My earliest memories of travel come from our annual family road trips in Mexico. Every year, during the last week of July, my parents, my Abuela Angela, my brother, and I would pack into the car and head to Ixtapa—our special spot in the Pacific. Because of my parents’ timeshare, we returned to the same place, the same week, alongside the same families who also made this trip a tradition. It was a yearly reunion built on sun, food, and familiar faces.
My parents were true adventurers who adored the beach, seafood, and anything that crawled, swam, or came straight from a fisherman’s net. For those who haven’t been, Ixtapa sits along the warm waters of Guerrero—waves strong enough to tumble you like laundry, but thrilling all the same. Those waves taught us resilience: how to ride, how to fall, and how to climb back up again.
My dad and grandma always stayed under the shade (both would sunburn into perfect little lobsters). Meanwhile, the rest of us baked in the sun—drenched in sunscreen, pretending we were made for it. Mexican beaches are dotted with palapas serving fresh, local dishes, and I still remember the joy of eating live clams straight from their shells, buttery lobster, and “pescado a la talla”—a perfectly seasoned fish grilled over open fire. I lived for the sopes and tiritas de pescado, that bright mix of lime-cured fish, onions, and chiles.
Some nights we’d head to the plaza for steamed plantains drizzled with condensed milk or grab a cold glass of milk before bed. And, of course, Thursday nights meant pozole—non-negotiable, as any good Guerrero tradition demands. We’d reconnect with families who traveled from other states, year after year, filling our evenings with laughter, games, and that easy comfort of returning to the same people in the same place.
We kept this tradition going for many years, until my brother and I finished college and life scattered us in different directions. I still miss those trips—the sun, the sand, our friends, and the feeling that the ocean knew us by name.
Those vacations were the beginning of my love for trying foods beyond the ones we cooked at home. They planted the seed for my passion for travel, new flavors, and long family road trips.
Stay tuned—there are many more food-filled travel memories to come.
Mesa confessions: Every year, my parents stopped along the road to buy local sea salt and coconut candies. The salt seasoned our meals for the whole year, and the coconut treats sweetened more evenings than I can count.
Leave a Reply