From a young age, my family travelled to Mexico for yearly vacations. My grandparents had a timeshare and my first experience with Mexico was in a stereotypical resort for tourists in Mazatlán. My mom would strap on my lifejacket and I would zip down the waterslide, dive from the rocks, and enjoy my virgin piña colada as I dripped dry at the poolside.
Each night, we left the resort to venture out for dinner, and I would eat tacos, quesadillas, and drink horchata, feeling the sea breeze on my sunburned skin.
As I grew older, it became a tradition to go to the main plaza in Mazatlán for the week of New Year’s. It’s where I learned to dance salsa and to speak broken Spanish, but there’s one New Year’s Eve that stands out to me.