local's Guide

I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

By its nature and power.

By its possibility and diversity.

By its resilience and never-ending beauty.

Being fascinated by the natural world has been present in my life since a very young age, though with time it also became a burden that I felt I had to carry on my own.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

I grew up in Mexico in between a big city, Guadalajara, and a small town, San Miguel de Allende, where we would spend our days completely immersed in the nature around it, as our family home was right in the countryside. In this small town, our days as kids were spend outside after school and on weekends. We called ourselves explorers and headed for hours out in the open with self made packed lunches (usually made of bread, popcorn and chips) and frozen gatorades for hydration.

There was nature all around us, forests full of local trees with mezquites, huizaches, nopales and garambullos everywhere, the kind of landscape for a semi dessertic region, and there were plenty of farming lands around us too. We enjoyed afternoons swimming in the ponds and rivers that watered the lands, making small roofs and ‘homes’ from alfalfa and weeds we often found. We would even carry small tents to pitch near the irrigation ditches we loved swimming in. A bunch of kids simply enjoying the beauty, freedom and fun that being in nature gives you.

There were times when we would take huge black garbage bags with us and fill them completely with carrots or broccoli if the farming lands had some growing. We would slowly but surely fill the bags until we would hear the familiar sound of an old beetle coming our way- this was our cue to start running away from the lands and towards home, as the chief rancher was coming to catch us, and old friend of the family who had quite a temper, and understandably as we frequently raided his crops. Running from him was an equally exciting and terrifying experience every single time. As we only saw the fun times this brought us, we could not really understand why would adults get mad at us for those kind of things we did.

Though nature was not only present on that small town.

I also frequently found it at home in the big city of Guadalajara where I could spend hours watching ants marching in a well-formed line from the plants in pots in our terrace towards the garden, slowly but steadily taking all of the freshly sprouted leaves. So thrilled I was, that one day I felt the need to somehow disrupt that line by licking part of the group and ate them. As I was about six years old, this became a way of learning something new: I definitely did not like them much and I saw how confused they would get for a bit, an eventually get back to the same action. How surprising, exciting and a remorseful moment that was for me. One of those things that layed the ground for the curiosity I would feel for nature and it’s inhabitants for the rest of my life.

I remember being absorbed by different kind of birds flying, chirping on trees and making nests. How their birdsong in the morning would create a sensation in my body unlike anything else. I knew I was ready to start my day and occasionally even joined them in their song.

My father had a big collection of enciclopedias, huge physical books with what seemed like endless information at the time and he has always been someone that slowly introduces a subject to you, and if he feels you have some interest, he’ll share many resources and have long talks with you. So, after sharing a few with me, my favourite sections became the ones about plants, animals and geography and plenty of my afternoons were spent watching the images, and trying to read as much as I could.

The next step was watching nature documentaries. Seeing about the diversity of landscapes and life in our planet. How mind blowing it was to me to understand that there were so many lands near and far away from where I lived that had so many different species than the ones I knew about. Nothing could have sparked my curiosity more than that.

We watched the documentaries in Spanish, and it wasn’t until much later when I already knew English that I heard his voice for the first time. Not accustomed to the British accent, it was hard at first to truly understand, but his voice had a softness and magic to it that draw me entirely on wanting to watch more.

There are moments that mark your life, and when I understood a David Attenborough narrated documentary completely for the first time, something in me shifted. It was Blue Planet, and I was about fourteen years old when I saw that same documentary I had seen before in Spanish through an entirely different language. The places and landscapes were the same but the voice had something different to it, a connection that brought you right to that moment in the images unlike anything I had experienced before.

I did not know it then, but his voice would become a constant of inspiration, and in a way a salvation, throughout all of my life as my love for travel and nature expanded in ways I could not have imagined.

I remember fiercely how that love I felt for the natural world was shared by many, though also how, perhaps even more, to some it was not. Some kind of fire started lighting in me, both in a positive and negative way. I wanted more people to feel the way I did, to watch more documentaries the way I enjoyed to and feel inspired, to travel and visit more natural places to fall in love with.

Through those films, I got to learn about remote communities, ethereal scenery and animals I could have never dreamt about. The beauty of it all through that screen was mesmerizing and fascinating, I could not wait for another weekend to watch more of it again. The world and its impressive diversity would continue to inspire me in more ways than I dreamt of and David’s voice would come with me to every place in the world I traveled to and lived in.

To France where I spend years living by the slopes of the Alps, learning about a landscape of contrasts through the seasons and the diversity of immigration living in the city I did, Grenoble. Spectacular mountain and river views were never far from where you walked, and winter here became my favourite season. The cold air gripping your eyes and nose, the feeling of coming somewhere warm when you have been long outside, and the way all life seems to be sleeping, but slowly wakes up as winter fades away.

To Vancouver where I was surrounded by ocean, mountains and sky while learning about filmmaking. Here, it was the first time time where I connected with many like minded people about the beauty, diversity and the need for protection of the natural world. There seemed to be a different kind of conscience in this city, where many were involved in something to do with nature and they loved volunteering towards projects that made a difference. It was also during my time here that I learnt about many icons on conservation such as Cristina Mittermeier and Paul Nicklen, filmmaker and conservationist couple that through their work they are on a mission to educate, protect and rewild the ocean for the benefit all life on earth.

To Australia where I saw the most diverse landscapes and wildlife while roadtripping the country and when I finally felt a bigger pull towards getting involved in more conservation efforts especially after being witness to such terrible climate change consequences like the big fires of 2020 in the country and swimming in patches of the Great Barrier Reef being partly dead.

I finally did once I returned to Mexico once again.

My volunteering took me to work online for Sea Shepherd, ‘an international non-profit dedicated to ending the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world’s oceans’, and Hurakaan, a Mexican non-profit civil association that works on environmental conservation, restoration, and education in the country.

Eventually I would also become involved at the England-based nature and wildlife festival, Wildscreen, that celebrates and advances natural world storytelling. Even though the work was online during the pandemic, it became one of the most insightful moments of my life, a time where I learnt about so many unique projects that were making a difference to the planet and wildlife, and how many were educating about subjects that were much needed. I even started a social media page sharing about these projects, cities that were doing great initiatives and about inspiring people in the field.

For some years now, I had become a big advocate of protecting our world and being involved in such organizations and communities became my anchor. My values matched my words and my actions through this moments of my life. It felt wonderful, until it did not.

Many of my friends and family felt I had become a bit too extreme, as I started being excessively conscious about every single decision in my life, and also about theirs. I had been a vegetarian for almost a decade, I rarely bought anything and always made sure that when I did it was coming from the best source possible, I was a big advocate against fast fashion, consuming no palm oil, not killing a single living being and I wanted them to be the same, to see the world in the way I had been seeing it for the last decade.

At some point, it did start to feel to much for me too. Sleeping was getting harder and nightmares became recurrent, my days were spent crying as I could not look at something and wonder about its negative impact, little things that used to bring me joy were not doing so anymore, as in every walk I would focus on how many less trees we had now, or how polluted the air felt this time, how seeing someone not be mindful about their actions could ruin my entire week.

So, I felt the need to start retreating on this mindset little by little. It was no longer doing me good.

We do need to be more conscious of our decisions, of the way we live, of the weight of our actions… though when does it become too much? Too much information, too much we can or cannot do, too much for a single person to carry on its own. And perhaps that is what I slowly forgot for some time.

That love for the natural world cannot only come from fear, urgency, and grief. It also has to come from wonder. From connection. From allowing yourself to still feel joy and fascination for this planet despite everything that is happening to it.

Because if we only relate to nature through despair, eventually we disconnect from it too.

And I think, for a long time, I also forgot something else: that we cannot carry the weight of the world entirely on our own. I wanted everyone around me to care in the same way I did, to make the same choices, to feel the same urgency. And while those feelings came from love, somewhere along the way I became disconnected from myself too. I was no longer allowing space for joy, softness, or even hope.

Today I know that I’m a passionate person about my love of this wonderful world and that I will forever do all I can to be a better living being for every other in this planet. To not let go of our values but also understand when it can be too much and take a step back. To also know that we cannot do everything on our own, and to look for people that can help you carry that weight and make something for change too.

Little by little, I realized I needed to return to the feeling that had started all of this in the first place: curiosity, awe, and love.

And often, when I think about where that feeling first began, my mind always returns to San Miguel.

Back when nature here felt more raw and vast.

We lived on a hill with no fences around us, everything out in the open, where foxes would show up in the evening in my window, and we could hear coyotes howling at night nearby. It was never scary or intimidating, but comforting and simply part of a world we are a beautiful part of. Simply sharing space with other living beings, as we always should have been.

And perhaps that is something I keep returning to now too: the idea that humans were never meant to exist separated from nature, but alongside it. We get to have a world that feels alive like this if we leave space for it to thrive too.

Just as we want our homes to feel safe and warm, other living beings search for the same thing. I believe coexistence is not about removing ourselves entirely from the world, but about learning how to live within it more consciously again.

For some time, I think I lost touch with that sense of wonder and as life, grief, urgency, disappointment and exhaustion slowly became louder than fascination itself. But recently, I started watching nature documentaries again. And there was something magical about hearing David Attenborough’s voice once more after all this time that I had taken a ‘break’ from it all. A voice that had accompanied so much of my life and shaped so much of the way I see this planet.

As I watched those landscapes, those animals, those stories again, I realized something: we need people who inspire others to care not only through fear, but through love.

Through beauty, curiosity and reminding us what is still worth protecting.

How extraordinary that someone who recently turned one hundred years old continues to spark so much awe, urgency, tenderness, and action in people across the world. And that reminded me that, through community and connection, we can be lights of hope and love that inspire action too.

Isn’t that the greatest impact storytelling can have?

To reconnect us.

To remind us of what matters.

To plant a small seed of wonder in someone else that may one day grow into care, protection, or change.

Sometimes life takes us away from the things that once lit us up. And sometimes, without realizing it, we slowly disconnect from the very things that once made us feel most alive.

But I think there is always a way back.

To that wonder you once felt.

Back to curiosity and to the stories, landscapes, people, and living beings that remind us how beautiful this world still is.

And perhaps that is a part of what I want to continue doing now: sharing the beauty of this planet, the people protecting it, and the moments that reconnect us to one another and to the natural world again.

Because how could someone not be inspired by the beautiful world we live in?

I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places and stories that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

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There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

Gravitating towards creating friendships with older people, usually ones that double my age, has shifted my perspective on life and my own hometown, a place I thought I knew from the inside out. The kind of conversations I have had throughout the last decade have been insightful, inspiring and enlightening in so many ways, as many I’ve met have lived through so much more than I have.

Despite the age difference, it has been wonderful to connect with many expats and foreigners living in the city I grew up in, San Miguel de Allende. It is a city well known for its expat population and has been since the 1950s. I can imagine, that just as any city, in here there are certain groups that form that are quite marked. The locals, who have been here for generations, the more recent locals who moved a few years back, the expats, and a few others. In my experience growing up, they rarely met. Each would usually stay within their group and experience all there is in their mind to experience in the city within the same group of people.

When younger, I would gravitate towards the locals, the Mexican. Having a few foreigner friends but mostly sticking to what was familiar. As I got a bit older, I started to lean in into meeting and hanging out with ‘different’ kind of people to what I was used to, and once I did, what a wonderful perspective opened up to me.

The city I was so convinced I knew all about, started expanding spectacularly right before my eyes. Their world was so vastly different from my own, even though we lived in the same place, and I longed for experiencing more the way they saw and lived my city.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

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A first encounter in the liquor shop

I wish I could remember the name of the eccentric woman I met at La Europa, a famous Mexican liquor store located in the famous Canal street in the downtown area of San Miguel. As I was browsing into the Gin section (which at the time was the liqueur I enjoyed most), a woman in around her 60s dressed in pink, orange and red baggy clothes with big earrings looking absolutely fashionable and a bit insane, came right to me to explain how I was looking at the wrong section. She had been a big Gin drinker for almost all her life, and when she arrived to San Miguel, it took her a while to find just the right brand that went well with her grapefruit cocktails. Without a say and all in just about five minutes total, she had took the bottle to the counter, paid and gifted it to me while sharing an invitation to join her and her friends for a cinema night at a local place I had never heard about, which was just a few blocks away. Of course I said yes.

Later that week, I would arrived to the cinema night to encounter a group of American expats in their late 60s talking much about film and the filmmaking world. At this point of my life, my world revolved around films: I wanted to be a filmmaker and I was very much involved in that world. And to my surprise, they knew so much about the films in display, and I was shocked to learn that the the film we were about to watch, Embrace of the serpent, nominated for Best Foreign Language Film at the 88th Academy Awards in 2016, which was impossible to watch anywhere but was in this tiny makeshift cinema theater here, was available. You can imagine my excitement to watch it, but a few weeks later, even more to learn that a few of those I had met that night actually worked in the arts, film, and media industries, some of whom were members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (the people who vote on the Oscars).

I thought I would never recover from the positively overwhelming emotions. From all places I had gone to learn from and be part of the industry, I would have never thought I would encounter people involved in it, here, in my town.

The year of 2016 was full of cinema nights, late night conversations and seeing the city in a way I thought I had to be far away from it to experience. How the world opened to me and made me see San Miguel as the biggest cauldron of culture, incredible people and the most insane experiences and stories I’ve had the pleasure to live.

Kayaking right below my window

One of the most spectacular and beautiful views from the nature surrounding San Miguel can be seen from the garden and window of the place I’ve called home for decades. It is the west view where you see the Presa Allende (the Allende dam), open and arable land, framed by the faraway glimpse of a part of the mountain ranges of the Sierra de Guanajuato, part of Mexico’s volcanic and mineral-rich belt. I do not know if the amount of minerals is why the sunsets you watch here are mesmerizing and some of the best I’ve seen in my life, but it is quite spectacular.

This was a view I took with me around the world in dreams and a big desire to go back and watch more sunsets with my family who have lived in that area for generations. This was all I could think about when I thought of my home (and of course the food), though an encounter with just the right people would completely change my view of this small place in the world.

The Presa Allende was completed and inaugurated in 1969, and locals have enjoyed since then much leisure time in its surroundings, especially on weekends. There were stories of how pristine the water was, when even shrimp and fish was caught to sell in town, and how families would frequently swim in its waters. Sadly, that was not how we experienced it as kids.

Our parents warned us of how dangerous it was, on how the water was murky, dirty and full of dangers right below the water, sometimes even saying we could encounter big snakes brought from the jungles, crocodiles and plants that would tangle in your feet and drag you down. So, the only times we would occasionally enjoy being near the water was for drinking and socializing with friends, always with caution to go close to the water.

That body of water right below my window was not particularly interesting to me. Until one day, my aunt had a few kayaks in her garage, and as I had already heard some people did actually go kayaking in the waters, I confidently told Fal (without really knowing much) that this place was amazing for doing so. He had just arrived in town from Brazil, and so I wanted to be the cool one who knew all about the best places, and so off we went.

After we had been kayaking for about 25 minutes, the heat quite manageable, but the pain in my arms from rowing not so much, we decided to keep going. How can I forget arriving by boat to the hacienda on an island that was once part of my family, the birds flying closer to the water in all directions and the mesmerizing beauty of watching that sunset in the mountain ranges from the water?

This experience was just a glimpse on what was to come.

There were various people I had heard from that they went to the Presa frequently to clean up garbage and do some bird sightings. I knew there were birds from that first experience, but I could not see the appeal of watching herons here when you could see them all around San Miguel. So I became curious.

A message to Amigos de la Presa to ask about a kayaking outing for me to try was quickly responded by Stella, sharing that I could join them on Wednesday morning.

The group was comprised of about nine foreigners and two Mexicans, including myself. Getting our kayaks into the dam was a challenge, as it has been full of lily plants for some years now and it blocks a lot of the entries to the water. Once we were all finally in, with the morning sun rays shining in the water, we followed the leaders into a row of trees we could see in the distance.

It takes a while to get there, and Stella would frequently come to me to spark conversation and ask about myself. We got to learn a bit about each other’s lives and dreams while we slowly rowed. She has Mexican family and grew up in the US where she got working in fashion for decades, until about 12 years ago, when she and her husband, Geoff, decided to find a place to retire. They loved San Miguel since their first visit, something that happens to so many people I’ve met that end up moving to the city.

Suddenly, I could hear a big choir of bird chatter getting louder and louder, and as we got closer to the trees, realizing the amount of them in the branches was mind blowing. The Presa Allende and the surrounding wetlands, as I would learn, are a vital habitat for a large number of both resident and migratory bird species that offer shelter, food, and nesting sites for diverse bird populations.

In your outings in the water you get to encounter much more than herons: waterbirds such as great egrets, black-necked stilts and various ducks such as pintails, Mexican mallards, and ring-necked ducks. Bird of prey like red-tailed hawks, osprey, peregrine falcons, and northern harriers, and even pelicans, kingfishers, and various migrant flycatchers. I now knew why this area is a major birding spot in San Miguel de Allende, with over 150 species identified in the nearby reserves.

I have seen been out kayaking more frequently, created beautiful friendships with people that love nature and I dream from my room window of the next time I will be out in the water.

Thursday pizza night with planet and life lovers

We found a parking spot right in front of the restaurant. As always, Fal has a parking place waiting for him everywhere he goes. It took us a bit longer to find the place, as the entrance and walls were no longer painted in pink like we saw in the photos that were sent to us by Stella, it was now a brighter orange.

The entrance led to a narrow alley space that slowly opened up to the backstreet of some houses, kind of like a vecindad, a type of multifamily housing arranged around a shared central patio. “Welcome,” an enthusiastic voice greeted us in English but we couldn’t see whose voice it was coming from. As we walked closer we recognized a face in the shadows of the pizza oven, a man from Haiti we would later learn his name was Wilson, was preparing the dough.

The sign “pizza terrace” & a few stairs led us to a small charming rooftop where Stella & Geoff, our Amigos de la Presa friends, were waiting. Such a joy to see them again.

Slowly, more people joined the group. Ira, a man born in Brooklyn and grown up in Phoenix that chose to be called Iván when he once lived in Brazil. April, an enthusiastic woman for the planet’s protection and highly energized woman that lives close to us and her husband, a man with a cool t-shirt of flamingos who does not talk much but when he does, he was some words of wisdom. And Lynn, a retired fisherman from Alaska that now lives in a small house in the countryside with Mexicans as her neighbours.

A mix of backgrounds from them, most over seventy and then us, a Mexican Brazilian couple in our thirties.

Stella & Geoff had invited all of us to celebrate our help into some celebrations we planned for a local school for Earth Day, including a mural and activities, and so they ordered a round of salad, followed by six rounds of diverse kinds of pizza, starting with a vegetable one and a margherita, my favourite kind.

As introductions flowed and conversations followed, we got a one chorizo and one potato with tomato pizzas. Stella and Geoff shared about their next trip, to the north of Spain, to some places I once visited eight years ago. I was especially surprised to hear they would be visiting the Cíes Islands, those islands where almost a decade ago we danced under the stars at the tiny island village with 2€ bottles of wine with my best friends.

Our conversations cascaded into different points of view on living in this small thriving town, got exhilarated at a few of each others travels adventures and focused very prominently about the changing of the world, especially of how it was when they were young. And all in all I noticed again how even though we are years apart, them doubling my age, we are not so different after all about the things we care about and our viewpoint of this planet being the most magical.

A slow, calm, mindful, delicious, present night. The kind I love that start early and finishes just in time.

With people we have connected beautifully through our love of the natural world, travels and our views of the world. And a fantastic new restaurant with the last round of pizza bianca with shrimp and the 4 cheeses (although the menu says 5) that we happily devoured.

With all the food I ate, I still cannot believe they didn’t make my belly explode. Perhaps when you are having soulful conversations and connecting in a deeper, you body just feels at ease and food becomes part of the energy.

This is just the place I will return to again and again.

Experiencing new places in my hometown with friends & new friends is one of my favourite ways to continue enjoying this city. The excitement of knowing how the connections I have made through the years keep showing me a different side to San Miguel is enriching and ever surprising.

And today I know, more than ever, to always be open to the unexpected, even if that might be right below the view you see every single day.

I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

What a beauty it is to know well and go back to the places you love again and again.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

There are places that you feel connected with, that somehow hold memory of times you have loved, been challenged and grown, or that simply have a kind of magic you are drawn to. One of those places for me is São Paulo, in the diverse and beautiful country of Brazil.

I have a long history with this unique city, one I would never have dreamt of. São Paulo was the first city I visited without my parents or family and with a group of four friends when I was fourteen years old as we were on our way to a summer camp trip in the capital, Brasilia. We stayed for around three days in the city in a small hotel that had little windows, so the rooms were quite dark and felt a bit damp due to the humidity. As teenagers we did not mind at all. Our days were spent with a Brazilian guide (that I so wish I could remember his name) who took us all around the city. He was tall and had a thick Brazilian accent when he spoke to us in Spanish, always making us laugh with the words he would choose to explain something to us.

Exploring the lush and huge Ibirapuera Park, known as the green lungs of this city, which was right next to where we stayed, was our first adventure. The park, inaugurated in 1954 has a vast and diverse vegetation full of native Mata Atlántica trees as well as plenty of non native, exotic trees, and as we were walking while learning about this place, the unexpected backdrop of the city’s tall buildings behind the greenery is something I will forever remember. Our guide even joked about him being as tall as the buildings behind, you can imagine us as teenagers laughing non-stop. How beautiful is to remember those momentos of being carefree, silly teenagers.

We experienced many of the city’s landmarks such as the Avenida Paulista- the financial, cultural and touristic heart of São Paulo, enjoyed the most exquisite food and even went on a day trip to the beach. Sand stretching for miles before us with the Atlantic Ocean in front, a very hot and humid day. We ordered cold coconut water and relaxed in the second floor of a beach shack waiting for our fresh seafood to arrive. It was here that I saw for the first and only time in my life, a group of boys playing football with a coconut. We really were in the country of football, after all, though I still wonder to this day how was that even possible or if we, perhaps, even imagined it.

Decades later, I would return to the city once again and go back to this beautiful park, the famous avenue and in another visit, to that same beach. These next times I would experience it differently, as I was coming with my Brazilian boyfriend who is from the city.

On my second visit, our neighbourhood was Bela Vista, a central location known for its Italian heritage, close to many of the city’s important landmarks and the financial district. Walking these streets was a different experience, as I got to know more of the city than I did back then by staying for over a month this time. I got familiar with the Brazilian dishes such as Pizza Paulistana- the city’s pizza version with a thin crust with lots of melted cheese and fillings, Feijoada- a hearty pork stew with beans usually eaten on Saturdays, Virado à Paulista- a dish with beans, rice, pork meat, freid egg and plantains and of course the famous Churrasco- the Brazilian style barbecue with meats grilled over an open fire or hot coals. And how can I forget the delicious snacks coxinha- a deep-fried dough ball filled with shredded chicken and cheese, and pastel-a thin, crispy, deep-fried pastry pocket filled with savory or sweet ingredients. A very popular Brazilian street food. I get hungry just describing them here.

I felt the familiarity of being in a destination for longer by walking the many of the same streets every day, by visiting our favourite bakery and popping into the feira da rua (street markets) every Thursday to buy our groceries and cooking at our apartment. I was learning to move around and navigate this huge city, going to exhibitions and museums and exploring distinctive neighbourhoods. Visiting Botecos- a casual, very traditional neighborhood bar and social hub, became a weekly experience to meet with friends during my second time and subsequent visits here and one of the spots I learnt to enjoy the most. In every one of these visits, I was the only foreigner surrounded by locals who were always speaking Portuguese and slowly I became quite familiar with the language and was a great place to practice it. I always encountered such patience and encouragement from me trying to speak their language.

His family became mine too, and I could feel I was part of it as I made my way talking in Portuguese with them as well, enjoying weekends under the sun and summers by the blooming yellow Ipé trees, and cooking Italian inspired dishes with my mother in law. These, and many more, are some of the things you usually do not experience when you visit a place only once.

I learnt to love this big city, I began to have my favourite spots and places I would want to return to time and time again and I started truly craving going back to the city more than I would have ever imagined.

The first time I arrived to São Paulo was for discovering the city, an excitement of being somewhere new and unfamiliar. Learning about a new culture to me, eating food I had not tried before, hearing a different language all around me for the first time.

My visits after the first and second one had a different feeling. I was returning to a place I had already felt a little familiar with. It was still about some kind of discovery but it turned more into a kind of depth: I had learnt the language and could communicate with people on the streets, on restaurants, at shops. I knew more about the way things work here, how Brazilians have a more open, direct and honest way of speaking (than we Mexicans do), that you can find almost every type of food in the city due to the diversity of races living here, that eating at restaurant por kilo (by weight) or Rodizio (all you can eat concept in many kind of restaurants where waiters keep bringing you food) are so common, and that the best places to connect with locals are usually in those neighbourhood bars, botecos. It became also about the beauty of going in the late afternoon to a friend’s home and ordering pizza paulistana, going for pão francés for fresh bread for breakfast, or simply being somewhere hearing conversation in a language I could fully understand by now.

And knowing more about this destination, how it works and how it flows, somehow felt that it allowed me to feel I belonged here a bit more with every visit.

This is only one story of one place I have gone back to again and again. And perhaps it has a special meaning as it is the home of my boyfriend and his family and friends. Though it is definitely not the only one. Part of my excitement for travel now comes from going back to places I love.

I adore visiting France, the first country outside of Mexico I ever lived and where I spent three years in high school. I’ve gone back to regions and cities over and over. Arriving in Vancouver feels like greeting an old friend- a time of my life that was spend chasing filmmaking dreams and friends that became family, and I yearn to always go back to Mexico City, one destination that no matter how many times I visit, there is always something more to understand, connect with and experience and many things to go back to doing once again happily. It is always an adventure to see whether the spots you’ve fallen in love or the people you’ve connected with are still there, or if something else has shaped the areas you enjoy spending the days at.

In a way, maybe it is that nostalgia of moments and memories that shaped a time in my life somewhere and that I yearn to return to. But isn’t that the beauty of experience? Of being constantly reminded of the beauty of time and places, of people and recollections, of connection and change, of those moments of your life and how they are forever evolving and shaping who you are.

It just shifts its perspective, allowing you to see it through different eyes, through another kind of lens. One where you are already more familiar with it, yet that does not take away the beauty of experiencing it again, or living another side of it.

Returning lets you see more, feel more, belong more. To go deeper into what you would have never experienced on your first visit.

Going back to places you are familiar with allows you to live them fully once again, to go back to spots you love and enjoy them once more, to become part of something you have given your time and energy to. One where you might become acquainted with the locals, known to some people. To return to something that already feels like yours.

We are taught to always go somewhere new but there is so much value in returning.

You are walking that street you’ve come to love especially during the late afternoon, it is the time of day you choose to go out for a drink or meet friends and as you are strolling, you smile at the shops and vendors that are starting to close down, the places you visit frequently and that have come to know you by name. Perhaps this time you’re heading directly to what has become your favourite restaurant with a rooftop that has the most stunning view of the sunset, one that was recommended to you once by a stranger and local who is now your good friend. What a beauty to find belonging in a place that once felt so unfamiliar, unexpected and new.

Even if it takes away a bit of the unexpected and surprise, a lot of it is still there, it never truly goes way. It is replaced with love, appreciation and familiarity, feelings that are equally exciting.

It is a different way of traveling. It is a different way of living. One that is more present, slower. Focused on returning and belonging- something that can only be felt when you go back to a place that once shifted something in you. I have felt it in many cities and places, and I tend to dream about being back in them once again with anticipation, as I have learnt how rich, moving and life-changing it is to be somewhere you are part of it if even for a while.

Is there a place you find yourself returning to again and again? What keeps calling you back?

I write a piece every week on slower stories, mindful travels, and every day moments that tend to stay with you. Reflections on cultural memory, on the places that shape us, and on building a slower life in a fast-moving world.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to have you here.

There’s something really special about connecting with people who share a similar way of seeing the world, or who are simply in search of a more mindful, slower way of living and traveling.

I’ve noticed it while traveling, but also in the way I live day to day, in how the two seem to shape each other. The slower I move through life, the slower I travel. And the slower I travel, the more I understand what really matters in life.

Over time, these are a few things that traveling slowly has taught me.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

6 lessons that traveling slowly has taught me about life:

1. Presence changes everything

When you are more conscious about moving slower, you become more present and begin to notice things you would normally miss. The way plants move in the wind, the rhythm of local people walking on a morning market, how light changes throughout the day in a beautiful street.

When approached this way, travel stops being about checking places off a list and starts becoming about feeling a place, about truly being there and experiencing it deeper.

2. Meals are not just meals

In many places I’ve traveled, both in Mexico and abroad, meals are a sacred and very important moment of the day. A time to get together and share nourishment with people you love. They usually stretch longer as there is always time for conversation, sobremesa, another coffee.

And when you are invited into tables that share this way of connecting through food, you realize something quite simple but very profound: in many cultures and communities, eating is not just about food. It is about family, connection, being grateful and allowing enough time to be present for what matters.

3. You don’t need much to enjoy life

When we try to do everything while traveling, squeezing into our days every single things we wish to do… we often end up exhausted. Sometimes we even joke about needing a vacation from the vacation.

But throughout the yearw, I’ve noticed how many moments that stay with me the most are often the ones we might see as the simplest ones. Travel days where I did not really have a plan but simply chose to walk around a neighbourhood, when I decided to spend more time at a museum than I normally would or simply sit in a plaza full of local people for hours.

Doing less sometimes makes the experience fuller and you get to feel rested and reenergized.

4. Time is the real luxury

One thing I’ve noticed again and again in the places that feel happiest to me is that people seem to have time.

Time for conversations. Time for eating. Time for family and friends. Time to help and to explain something with patience.

Some of the kindest gestures I’ve experienced while traveling have come from people who simply had the time to care, and that makes you realize that time might be the most valuable thing we can give each other.

5. Not every place will be right for you

There are many destinations, both big and small that require more time to be fully experienced to be understood. Even sometimes we arrive expecting a place to immediately enchant us, perhaps to confirm everything we have heart about it. Though not all will be aligned with who you are at that time you visited, and that is alright. Places, much like people, have their own rhythm.

Traveling slowly teaches you that a place is not just its landmarks but the rhythm of life that exists around them. And it can happen, that a place simply doesn’t resonate with you at the moment you visit not because it lacks beauty, but because you and that place are meeting at the wrong time.

6. The beauty of ordinary life

Traveling slowly has also made me appreciate the beauty of ordinary life. The small rituals of a place and a day: morning markets, bakeries opening, people greeting each other, watering plants and witnessing yet another sunset.

And it reminds me that a meaningful life is often made up of these same simple moments.

In the end, traveling slowly has changed more than the way I experience places, it has completely changed the way I experience life itself. I am not really sure which one started first but what I know is that both influence each other. The more I tend to live a more present life, I notices more things when taking a trip, and the more I learn and appreciate stillness and a slower pace when traveling, the more I crave for such moments at home.

Because when you move a little slower, you begin to notice that the most meaningful things were always there, you just needed the time to see them.

Is there anything that traveling slower and more mindfully has taught you?

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The beauty of movement being part of who you are is magical.

But what happens when that identity fragments? When you no longer feel the pull toward adventure and change as strongly? What happens to who you are then?

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Subscribe now

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

I always identified myself as the one who was constantly on the move. Traveling near and far, living in distant places, learning languages and adapting to new cultures.

I first lived without my parents at the young age of fifteen in France when I moved to the city of Grenoble. The feeling of hearing a language I did not understand for the first time, even with simple words like bonjour and merci, was scary and confusing at first, but it laid the ground to the curiosity I would continue to feel throughout my life. Simple tasks like going to the supermarket and trying to read everything in French, buying bread and knowing I had to say a few words to order it, or being handed a menu and had no idea what anything on it was, were harder than I could have ever imagined, though absolutely thrilling too.

Living in a country so far from home allowed me to expand my view on what the world could be, and today, I can still smell the fresh croissants on the bakery below my apartment, hear the mix of French and Arab when the owners of the nearby kebab shop were outside, sense the Alps air on my walks to school… It allowed me to see more deeply into the opportunities and challenges, the diversity of people and mindsets, and the richness from living amongst cultures that are so different to your own.

Movement brought me to France, and it continued to guide me along other places in the future.

Since then, I traveled and lived in countless countries and places, I learn four languages and adapted to as many environments as I could, always looking for the next place to explore and the next life to experience.

It became part of my identity. The question I would hear more often, instead of “how are you?”, was “where are you?” I lived for movement and completely in the moment, as passionately as anyone can be.

And I thought I would wander forever…

I clearly remember how alive I felt when we had plans throughout the year of constant traveling. The excitement of the next place, the fresh air, the new energy. I would spend hours if not days reading and learning about the destination we were going to, bookmarking the best places to eat, saving maps and unique experiences, imagining what it would feel like to walk those streets. Understanding what not to miss from the things I loved and knew I would enjoy, would entirely light me up. I craved the immersion into each and every place.

Even the challenging times, such as when I travelled to India with my sister for a month to attend a friend’s brother’s wedding. I did not know his brother, but I had always been absolutely amazed by Indian weddings, and I had once told him that if anyone in his family got married soon, I would appreciate the invitation. And so, we went.

We stayed for over ten days in Hyderabad, enjoying days-long celebrations during all hours of the day and night, celebrating the love and astrology of a beautiful Indian couple. I would marvel at the colors of the saris, the music that never stopped, the laughter and dancing late into the night that made everything feel larger than life. Little did I know that this special moment with them, people I barely knew, would become such close friendships in the future when when we all met again and lived in Australia. Incredible the connections and experiences you make when you are open to it all.

However, that openness also brings challenges. My sister, which we did not know at the time, was pregnant, and as we traveled across the country her sickness became worse and worse. And if you have ever been to India, especially as a young woman, you know it can be not the most hygienic place. So the poor thing was constantly and completely sick and all the time we thought it was food poisoning.

I had chosen more local accommodation because I wanted to experience India in its most raw form. I had envisioned hopping into trains and eating all the street food, which I did, most of the time without her as she stayed in bed for entire days. India was a culture shock for me in many ways, and its definitely a country not for the faint-hearted, of course depending on what you do and how rough you choose to do it. We had a small budget and stretched it for the entire month. With how sick she was feeling and how often she wanted to go back home, I had to be the strong one for both of us.

I remember vividly a few days when I was crying in the shower. We were in a hotel that had many insects, especially cockroaches crawling everywhere, the bed was not as clean and it had become hard to deal with certain smells, the constant noise, and the intensity of people everywhere. Yet at the same time, I was fascinated. I was living inside a reality that was completely different from the one I had lived in other places in the world. The intensity and the contrasts in India are unlike any I had experience before and that was always one of the things that amazed me most about travel: how it was possible for so many realities to exist at the same time in the world. Somewhere, people were living lives that felt entirely different from your own, yet just as real and complex.

There was one time when we had to deliver some packages back home all the way to Mexico, and the journey to get there was crazy to say the least. It is a full story for another time, but some girls who were passing by offered to take us to DHL, and so we said yes. Little did we know that the means of transportation would be a moped. I would go in one and my sister in the other, and in the middle of traffic, I went one way and she went the other. We had no communication and just hoped we would end up at the same place. Thankfully, we did.

After a decade of living this way, it became my normal. A work opportunity across the sea? I was in. An affordable or unique adventure? I would book it. A man I had met and fallen in love with? I would go anywhere.

It all shifted when, during Covid, suddenly all plans of movement were halted. I was en route from Australia to Canada, stopping in Mexico to visit my family when it all happened and the world turned upside down. We all know the story. It caught probably all of us off guard, and especially travelers who are constantly on the move. It gave us a moment to pause, to panic, to reflect, to stress…

At the time I was at home in San Miguel de Allende, a city that, as much as I loved it, I never truly believed would become a place for me to stay. Oh, how little I knew how this was going to change.

One morning I walked early into town, and seeing it so empty, so quiet, made me stop for a moment. I began noticing things around the familiar streets I had walked for years but had never really seen before. Sometimes we become so familiar with the places we grow up in that they lose the magic of discovery, but that morning something shifted. The more I walked through town, the more curious I became. What was this place? How had I never noticed that building before? Had that café always been there?

I had become a tourist in my own city, but with a sense of nostalgia, of how it used to be, of what I remembered when I lived here as a kid. I began noticing traces of the community that once defined this place, traditions that felt quieter now, slowly fading under the rhythm of a city that had changed over the years.

And beautifully, that realization stirred something in me. It made me feel that perhaps those of us who grow up somewhere carry a certain responsibility and pride in keeping traditions alive, in protecting the sense of community that once shaped the spirit of a place, and San Miguel de Allende is deeply unique and traditional in so many ways. So even though I had been there many times before, this time felt different.

For the first time in years, I was not planning the next destination. And I felt completely happy being right there.

What happens when you identify your whole life as someone who is never still, who always has an adventure ahead, who is constantly planning the next trip, and suddenly something shifts in you? When you begin to feel a pull toward stillness, toward having a base, toward being more steady.

It was hard for me to accept that I was leaning more into the idea of creating a home after years of constant traveling.

The transition to understanding that something inside me was changing was not easy. I fought against it for many years, because I could barely accept that I yearned for a calmer life.

Travel inspires you. It opens your perspective on the world and on life. It reminds you how possible it is for millions of realities to exist at the same time across the planet. To have different mindsets than you, to follow religions unfamiliar to you, to speak a language you cannot understand a word of.

Since I was very young, I have been curious about the world and about cultures. That curiosity inspired me to learn about communities, regions, gastronomy, history, and archaeology. I always thought I was meant for wandering forever, that I would never grow tired of exploring, of living somewhere new and starting over again and again. Perhaps that is why accepting the idea of a home and a base felt so complicated. I never imagined that I would want this. Maybe because the examples I saw of this kind of life felt very different from me- women who were simply homeowners, amas de casa, living a life that I could not see myself in. I was afraid that choosing a home meant letting go of everything I had been, becoming someone so unrecognizable that I would somehow forget the life I had before.

Though after meeting many new people, families, and especially very inspiring women, I realized that the lifestyle they had before creating a family or choosing a home base had not disappeared. Even though their lives had shifted, they had not shut down adventure. They had simply woven it differently into their lives and they continued doing what they loved most: traveling, exploring, learning, and following what inspired them, and I began to understand something that had never occurred to me before.

Choosing a home does not mean abandoning the traveler. It simply means allowing life to evolve.

Today, I understand that both lives are possible. Leaning more into one at certain times of your life does not mean the other is extinguished, though it can be if you choose to to let it.

The curiosity that once took me across oceans is still there.

The traveler in me did not vanish when I began to imagine a home.

She simply learned that sometimes adventure is not only about leaving.

Sometimes it is also about choosing where to stay.

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

You can feel the energy in the air.

We all know they are arriving.

The scent of cempasúchil flowers and burning copal begins to fill the streets.

It calls them back.

Back to the world of the living once again, if only for a while. Back to rejoice in the meals they loved, the music they danced to, the people they cared for.

And for us, what a beautiful celebration of their life this is.

Día de Muertos, known in English as Day of the Dead, is an ancestral tradition that in many parts of the country has been celebrated for over 3,000 years, with roots in Indigenous Mesoamerican rituals. It marks an important time of the year to honor and celebrate the life and memories of our loved ones who have passed away.

It was originally a month-long festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl, the Lady of the Dead, to honor our deceased loved ones. Throughout the years, and especially with the colonization by the Spanish, it was forced to shift and align with the Catholic calendar, and today it is celebrated during the first days of November.

As Mexicans, we celebrate it from the time we are kids.

It is one of the most important events at school, where we prepare to create our own ofrendas, personalized altars made to welcome and guide the spirits of our loved ones back to the world of the living.

The whole class gets together and decides who will bring which items, as many different things make up an ofrenda: candles, flowers, papel picado- a decorative cut paper that is hung around the altar,salt, water, pan de muerto- a sweet bread made for this time, and the photos of our loved ones that will be placed on the altar.

Sometimes we make the altar in the classroom, and other times some of us are taken to the city center of San Miguel de Allende to create a bigger one together.

It is an exciting moment because we are all part of it from the very beginning.

We also write our calaveritas to recite them in the classroom. Calaveritas are satirical rhymes or poems written for Día de Muertos that mock death and playfully imagine living friends, family, or public figures as if they were already dead, or as if they had something to do with death.

The days before the 1st and 2nd of November, we are all very excited for what’s coming.

Writing your calaverita takes time and ingenuity, as you try to find words that rhyme with what you are trying to say. You want to make people laugh and connect with what you wrote, because after all you will read it in front of the whole class and we truly make this time one where we become more connected to the idea of death in our lives.

As a kid, I used to think this was the way it was around the world…that people celebrated death in this way, as a time to share moments of laughter, memories, and community. Though after having a few classmates who were not Mexican, I realized it was not the case. They would see the way we celebrated as something completely strange and to me, it felt surprising as a child to realize that many cultures relate to death very differently. So getting them to be part of this was such a great joy for us all. We love inviting people into the way we celebrate our traditions and it was beautiful to see how many foreigners in the city respected, honoured and were touched by the traditions alongside us.

But in my experience, growing up in a higher class in Mexican society, I have felt for a long time that there was a sense of pushing aside certain traditions that are linked to a more Indigenous way of being Mexican. In some spaces, modernity and status became associated with distancing oneself from Indigenous roots, even though those roots are deeply intertwined with the traditions that shape Mexican identity. Sadly, I often felt that outside the classroom, Día de Muertos was not as celebrated in many homes. In certain social circles, especially in upper classes, some ancestral traditions have long been viewed as something “lower” or less desirable to embrace. And Día de Muertos altars sadly felt like one of those things in many homes of family and friends.

And I’ve noticed how, especially through my nephews and nieces, that in many schools now in the city the tradition of creating ofrendas and being part of this celebration is no longer taught or reinforced as much, sometimes because they’re being replaced by more standardized educational programs.

And so I wonder, what happens when traditions that once connected us so deeply begin to slowly disappear from everyday life?

At school this was such an important moment for connection and gathering, yet at home we would hardly celebrate it. And not only in my home, but across many of my friends’ homes as well. From a very young age I felt I was noticing something: how many of our ancient celebrations and traditions had slowly become forgotten or pushed aside by a part of the population.

This made me even more curious about wanting these traditions to be part of my life, and about feeling proud of my culture. It opened the door for me to become more interested in identity and traditions…a reflection that eventually led me to want to keep exploring Mexico more than ever. Being raised in a family of mixed heritage, but also very connected to Indigenous families here, I have always felt drawn to a more traditional way of being Mexican. For that I am very grateful.

I grew up very close to families that honor ancestral ways of cooking and traditions like Día de Muertos, where they go to the cemeteries to decorate the graves of loved ones, cook meals for them, and spend the night singing and dancing. I’ve been lucky to be someone who was frequently exposed to that part of our culture and naturally drawn to it. There is a woman named Ana María who has always taught me how to be more connected to who we are as Mexicans. To be proud of what we are, how we are, and where we come from. She often reminds me that without all that tradition, all that knowledge, and all that history, we are left with very little of who we truly are.

And perhaps, because I have experienced the loss of several people close to me since a very young age, the meaning of this time has always felt very strong. Día de Muertos has always been the celebration I have felt closest to. Maybe it is because through this tradition we learn to sit with death differently and how the way we celebrate life in death helps transform grief into remembrance, community, and connection. It teaches us that there is beauty in the lives that once touched our hearts.

Despite traditions fading in some places, there has also been a revival of pride in Mexican culture and heritage in recent years. I have seen how Día de Muertos has become much more popular, both within Mexico and around the world. And in a way, I love that it has. It has opened the eyes of many Mexicans to the incredible traditions we have, traditions that deserve to be honored and continued. And while this popularity sometimes becomes quite commercialized, it is always important to remember that at the heart of it all, it remains a deep celebrations that ties families and communities to this ancient and beloved tradition.

For many families across Mexico, these days are not about spectacle or tourism, but about memory. As our home are lit with candles, as the smell of Mexican meals are prepared once again and fill the air with their scent, as stories are slowly shared, and names that might otherwise fade with time are spoken aloud we are reminded time and time again that the people we love are never truly gone, they continue to live in the memories we gather to celebrate.

And so, of course, if you ever come to experience it, it is important to do so with respect. To remember that, for many, this remains a soulful moment to connect with whom we loved, to celebrate our memories and talk about our time with them. Often people ask me if I can show them around during Día de Muertos, and I say perhaps, only if you come to San Miguel. This is where I feel comfortable sharing it, where I am from, and where I have celebrated it. We all celebrate it differently, and every place has its own way of honoring this beautiful tradition.

Traditions like these that have been passed through generations for thousands of years, continue being valued and practiced by the very people who honour them and pass them on. We should never be ashamed of who we are or where we come from, quite the contrary.

It is precisely that which has allowed us to become who we are today, and isn’t that one of the most beautiful things in life?

If you’re new here, welcome!

This is a space where I share about mindful travels and life experiences — the places, people and moments that inspire a slower and more intentional way of living.

You’ll find stories about destinations around the world, but also reflections from everyday moments along the way.

If you’d like to follow more travel moments and discoveries from the road, I also share them on @champitravels

Thank you for being here and for reading along.

Subscribe now

If the article appears cut off in your email, you can open it in your browser to read the full piece.

Traveling to destinations because of their history has always been one of my greatest passions. And recently, more than ever, I’ve found myself drawn more and more to the pieces that have marked their time.

An antique wooden table for twelve.

An oil painting of a distant landscape.

A carefully detailed map and the smell of old wood and paper.

Pieces that were made to last, carrying an energy unlike anything else.

I often find myself wondering how these objects came to be. Were they made for a particular person or family in an affluent city? Created for a special occasion? Where have they traveled since the moment they were first crafted?

If only antique objects could talk… oh, the stories they would tell.

I have been in love with older objects for as long as I can remember.

I grew up in a home where antique furniture and antique decoration were everywhere: in the bedrooms, the dining room, the kitchen. My father had inherited a big appreciation and love from his mother and family, and some furniture had been passed to him and his siblings when each got married. My mother worked in an antique shop in San Miguel as a young adult, and her love for these belongings also flourished in her. They are a couple that share this beautiful love and as kids, we would often learn about the history and the stories of many pieces around our home.

The beautiful hand carved wardrobe that had been in the family for generations since they had traveled to Mexico from France, the spectacular bedroom pieces from an aunt that had passed away that decorated my entire room, the antique decorations around the house from many different parts of the world. Many had been inherited and many more had been found in antique markets during my parents’ travels.

I was always curious and deeply interested in knowing about where they were from, where they had been and how had they ended up being at our home. I loved listening to the stories of chandeliers that had once decorated a long table in Europe, the Japanese tableware that had somehow ended up being in our country, and the oil lamps that once used to be lit by fire. What a wonder to have all these around me now. This love started from the passion my father had for such things and they way he would tell us about each one of them. How he valued those pieces that had lasted for decades and even centuries, and how, if taken well care of could be passed on again and again.

I always felt there is a beautiful energy in pieces that were made to last.

In Mexico, many families that had migrated from Europe had furnishings that had been in their families for long and it felt that this was just the way it was here. Sometimes it felt that there was not much value to it, but just how things were. And there seemed to be a trend starting on wanting to have more modern stuff instead of those older ones.

And as a teenager, I had the privilege of living in France throughout my high school years, and, for the first time, I could see much closer of how my father talked about places where the antique was very much present. Old buildings perfectly preserved were everywhere I looked in the town I lived and the places I visited. There seemed to be more value placed into this here. People were proud to live in places that carried history in their architecture and objects.

It was in France that I went to my first antique market. The most famous market in Paris: Les Puces de Saint-Ouen, which is the world’s largest antique market with beautiful curated furniture, art, and vintage fashion in a huge labyrinth across a vast area. There were stories everywhere I looked. Pieces from every time and place. It got me completely hooked.

I slowly started adding a visit to markets such as this to every town and city I visited while living and exploring Europe. I was fascinated by certain things that had also been preserved such as handwritten letters, old photographs and silk tissues. These would be some of the first items in my collection of the old.

However, I also encountered people that did not feel the same way that I did. Some felt that the energy that these objects carried were not worth for having in their home, that they might carry bad energy for having lasted this long and been through so many moments of time, in houses you didn’t know and people you hadn’t met. Dead energy, that’s what someone said to me once. I always felt quite the contrary.

These are pieces that contain stories of family, of happiness, of memory. Of war, of change, of movement. It’s a world in an object, a constant moving energy that flows through them. And as you lay your hands on one, you feel that energy and you craft it to something you put your own energy into. It’s an exchange.

My travels took me to so many wonderful places where I admired them in museums, in homes, in markets. And so many goods that I so wish I could’ve taken back home. Many of my conversations with my parents, but especially with my dad, would circle around the pieces I had seen somewhere and how he would’ve loved them. I would tell the story of it if it had been known to me, and if not, I would frequently imagine one though to keep to myself. What a wonderful way this was for me to travel back in time.

My love for them continued when I went back to Mexico and eventually when living abroad again, this time to Canada. It followed me everywhere as I frequently visited friends and family in Europe, and after a few years I started noticing something. People were not caring much about them as they once did. These relics were being thrown away and replaced by modernity.

I remember two occasions, one in Canada and one in France where the exact same thing happened. I was walking along the street when I noticed that in an alley somebody had left an old chair in Canada, and an old wooden table in France. Both beautifully made, with heavy wood and delicate carved details. Left outside to be thrown away, exposed to the rain and the passing of strangers.

I felt both sad and frustrated, why would someone not want a beautiful item like this anymore? There is so much inherent value in pieces that have lasted for generations, on objects that have stood the test of time and were made exactly to be passed from generation to generation.

One day, as I was making a road trip around the Lake District in England, we came across a small town and a home that was doing a sale. The owner was getting rid of much of her home as she said how her grandchildren were not interested in old decoration and furniture. You could feel the sadness as she shared this with us, and her happiness on my interest on wanting to get it all. How I wish I could have.

Sadly, it feels like modernity is replacing all of that. As a society we see more value now in things that are quickly made, and quickly replaced. On items that are not made to last or loved long enough. The old and taken care of add something to our spaces unlike any modern ones.

Have we lost the appreciation for things that were made with love and care?

I feel this is reflected in our communities today. People no longer see much value on things made by hand anymore, whether it’d be from antique possessions or even artisans. We are creating a world of replacement and void. Does this reflect who we have become as a society?

I will forever be in love with those unique things that cannot be easily repeated nor exactly replicated. For the tableware that was crafted a hundred years ago by a passionate hand to the wood dresser that took the maker months to create and decorate. How they add life to places and homes.

Perhaps we need to return to the stories that allow us to connect. Stories of family, of movement, of the many hands and lives that existed before ours.

In a world that seems to replace things faster and faster, it feels more important than ever to remember the beauty of what was made to last.

Because when you hold an object that has lived through decades — sometimes centuries — you realize something beautiful: that it has already belonged to many unique lives before yours. Has been witness to many stories and moments and if you care for it well, it may continue its journey long after you are gone and be part of many more.

If only ancient objects could talk… oh, the stories they would tell.

People rushing around us, businesses open everywhere, a constant noise of conversations and vehicles. Traffic, movement, chaos. So much going on everywhere that you simply don’t know where to look.

Little did I know how much I would be surprised time and time again by what I would experience here, and how this one city would slowly change my perspective on what a city could be.

How could a place so big, so chaotic, and so overwhelming end up feeling so alive, welcoming, and full of unexpected beauty and connection?

I had been in São Paulo once before when I was fourteen. The memories are few, but certain things stayed with me throughout the years. I remember the streets and parks, as we stayed in a very green area of the city back then, the smell of grilled meat while walking through the neighborhoods, the way we would sip coconut water everywhere, and especially how close the city felt to the ocean. We had spent three days there before continuing a month-long trip to Brasília, but that’s a story for another time.

Almost fourteen years later I was back in Brazil, and this time I would stay for over a month, most of it in São Paulo.

I had met a Brazilian man whom I fell in love with during a summer camp in Mexico, and the plan was to continue our relationship. His name was Fal. So plans were made for me to visit him in his hometown, which happened to be one of the biggest and busiest cities in the world. I come from a small city in central Mexico, San Miguel de Allende, and even though I had lived in different cities — big and small — around the world, nothing could quite prepare me for what it would feel like to truly experience São Paulo this time.

As soon as I was arriving, I could see the immensity of the city by the plane window, the never ending towers and buildings as far as my eyes could see. The same image of feeling completely small at such a huge destination continued all the way from the airport to the apartment where I would stay during this visit. All throughout that first day, I felt a different kind of energy: a city that seemed to have no limits and that felt both daunting and thrilling. I was excited to discover what this month-long journey here would bring, and especially to experience it with someone from there.

To be honest I had never been the biggest fan of big cities, as I often find them quite overwhelming: the noise, the crowds, and the constant movement can sometimes feel too much. But today I realize it was this city that taught me to love them: the chaotic, always moving and constantly changing cities. The ones where millions of lives intersect every day, and where cultures from so many different part of the world meet to shape something entirely new.

And few places embody that quite like São Paulo does.

We spent our first days walking around the iconic Italian neighbourhood of Bela Vista where Fal’s apartment is located. So many people are outside talking, going to the bakery for bread and a coffee, buying their fruits and vegetables at the weekly street markets. I tried Pastel for the first time, a long rectangle dough pastry, fried until crispy with your choice of meat, cheese or vegetable filling, and usually eaten with a cup of sugarcane juice or coconut water. What a delightful combination this is! I couldn’t wait for Thursday to come for the street market to arrive and eat them again every week.

You hear bom dia everywhere you go, and that sense of community and happiness is absolutely contagious. It didn’t take long to feel part of this energy and to practice my Portuguese more and more every day.

Walking the famous Avenida Paulista was also an experience in itself. The amount of buildings is unbelievable, many older houses were sadly torn down to make way for the modern skyline. I had seen photos of how the avenue looked decades ago and could only imagine how beautiful it must have been then. I have always loved older homes and historic architecture, and whenever I visit a place I often find myself imagining what it might have looked like in another time. a very nostalgic person, I know. So seeing this place, was not my particular favourite at first. But as we continued walking it was interesting to see how the modernity of today has shaped such an important business center in the city, and how you see people from all walks of life converging here in this one long street.

And all in all, despite its density and endless skyline, nature is never too far away and that was something that completely surprised me. Beautiful parks appear throughout the city, with impressive towering trees — small reminders of how this land must have looked before the city grew around it. There are the pretty neighbourhood parks, the tree lined streets and then, there is Parque Ibirapuera which is one of the most famous urban parks in the world, and for very good reason. It hosts cultural exhibitions and museums, and people from every walk of life gather there. During the weekends especially, the park comes alive: families and friends lying on the grass, people biking, running, playing music, and simply enjoying the this quiet environment that such a large green space offers in the middle of such a busy city. Just like the locals do, I joined Fal and a few of his friends on an afternoon here. Our conversations framed with the beauty of the native trees, like the iconic Araucaria, Pau-Brasil and the Ipe, this last one which quickly became one of my favourite trees with its yellow, white or pink flowers when they are in full bloom.

Over the weeks I spent in São Paulo, I slowly began to see the city differently. Not just as this massive urban center filled with endless buildings, but as a place full of stories. Ones of migration, of creativity, of resilience, of people building lives far from where their families once began. It often felt like the world somehow meets at each of the spaces you gather here.

As I started meeting more of Fal’s friends I started to notice something that fascinated me. We would gather at someone’s apartment, sometimes at a typical Brazilian boteco, a very relaxed neighborhood bar where people meet after work to share a drink, small plates, and have conversations, and almost everyone I spoke to had a story of migration somewhere in their family history. Italian grandparents. Japanese great-grandparents. Lebanese families. Portuguese roots. Some had German heritage, others Syrian or Israeli. Many carried several cultures within their family at once. Starting with that one group of close friends I met for the first time, there were traces of German, Italian, Syrian, Japanese, Portuguese, Lebanese, Israeli, and Indigenous heritage all present.

I had always known Brazil — and especially São Paulo — was incredibly diverse. But knowing it and actually witnessing it are two very different things. Nothing really prepares you for the true melting pot of cultures you encounter here. And so the city began to make more sense to me. São Paulo has been shaped by waves of migration for more than a century as many arrived here looking for opportunity, safety, or simply a new beginning and you can really see those influences everywhere, but perhaps most beautifully in the food and the groups of people.

All of it mixed together, naturally, as part of what it means to be Brazilian today.

And l felt that pride and love in the most simple, yet wonderful, daily moments. Sitting around Fal’s parents table at noon with plates of food being shared, conversations jumping between stories of grandparents, travels, and childhood memories. Portuguese being spoken quickly around me while I try to follow along, laughter filling the room, another round of Original beer arriving at the boteco table.

In those moments, the size of the city disappears. São Paulo feels so much smaller, so intimate. And so you begin to feel welcome. Because in truth, everyone seems to be welcome here. No matter where you come from, no matter who you are or what you do, there is a space for you in São Paulo and that made me fall forever in love with the city.

It’s beautiful how you can feel part of somewhere because of how the people and the place itself makes you feel. And every time I’m back, I’m transported back to those first times I ever visited: the smell of delicious food in the streets, the feel of the jungle and ocean close to the city, the melting pot of cultures that have shaped the city so beautifully, the never-ending energy of the Brazilian people.

When I first arrived that second time, I wasn’t sure what it would feel like to spend so much time there. And I certainly didn’t know then was that this place would become such an important part of my life.

Thanks to that Brazilian man, with whom I’ve now shared almost 8 years, I keep returning to this magical city, one that has become one of my favorite places in the world and a time of the year I always look most forward to as we now live in Mexico.

Perhaps that is what I learned here: that cities and places are not just buildings, noise, and endless movement. They are people. They are stories. They are tables where the world gathers together in conversations. And the beautiful surprise of how you never know how important they can become in your life.

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The sun rays started slowly coming through the canopy, touching the water and turning it a bright green.

There was no one around, except a fisherman in the middle of the pools, waiting for the first fish of his day to catch his string.

As we patiently watched the change from night to day, it felt like an everyday, ordinary moment for him, while for us it was the first time witnessing it and there was big magic to it. We couldn’t help but be in absolute awe at the beauty of places like this.

And I can imagine that even after seeing it so many times, it must still hold a little bit of that same magic for him too.

Isn’t there something quite extraordinary about sharing a moment with someone you don’t know, even if just for a while? A quiet connection that happens without words, simply by witnessing the same beauty together.

Me and my boyfriend, Fal, had planned a trip around the state of Chiapas for over 3 weeks, stopping in different incredible places for nature and cultural experiences.

Located in southern Mexico, Chiapas is one of the most biodiverse and culturally rich regions of the country. It’s known for its dense jungles, ancient Mayan heritage, vibrant Indigenous communities, and landscapes that range from misty mountains to powerful rivers and impressive waterfalls.

And after weeks driving in a kind of circuit around the state, we were closing our trip by visiting one of the most popular waterfalls. I heard stories about this area since I was a kid. My dad had travelled around the region when he was a boy with his parents and as a teenager and young adult later on on a roadtrip with friends. The stories he would tell about camping right next to incredible archaeological sites and stunning waterfalls where there was no one around seemed quite impossible to experience now. The region has quickly transformed, and even though we had heard it still retained the same beauty it did from years ago, many of its destinations were never able to escape the growing crowds. And so, we were finally arriving to Agua Azul, a series of breathtaking waterfalls cascading through different levels of turquoise pools.

We had planned for an overnight stay, and the drive from San Cristóbal de las Casas took longer than expected. Regardless of what the maps say, the road is filled with so many topes (speed bumps) that the journey always takes much longer. That, plus the frequent stops in small communities that ask for a small toll to pass, made the trip almost five and a half hours. We were glad we had not done a day trip but instead chosen to stay a bit longer.

We arrived to Cabañas Yax-Ha, a complex with a few rustic cabins close by to the mains area of the waterfalls. The cabins were run by members of the local community and built in the traditional style of the region, using natural materials and simple designs that keep the space cool in the warmer climate. A simple accommodation but exactly what we needed after a long drive.

The restaurants are lined up in the front of the main area of Agua Azul and once we arrived to eat, we were so glad we had chosen to stay a night here. People were everywhere you looked, so much that you hardly see the start of the water. Our decision was to take it easy for the afternoon, rest and then wake up early to experience the place.

How right we were to do so. There are places that you just have to live and experience during a certain time of the day for it to retain the magic you were once spoken of…

The next day, we slowly woke up to the sounds of birds and running water, deeply characteristic to the jungles of this part of the country. It was time to head outside.

People have lived here in connection with nature for a very long time. The Indigenous communities of this region of Chiapas still carry a deep relationship with the land, where rivers, forests, and mountains are part of everyday life. From the stories I had heard of, I was hoping to feel that connection here. When we arrived the afternoon before, with so many people around, it was harder to sense it.

But as we slowly walked toward the jungle that morning, we saw a few people walking calmly in the paths, and as we got closer to the water, everything began to change.

Rays of sunshine coming in through the canopy of the trees, and arrived just in time to see the sunrise reflected on the jungle and falling water. We seemed to be the only ones here.

As we caught the glimpse of a fisherman in the middle of the pools, I realized this was the connection I had heard so much about. This place has become so popular that the community has leaned to make a living from tourism. The restaurants, the stalls, and the constant flow of visitors are all part of that reality now.

And while it may not always reflect the quieter way people here have traditionally lived alongside nature, it is a way of adapting and welcoming those who come to experience this place. But standing there, watching the fisherman, I could still see how life here continues in the ways it always has. The everyday connection with the water, with the fish, with the landscape that surrounds them. The familiar walks through a place that, not so long ago, was experienced in a much quieter way.

Perhaps these early hours are when that connection still feels strongest to them: a quiet moment in the place they are lucky to call home.

It was moving to watch the sky change from night to day, to see the reflection of light in the water and the way it changed its tone wherever it hit. A beautiful landscape of never ending jungle, small and big waterfalls and birds flying above. How lucky we are to be able to witness places that emanate this kind of peace and wonder.

It was magical. Just as nature always is.

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The sea was as calm as it can be, with the beautiful La Giganta mountains in the background and everyone in the boat in complete silence as we slowly drifted around the water.

And suddenly, a splash.

She was coming out to the surface to breathe. The sound of her exhale breaking the stillness of the sea.

How small and captivated you feel when you know that all you can see above the water is only ten percent of their body.

It was an early morning in February in the Sea of Cortez when we boarded the boat that would take us around Loreto Bay National Marine Park in search of the largest whales that come to breed here, the blues.

The excitement of having finally arrived to a place I had been dreaming for decades was unbelievable, and even more thrilling to have a crew that were so knowledgable and would share much about what makes the waters around Loreto so special. I could not contain my happiness as we sailed from the harbor.

There were about eight of us in the boat, and the connection we shared that day was special. We had come all the way to Loreto from different parts of Mexico and the world, to witness for a moment, the magic of a Blue Whale enjoying the waters of this protected area for a season. Loreto Bay National Marine Park is one of the most important protected marine areas in the Sea of Cortez, a place that safeguards the rich biodiversity of this part of Mexico.

As we crossed the sea, the certified guides who are marine biologists and specialized wildlife professionals that often track whale populations and behavior for conservation efforts, started sharing with us why Blue Whales come to these waters. They travel from their summer feeding grounds towards the Sea of Cortez in the Gulf of California to spend the winter and part of spring in its protected, warm waters to mate, give birth and nurse their calves. A haven for them and many other species of whales that come here during winter.

It was not far before they asked us to stay paying more attention to our surroundings. They were around. The sea was so flat and calm, and any movement could be noticed quickly. It was not long when we had a first sighting of a Fin Whale, the second largest whale in the ocean. Paving the way to what we would later encounter.

They choose these calm waters as their breeding grounds because of the huge plankton blooms that attracts these big whales to feed on high concentrations of krill. And I like to imagine that they might also choose this place for its surrounding beauty. At least that’s how it feels from above the water. The landscape is breathtaking, red-colored mountains surrounding the bays, and an ocean brimming with deep blues and life beneath the surface.

Then suddenly, a ripple in the distance caught our eye. Fal, my boyfriend, pointed quietly and said there might have been something there. You could sense the excitement on the boat. We slowly moved towards it, and as we got closer, the engined got turned off so as to not disturb them. We are, after all, just visitors in their world and respect should be at the front of our experience as we arrive into their space. A few minutes later, there she was.

First we saw the burst of ocean water rising into the sky as she came up to breathe. Then her grayish-blue body appeared at the surface, smooth and immense, the sunlight reflecting on her back before she slowly disappeared again beneath the water.

Blue whales, as we had just learnt, surface to breathe every few minutes before diving deeper again for a while. So we waited, knowing she would likely appear somewhere nearby again, even if we didn’t know exactly where.

The stillness of the sea while we waited gave us time to take in what we were experiencing. And as we scanned the horizon for another chance of seeing her again, she appeared and reappeared for a few seconds each time, giving us the magical opportunity to see, even if just for a little while, the biggest creature to ever live in our planet. A whale that lives around 80 years roaming across oceans right before our eyes.

I notice again, as I often do when I’m in nature or places like this, how lucky we are to have environments like this around the world, and how big our responsibility is to keep protecting them. After all, it’s this entire system that allows us to live and breathe on such a beautiful planet.

And therefore, it is even more important to experience these sightings with a company that truly cares about the National Park and the wildlife that depends on it. Dolphins, sea lions, whale sharks, manta rays, and many species of whales pass through or call these waters home. Places like this remain extraordinary not only because of their beauty, but because of the collective effort to protect them.

In the distance, we saw the splash of water once again, and shortly after, her tail appeared, as if giving us a final goodbye during our time here witnessing a small moment of her migration. The tail slowly disappeared into the water with the mountains as a backdrop, and we knew it was time to head back.

As we slowly started the engine again and continued drifting through the calm sea, I kept looking at the water, hoping for one last glimpse. The ocean had returned to stillness, as if nothing had happened at all. And yet, something had shifted in all of us.

Encounters like this remind you how vast and alive our planet truly is, and how small we are within it. But in that smallness there is also something beautiful: the ability to witness, to learn, and hopefully to protect the places that make moments like this possible.

If this story inspires you to experience whales in Mexico one day, I work as a travel advisor and experience designer, creating personalized itineraries around the country.

As a Mexican who loves sharing the places that make this country so special, I design trips that allow travelers to connect deeply with nature, culture, and local experiences always with respect and understanding at the center of the experience.

Because the way we travel, matters.

Feel free to send me message me here and we can talk.

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For the girl who once thought she was too shy for the world.

I was born and raised in Mexico, and have lived here most of my life. I have Mexican parents, Mexican grandparents, and both sides of the family have always been very family oriented, the way it is common in our country, though a bit more open due to the fact we live in San Miguel de Allende.

Some of my ancestors came from different parts of Europe, but Mexico became a haven to them when they left mostly because of wars and jobs that were offered here. The ones that I was lucky to meet, shared and talked much about their love, pride and connection to this beautiful country. And I felt this love too since I was little. Mexico was my world, how could I not love it?

That love was slowly reinforced and challenged due to my curiosity that made me lean into geography books and lessons as I become obsessed. There were so many questions in my mind: how was it possible that there existed so many other countries and places that were different to here? That there were cultures, landscapes and animals that I could never have dreamt of? I wanted to know more and so it became a mission I knew I had to take on: understand that outside world better. Little did I know it will allow me to understand and discover myself more deeply too.

I was a very shy kid. Having to speak out in a classroom, or going into a store and buy something would terrify me. Contact and conversation with people that I did not know was what I dreaded most— but even sometimes, also with the ones I was familiar with. Maybe that curiosity in searching for other ways of living and being was my way of compensating for something else, something I couldn’t have in my own, personal world. Inside, my world was growing larger and larger with the more I learnt. Outside, I felt anything but brave.

I remember how alive and understood I felt by books and maps, enciclopedias and travel magazines, letters and photographs. There was something there that I would constantly be drawn to. Perhaps it was the way that moments had been frozen in time in a piece of ever lasting material. Something I could touch, read, see, talk and understand in my own way without being judged, without being looked at. Just being, just giving.

It’s both strange and beautiful how curiosity can live inside someone who is deeply afraid of the ‘real’ world. Reading about the world felt safe for me, but being in it was something else entirely.

And because travel had been part of me and my family, as we were a very fortunate one that took trips throughout the country frequently and went abroad at least once a year, I was often surrounded by places I’d read about or that my parents had talked to us about. This was another moment of my life where I felt equally mesmerized and utterly terrified by what was around me.

The unfamiliarity I would encounter on books excited me, but being there in flesh and bone felt differently. I slowly started to lean in into what we were experiencing away from home when we would be taken to museums or walks in the Botanical Garden in San Miguel in day trips from the school and I’d start noticing how beautiful it was to be face to face with what was unfamiliar, yet there was so much magic to it, so much to learn from.

And slowly, by taking refuge on these moments and places, I started gathering the courage to confront people too. To start speaking maybe a little bit more. This took a while. To be precise, almost 15 years.

When I was 14, we were invited by my best friend’s family to join an international program called CISV, which then stood for Children’s International Summer Villages. A program made for kids and adults from around the world to share knowledge and experiences around themes such as sustainability, conflict and resolution and human rights, with other participants from different countries usually during 2-4 weeks in the summer in a destination around the world. This remains one of the most incredible, life changing, once-in-a-lifetime experiences I’ve had in my life to this date.

There was a previous training before you joined the yearly programs, and for us it consisted in getting together during the weekends to learn about what CISV was, the kind of activities that we would be doing during our summer program and why it was important. We needed those trainings and get togethers to know better the other people who would be joining, and for us to be carefully placed in small groups that would travel together— known as delegations, to head to a selected worldwide destination once the trainings were done.

We trained in the nearby city of Querétaro, which back in 2005 was a very small city, though not as tiny as San Miguel was. And the founders of the Querétaro Chapter were the parents of my best friend, Juanjo. Back then, we all knew each other and so the trainings were mostly filled with people we already knew, which was a relief for me. It was still hard to get into the mood of the activities, to get out of my shell and try to be more social and participative. Slowly, I did become a bit more open, even if just a tiny bit.

Time flew by and suddenly we were at the ceremony, the one we had all been waiting for. It was prepared with so much excitement around one question: who were you going with, and where?

First, they announced the delegations. Four children and one adult per group. When our names were called, we gathered together, trying to read each other’s faces: some of us close friends, some familiar, some still a mystery. I was traveling with my best friend, a cousin, and my best friend’s cousins. We had grown up around each other. I loved them. I felt lucky. I felt excited. Then came the reveal.

We stood together in front of a screen as images began to appear: a few photographs of landscapes we didn’t recognize yet. A map, a flag. And then we knew. The country we were going to was Brazil.

The excitement and nervousness that rushed through me is something I will never forget. I was heading to a foreign country with people I cared about, to meet other delegations from around the world. One of the first times I was traveling without my parents (the first was at 11 years old to Europe, but that will be for another story). It felt big. Bigger than anything I had done before.

It ended up being the most challenging, yet most wonderful three weeks of my life. Experiencing the culture and way of living in Brazil was so different, yet in many ways so similar to what I was accustomed to in Mexico. They were open-minded, cheerful, festive and so alive in a way that felt contagious.

Our summer program brought together delegations from Argentina, Brazil, Canada, Ecuador, Finland, Italy, Jordan, and The Netherlands. The conversations, activities, and discussions we shared were endlessly inspiring as each person carried their own opinions, their own history, their own way of seeing the world. To this day, I remain in awe of the many different ways one can understand and live their reality.

I arrived as a very introverted and timid girl and slowly, I became more confident in myself, in my words, in my actions. As I realized that what I had loved so intensely in books, maps and stories was happening right in front of me, and I loved the way it felt and the way it allowed me to be connected.

I transformed so much that when I returned home, my family and friends felt I was a different person. My hair was loose. I wore different, tighter clothes. I spoke with more certainty. And I absolutely felt like another person. It’s beautiful what exposure to the world can do to you. And I have craved that feeling ever since. I think I always will.

Just a year later, I went again with a summer program through CISV, this time to Luxembourg. More countries, more conversations, more transformation. So many activities that made you think, question, and grow. I created beautiful friendships and experienced some of my first loves in those programs. It felt like a continuation of something that had already begun in Brazil… like the world was slowly opening itself to me.

Around that same time, my parents decided that since part of my dad’s side of the family was French, I should learn the language by spending a year living with my aunt in Grenoble. And so I went.

For some reason, I had always been fascinated by England and imagined that if I ever lived in Europe, it would be there. So I wasn’t as excited to learn I would be spending a year in France especially with an aunt I didn’t fully get along with. Still, I hoped to encounter the same kind of excitement I had felt while traveling alone before. Little did I know how different this experience would be.

Perhaps the summer programs had placed us in a kind of bubble. We were in a controlled environment for three weeks, sharing a common language, surrounded by people who arrived already willing to be open, patient, and friendly.

This was not at all how it felt when I arrived in France.

I did not know a single word in French, and people did not seem as friendly. My school was an international school divided into different language sections, with French as the common language. I was in the American section and took some French classes in the French side of the school.

Most of my classes were in English, but some of the French ones, especially subjects like Biology were a big nightmare. Because of being in the American school, it also felt like we were slightly separate from the students who had all their lessons in French, which of course was the normal situation when you actually live in the country. And even if I made wonderful English-speaking friends, and a few Spanish-speaking ones too, trying to fit into a world where you feel like they don’t quite want you there — or perhaps simply don’t understand you — was hard.

Out of that necessity and wanting to belong, I learned French quite quickly. Slowly, I began to create beautiful friendships, some of which I’m still close to this day.

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A big turning point happened again on a trip. Every year, each language section organizes its own annual trip, and although I wasn’t part of the Portuguese section, a few of us on the American school, joined them on theirs. And it took us to Portugal. It was there that I had created a wonderful group of friends and fell in love with a man I would be with for 3 years. Because of that I ended up staying in France for all of high school. It was the first time I had been away from home in Mexico for as long, and something shifted in me, a realization that I could belong somewhere else too.

When we are young, we often feel that the only place we will ever feel like is truly ours is where we were born and raised. That there is nowhere more important and grand than that particular place. At least that’s how it felt for me, San Miguel de Allende used to be everything. And being away from it all, in a destination I’d never knew before but that I came to love as much, shook those beliefs.

I began to understand that belonging is not limited to one geography. For many of us, curiosity pulls us out into the world and deep into ourselves. We find beauty and connection in small moments, sometimes very far from home, and they become so meaningful that we leave a part of ourselves there. After that, we’re never quite the same.

When high school ended, I returned to Mexico because of circumstances that brought me back. And being there, felt both familiar and foreign. I had changed, and I felt that home had stayed the same. It was hard to adapt again to a life I used to have, and would constantly crave the freedom and independence I had created in France. Mexico was more restrictive, I was living back with my parents, the security situation was not the best and mobility wise, it was harder to move around. So I moved to Querétaro, and after a while to Mexico City. The biggest city I have ever lived in. I loved having that independence back, to have to stand up for myself and make my way through this city jungle.

I left again soon after — this time to Canada. A different kind of independence. Colder in weather, and in some ways, colder in culture too. I learned what it meant to stand entirely on my own once again far from my roots. To build routine without family nearby. To miss things I once took for granted. And I created a beautiful life I could have lived forever, because isn’t that what happens when you learn to love a place? You become familiar with what wasn’t, you create a circle of loved people you enjoy being with, you keep being awe with the things you experience: the walks, the weather, the language you’ve learnt.

I felt more alive the more I was challenged, and it was in this country where I had a moment to reflect on how far I had come from the girl who used to be so afraid of the world, and who had now explored quite a bit of it. I loved starting conversations, hearing people’s stories, walking familiar routes and exploring new places in the city I lived in. It made me feel so alive, capable, and expanded.

And then it was time to return to Mexico again. It is never easy to let go of a place you love, especially when you know what it is like to start all over again, even when, from the very beginning, you knew some moments were only meant to be temporary.

But then, there was a new adventure on the doorstep, this time to Australia, which felt like the furthest I had ever gone, geographically and internally. By then I felt so confident to move through airports alone. I could build friendships in new cities. I could begin again. And I loved beginning again.

And yet, something interesting kept happening. No matter how far I went, Mexico remained my emotional anchor. Not in a limiting way. Not as the only place I could belong. But as the place that shaped my lens. I felt a pull towards it, but I was very reluctant to accept it. I had become the girl who traveled, the one who moved and never settled, the woman who would not return home.

But, as if destiny had it written, I came back home during a moment of transition to our next place, as I was now traveling with my then boyfriend of two years, in March of 2020. Little did we know how the world would shut down and shake so many of our beliefs, dreams, and perspectives. I was unintentionally back in Mexico and I felt lost being here, probably the place in the world I would have least wanted this to happen.

Though something interesting began to happen in me. The more time I spent here, the more I started seeing San Miguel as a very different kind of place than the one I had known coming back for seasons during my years abroad. It had a different feeling to it. Just as I had sensed once as a child, my hometown felt both familiar and foreign. I had changed, but somehow it also felt like home had changed too. And I liked that.

I kept thinking about how hard it had once been to adapt again to a life I used to have, and how I thought I would crave the freedom and independence I had found abroad. But what if I was wrong? What if all of that was possible here too? What if it had only existed in my mind that it wasn’t a possibility for me here? Maybe it had been me all along, the one who had created these restrictions and believed they were only possible somewhere else.

So I decided to broaden my mind and my soul, because that’s exactly how it felt. Could I be the woman who came back home to settle after being the one who traveled endlessly? Of course I could.

I had overcome the fear of speaking, of opening myself to the world, of making many destinations my home for a while. In reality, I could do anything I set my mind to. And choosing to remain in my hometown, to choose it as home again, would not mean going backwards like I once thought.

Living abroad taught me independence.

Returning home taught me perspective.

Leaving again taught me courage.

Coming back taught me love and acceptance.

How incredible it is that we are capable of experiencing this world in our own way, and growing into someone we love being. And that we are allowed to change our minds, no matter how strongly we once believed in the image of who we were supposed to be.

I am forever grateful for all that life has shared and taught me.

Writing this made me reminisce about all those times and moments, about the people in my life, and reflect on how everything is connected to the lives we lead each day. It reminds me how important it is to take moments to acknowledge all we’ve been, all we are, and where we are trying to go. To remember that every path is valid as long as it resonates with us. That we can learn so much from facing our fears, from doing even the smallest things outside of our comfort zones. And that it is okay to change direction, to change who we once told the world we were, to change our beliefs and perspectives. I encourage it, because I believe it truly makes you appreciate life so much more.

And as I look back, I hug that once shy girl who was so afraid of everything around her, and I tell her,

“Look how being curious, and willing to look inward, allowed us to take the steps we’ve taken. The ones that carried us around the world. The mistakes we made that allowed us to learn and grow. The introspection that made us more open and empathetic. The love we have for this life in our own way that has allowed us to create a life that is not define by anyone but us. And we are happy. Thank you.”

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As a Mexican living in Mexico, all that’s been happening in our country these past days it’s enraging, deeply sad & frustrating. You probably already know— but in case you don’t yet, the biggest cartel head in the country was taken today and it sparked violence in many states, forcing the closure of some airports, bus stations, shops and schools.

And since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about who these conflicts really impact most.

Because while headlines talk about power, arrests and violence, the ones who truly carry the weight of it all are everyday people.

A good friend shared a story that made me even more sad and mad:

She had to get a few grocery items for her family. Many places were closed, but she finally found one open. Outside, there was a man selling fresh honey. When she asked for one, he told her he hadn’t sold much because there was hardly anyone in town. She replied “yes, because of what’s been happening“. He didn’t know what had happened. He had come all the way from his community early that morning and was now waiting for the bus to go back.

The bus wasn’t coming. And had it not been for her, he probably wouldn’t have made it home.

And stories like his are the ones that stay with me, and I know that probably with you too. Because this is how it usually happens when there is conflict anywhere: the most vulnerable are the most affected, the most kind and hardworking are hit most.

I’ve cried a few times these past days because of this, of the stories you hear of people that live by the day being affected, of the fear that creates in a society that’s all about community and warmth, the inequality & the injustice of it all most of which was never even created by us in the first place.

We are a country that welcomes people into our homes. One of the most hardworking I know and we are proud of where we come from and who we are. But these situations also shown how fragile we can be as a nation. How corruption and power dynamics still shape realities far beyond our control. And how as citizens, we often have very little say in situations like this. And that can feel scary and overwhelming.

And even if we don’t live this reality every day, or everywhere, we are not powerless. We still have our voices. To demand better. To question. To refuse to let this define us.

We have the power to show up for each other, to reach out a hand, to help when someone needs it. That is who we are.

What’s been portrayed in the news this week, is not the reality most of us live every day. Mexico is also alive, generous, creative, welcoming, peaceful, joyful. Of course this other side exists, sometimes isolated, sometimes closer than we’d like. But it is not all of us. And it is not all we are.

I don’t minimize what’s been happening, and I believe we must continue demanding better systems and more accountability to build a safer and more just society. But what makes international headlines is not the entirety of our country. It breaks my heart that Mexico often only receives global attention when violence erupts.

Yes, cartels hold power. That’s a painful reality. But they are not all of Mexico.

And while headlines are so hungry for disruption & what causes uncertainty and fear, the ones who are affected most are incredibly hardworking and kind people. And not just here but everywhere in the world.

And in times like this, it becomes even more important to read carefully. To check what’s true. To understand what is happening and where. To be mindful that what we share can shape how an entire nation is perceived.

We are often asked if we get scared. Of course we do. Who wouldn’t?

But fear spreads faster than truth. And I don’t say it lightly when I say we live in one of the most incredible countries, largely because of its people.

So in my heart, I just hope you see Mexico for what it truly is too: kind, hardworking, generous people doing their best despite everything.

If you’ve been here, I know you know. And if you haven’t, I hope that through all I share, you’ve felt it more than once.

Remember to always hold space for the full picture.

A country is never just one story.

There is so much beauty, resilience & humanity in Mexico. And that deserves to be seen too.

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We tend to look for what feels familiar as we search for traces of “home” wherever we go…even if just for a while, even if we are thousands of miles away.

For me, the way I move through my daily life has shaped the way I move through other places.

I place a lot of value on the small rituals that help me feel connected — to myself, to other people, to community, to the environment. Morning walks. Buying from the same vendors. Cooking slowly. Knowing the rhythm of the week.

And those practices didn’t stay at home, they followed me when I traveled.

And without realizing it, they began to shape the kind of traveler I became.

As a Mexican, I’ve grown up deeply connected to community. We are drawn toward family, traditions, being together, supporting one another. And I’m aware that this has influenced the way I experience the world around me, especially being from a smaller town, as it also allows you to approach life with a deeper sense of slowness:

You greet the same vendor at the mercado every week.

You notice when mango season begins.

You become accustomed to the people you see in your walks.

You understand that rain changes the rhythm of a town.

And these are ways of paying attention that come from the way life is lived in the society you are in.

And so, when you live this way — when you are used to noticing or are more present in these moments — you don’t suddenly stop noticing when you travel, quite the contrary… So, perhaps the way you live says a lot about the way you travel.

As humans, we gravitate toward what feels familiar. We carry our patterns with us: the way we behave, the way we interact, the way we understand time, care, and responsibility.

We don’t just become new people when we board a plane or take a bus towards somewhere. We arrive as amplified versions of who we already are at home.

If you value relationships at home, you seek them when you travel.

If you rush at home, you will rush abroad.

If you consume quickly, you will act the same when you travel.

Movement doesn’t erase the habits that we have, it usually magnifies them regardless of them being negative or positive. And you usually don’t become more present or ethical on your way there. You arrive as yourself, just in a new location.

And yet, so many of us travel to escape.

We say we need a break. A reset. A change of pace. We imagine that somewhere else — another city, another country, another culture — we will undo the patterns we’ve built into our daily lives.

But being somewhere different does not automatically create transformation because if you do not know how to slow down at home, you won’t suddenly do it somewhere else. If you do not know how to be present in your own life, you won’t suddenly become present in someone else’s.

Travel may be a way to interrupt routine, but it hardly creates deeper intention if its not something you already do in your daily life.

Intention is built in the way you relate to your own life: in how you treat time, how you spend money, how you notice people, how you move through your neighborhood. Intention is a constant practice.

And yet, sometimes travel does wake something up.

Sometimes distance softens us. Sometimes unfamiliarity demands our attention in a way routine no longer does. Being somewhere new can shake us out of autopilot and can remind us how to notice again.

But even then, what travel awakens is not something entirely new… it is a capacity that was already there, waiting to be practiced more consistently.

And so, I believe that when you are more intentional in living mindfully and more present, it can make you a more ethical traveler, because mindfulness is attention and it is intention.

When you are conscious and used to paying attention in your own life, you carry that awareness with you.

You notice who owns the café.

You want to know more about where food is sourced.

You care who benefits from your spending.

You stay longer instead of hopping quickly from place to place.

You choose local when you can.

Because that’s what you do when being at home.

Maybe ethical travel doesn’t start at the airport, maybe it starts in your kitchen, in your neighborhood and in the way you treat time.

So, who are you at home, and does that version of you travel too?

Hi, I’m Champi, a mindful traveler and creator looking to share more long from content about my travel and life experiences in the hope to inspire more thoughtful and real connections & conversations.

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