Seven days
Sometimes a week is all it takes. Mexico’s heat has muddied my thoughts and I can no longer see my usual worries in a very clear light. The tensions in my body, the little aches and pains of daily life, seem to have gone away. I haven’t been biting my nails, drying my hair, putting make up on. I am a different person and my life in Montreal belongs to somebody else. There is the restaurant we’re going to in half an hour, then the bags to pack for the four hour bus ride to Tulum tomorrow. There is the book I’m reading, the three showers I take every day, the swims, the search for a shady sidewalk, my skin, which is getting darker every day. The little kids stare at us, straight in the eyes, serious and inquisitive. I give them a smile, just to see their beautiful faces light up. I don’t know what interests them so much in the person they are looking at. I catch my dark skin reflection in a window and I want to smile back at this stranger as well.
I often hesistate to take a trip when I only have a week of vacation, because it seems too complicated for such a short period of time. But the power of a single week can be amazing, if only to travel outside of yourself.
