The Road Les Traveled

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  • Mérida, Mexico – Week One

    It’s officially been a week since I landed in Mérida… and honestly? I still don’t know what this city is really like. I’ve only left the house—aka my “safe zone”—twice. Once to get medication when I was sick, and once to grab groceries. Both times, all I could think about was getting back home… even though, to be real, the house didn’t feel all that “homey” yet.

    My first week here was rough. I was super sick and running out of the cold medicine I brought with me. I knew I had to figure out how to get something that would help, but I was nervous. How was I supposed to explain what I needed with my very basic Spanish? And would they even take my credit card? When I landed, the currency exchange at the airport was already closed, so I had zero pesos on me—and Mérida is definitely not the touristy kind of place where you can just hand over a few dollars and call it a day.

    Google Maps became my best friend. I found a farmacia within walking distance that accepted credit cards, and I used Google Translate to type out a little message I could show the pharmacist. After a few deep breaths and some positive self-talk, I headed out. It didn’t take long to find the pharmacy, but it was midday—and HOT. The mix of heat, humidity, and feeling miserable made me want to turn around and run back to safety. But I didn’t. I pushed through.

    When I got there, I realized it wasn’t like a pharmacy back home. There was no door to walk through—just a storefront counter. The woman behind the counter started talking to me in Spanish, of course, and I quickly learned to lead with “No hablo español.” I showed her my phone, explaining (well, Google Translate explaining) that I was sick with a cough and needed a recommendation. She was incredibly kind and handed me a medication in the form of a small, dissolvable disk. I also grabbed a couple of bottles of Electrolit—Mexico’s version of Gatorade. She accepted my card, and just like that, I was on my way home. Mission accomplished!

    Once I started feeling better, my next mission was making the house feel a little more comfortable and stocking up on groceries. My driver, Eduardo, had been checking in on me since I arrived and offered to drive me around for $200 pesos an hour—about $10. Totally worth it, especially since I wasn’t ready to figure out Uber here just yet.

    I made a little to-do list: bank, grocery store, and… yarn shop. Yes, yarn. I’m a crocheter, and I desperately needed to start a new project. Fellow crocheters, you get it: a good yarn stash is essential.

    The ATM was a bit intimidating at first. I was still figuring out the whole pesos-to-USD exchange rate, but after some slow, careful button pushing, I had cash in hand. Then Eduardo dropped me downtown, and wow—it was like the Garment District in L.A.: rows of shops, food vendors, and people everywhere. It felt a little familiar, except for one thing… not a word of English anywhere.

    I found a small yarn store, picked up a few skeins at a great price, and felt ridiculously happy. Then it was off to Chedraui, which is basically a mega-store that has everything. Furniture, appliances, groceries, a pharmacy, and even a restaurant inside. It was a little overwhelming, so I did a lap around the store just to get my bearings before diving in.

    About an hour later, I rolled out with a cart full of groceries and a few things to make the house feel a little cozier. Pro tip: the people who bag your groceries here aren’t employees—they work for tips. Ten to twenty pesos is standard.

    By the time I got home, I felt… lighter. I had groceries, pesos in my wallet, medicine, and yarn to keep me busy. It may not sound like much, but after a week of feeling sick and stuck, it felt like my first real win in Mérida.

  • Mérida, Mexico – Reality Sinks In

    It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m so sick.

    I’d been feeling a little off when I left Arizona on Sunday, but now? It’s a full-blown cold — cough, congestion, and zero energy. Yesterday, I slept the entire day. Thank goodness I raided my brother’s medicine cabinet before I left; the DayQuil and NyQuil stash got me through the last two nights. Unfortunately, I’m running low, and the thought of trying to figure out where to buy more in a foreign country feels… daunting.

    This morning, I finally set up my little desk with the intention of working, but let’s be honest — nothing productive is happening today. I feel like absolute crud.

    My sister, Tessa, FaceTimed me this morning. She’s worried about me being here in Mexico — and to be honest, I’m worried, too. The second her face popped up on my screen, I just broke down crying. The words tumbled out: “What am I doing? What was I thinking?” I’m sick, alone, in a foreign country, and I don’t speak the language. It’s not exactly the adventurous, romantic start to this trip that I envisioned.

    As always, Tessa was calm, patient, and loving — the voice of reason when I needed it most. She reminded me that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed and that it will get better. I’m so grateful for her.

    Tessa and I have only known each other for ten years. We share the same birth father but have different mothers. We found out about each other in 2007 but didn’t actually connect until 2015. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was going through one of the darkest times of my life. My world had shattered, and I was completely lost. One day, I dropped to my knees in my bedroom and prayed — not in a religious way, but in a desperate plea to the higher power I call God. I begged for strength just to make it through the next hour, the next minute.

    A few hours later, my phone rang. It was Tessa. She had found me. To this day, I believe she was the answer to that prayer — my guardian angel arriving exactly when I needed her most.

    Now, back to my arrival in Mexico.

    After my driver dropped me off Sunday night, I stepped into what will be my home for the next 30 days. My first impression? Honestly, disappointment. The house is rustic, just as I expected, but I was secretly hoping to be pleasantly surprised. I wasn’t. It’s fine — clean and functional — but bare and cold, with cinder block walls and concrete floors. It felt more like a shell than a home.

    To make matters worse, it was 9:00 p.m. on a Sunday. The streets were quiet, everything was closed, and I was tired, hungry, and sick. No snacks, no drinks, nothing waiting in the kitchen. I had only water. So, I took some NyQuil, crawled into bed, and told myself I’d figure it all out in the morning.

    Monday morning was rough. I could barely get out of bed. But then — a small miracle — I discovered Uber Eats works in Mérida! I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. I ordered chicken pozole from a local restaurant (the only thing that sounded remotely comforting) and even managed a small grocery haul. Ordering groceries in a language you don’t speak is an adventure in itself — but somehow, I pulled it off.

    For now, my goal is simple: rest, find more medicine, and not let the overwhelm take over. I keep telling myself — it’s all going to be okay.

    He’s super supportive during my time of rest.

  • Mérida, Mexico

    I’m here. I’m in Mexico!

    It was a long travel day for both Finn and me. We arrived at the Phoenix airport around 7:30 AM for our 10:15 AM flight. My brother John parked the car so he could help me wrangle two very large suitcases while I handled my carry-on, Finn, and his carrier. As we pulled into the parking lot, things got quiet. I think the reality hit both of us: I’m actually leaving the country for five months.

    If you know my brother at all, you know he’s a bit of a worrywart.

    After checking my luggage, it was time to head to security. John and I made some awkward small talk, trying to keep things light, but I suddenly got emotional. He looked at me and said, “Don’t cry. This is an exciting time.”

    I knew he was right—but my heart was scared. Nervous. I was about to walk away from one of the only men in my life who made me feel truly safe and protected.

    John and I weren’t close growing up. We fought constantly, and he tormented me for years—as older brothers often do. But when I went through one of the hardest times in my life, he stepped up in ways I never expected.

    Most of you reading this blog today know that I went through a heartbreaking divorce about ten years ago. John immediately took on the role of supporter, protector, and loving big brother. He called, listened, let me cry (a lot), and walked me through some of my darkest moments. He’s been there for every milestone since—celebrating my successes, showing up without being asked, loving me through it all. He’s more than my brother now; he’s one of my best friends, and I’m endlessly grateful for him.

    After we said our goodbyes, Finn and I made it through security smoothly. We hung out at the gate until it was time to board our first flight to Houston. Finn wasn’t thrilled about being shoved into his carrier, but he was a good sport.

    When I got to my seat, the flight attendant let me know Finn wouldn’t fit under the window seat and asked if I could move to the middle. Thankfully, the man in the middle seat was kind enough to switch. I’m not a fan of middle seats, but it was a short flight—and I took one for the team.

    Once we landed in Houston, I made a beeline for the pet relief area. Finn was thrilled to be free from his carrier and took care of business immediately. While we were there, I met a woman with a Goldendoodle who was struggling with a little “stage fright.” I shared a funny story from a previous trip, when a man rushed his dog through the pet relief area without giving it enough time—only to have the poor pup leave a trail of poop pebbles through the terminal. He was totally clueless until fellow travelers started pointing out the little trail his dog had left behind. His face turned red with embarrassment—he was absolutely mortified. 

    Well… karma’s got a sense of humor. Not five minutes after telling that story, Finn decided to leave a trail of poop pebbles of his own as we walked to the gate. I was horrified. Those poop bags never want to cooperate when you’re panicking in a crowd. I’m convinced it was Finn’s revenge for the carrier.

    We eventually boarded our second flight to Mérida. This time, Finn fit comfortably under the window seat, and we were both more at ease. It was a short flight—just over 90 minutes—and when we landed, I purposely waited to be the last off the plane. I prefer it that way. Less pressure, fewer impatient stares as I juggle a dog, a carrier, and a carry-on.

    Getting through customs took about 90 minutes. I entered Mexico on a visitor’s visa, which can be good for up to 180 days. The officer wasn’t thrilled about giving me the full 180, so I had to show proof of my return flight and Airbnb reservations. He stamped me for one day past my return date—not quite the max, but it works.

    Next stop was SENASICA, where they do a thorough check of pets and their paperwork. To bring Finn into Mexico, I needed a rabies certificate, a health certificate dated within 10 days of travel, and only one day’s worth of food. It’s no joke—very official. But we passed and were finally cleared to enter.

    Our driver, Eduardo, had been waiting patiently at the airport for over an hour. He didn’t speak a word of English, and I know only a few phrases in Spanish, so it made for an interesting ride to the Airbnb. Thank goodness for Google Translate. With some hand gestures and tech magic, we finally arrived: Calle 59, 360, Mérida, Mexico.

    To be continued…

    Mr. Finn! Happy to be out from under that seat.

  • Chino Valley, AZ

    Finn and I made it to Chino Valley! We arrived yesterday afternoon—our second and final stop in Arizona before we head to Mexico in the morning.

    My brother John and sister-in-law Georgia moved here about three years ago. They bought a spacious home that sits on an acre of land, and they absolutely love it out here. I can’t say I share the same affection for Chino Valley, but I am genuinely happy for them. It’s peaceful, quiet, and suits them perfectly.

    Last night (Friday), we left the dogs at home and treated ourselves to a night out—dinner followed by a visit to the hottest casino in town, Bucky’s. John was excited to play High Card Flush and convinced me to join him. I was a little intimidated at first, but ended up having a blast. I walked away even, which I consider a win! Georgia isn’t big on gambling, but she does enjoy the strong drinks—by the end of the night, she was feeling just fine too.

    Tomorrow, we leave for Mexico. The plan is to head out around 5:30 AM for the hour and forty-minute drive to the Phoenix airport. My brother kindly offered to drive me and let me leave my car at his place for the next five months—I’m incredibly grateful for that.

    It was a short but sweet visit, and I’m thankful for the time spent with John and Georgia.

    Next stop: Mérida, Mexico.

    Drive to Chino Valley.

  • Bullhead City, AZ

    After months of preparing for this journey, I’ve officially hit the road—with my travel buddy, Finn, riding shotgun. (Yes, my sweet, anxious dog is coming with me on this five-month adventure. He wasn’t sure about all the change at first, but like me, he’s learning to go with it.)

    Our first stop: Bullhead City, Arizona.

    We’re staying in a tiny home inside an RV park—two firsts for me. And I’ve got to say, I’m pleasantly surprised. The tiny home is cozy and has everything we need, and the RV park is its own little world. Golf carts zip by like it’s the norm (because here, it is), kids ride their bikes freely, and neighbors wave hello as they walk their dogs. It’s peaceful. It’s friendly. It’s exactly the kind of gentle start this journey needed. Finn is also loving the dog-friendly community, which makes my heart happy.

    But this stop isn’t just about resting. I came to Bullhead to visit my dad before I head out of the country. We haven’t seen each other in a few months, and with everything this past year has brought, it felt important to check in on him.

    We lost my mom just over a year ago. They were married for more than 50 years. That kind of loss isn’t something you just move through quickly—especially when so much of your identity has been built around loving one person for that long. We tried relocating my dad to my brother’s home in Chino Valley after she passed, thinking a change of scenery and being closer to family might help. But he struggled. He missed his friends. His community. His rhythm. So, we moved him back to Bullhead.

    And now… he has a girlfriend.

    She’s actually one of the main reasons I wanted to make this stop. I wanted to meet her—and, okay, I’ll admit it—make sure she wasn’t totally crazy. At first, it felt jarring, seeing my dad with someone who wasn’t my mom. But then I saw him laugh. Like really laugh. And in that moment, I realized something: He deserves this. At 78 years old, after the year he’s had, he deserves companionship, warmth, and joy. Laughter over tears.

    Grief has a strange way of making room for both sorrow and hope. And sometimes, that hope arrives in unexpected ways.

    My mom’s passing was a major shift for me, too. Our relationship was complicated. She met my basic needs—mostly—but the warmth, nurture, and “I love you”s were painfully absent. I spent much of my life chasing her approval, carrying the belief that I was unlovable or not good enough.

    But something shifted in my 40s. I stopped expecting her to be the mother I needed, and started meeting her where she was. That small shift changed everything. She felt it, too. We let our guards down. We had the conversations I thought we’d never have. She told me she loved me, over and over again.

    That healing—however late in life—was a gift I’ll carry forever. It didn’t undo the pain, but it gave me peace. And now, as I continue this road of self-discovery and forgiveness, I feel her with me. Not as a weight, but as a witness.

    So here I am, starting this new chapter on the road—with my dog, a tiny home, and a heart full of memory. I’m learning, yet again, that healing doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds in small, tender moments. Like seeing your dad laugh again. Like waving back at a stranger on a golf cart. Like writing down your story so you don’t forget how far you’ve come.

    Next stop: Chino Valley.
     More to come.

    A few pics to document our Bullhead City visit.

  • North Hollywood, CA

    I did it. I moved out of my apartment, packed up everything I own, and put it all into storage. In just a little over a week, I’ll be boarding a plane to Mexico, where I’ll live for five months. Even as I write this, it doesn’t quite feel real. I keep asking myself, “What the hell am I doing?” I’m caught somewhere between excitement, nervousness, and straight-up terror.

    When I first floated the idea of moving to Mexico, I was just testing the waters—half expecting, maybe even hoping, that my friends and family would talk me out of it. Some of them tried. You know who you are, and I don’t blame you. It’s a bold, maybe even wild idea. But others surprised me. They encouraged me. And eventually, I surprised myself by saying yes.

    Because really—why not? You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen? I get there, realize it’s not for me, and spend five months in a beautiful part of the world before returning home. If that’s the worst-case scenario, I think I’ll be just fine.

    Today was moving day, and everything went smoothly. The movers were on time and managed to work miracles fitting nearly all my belongings into my storage unit—minus a bed, desk, and TV stand. Honestly, I wasn’t too attached to those things anyway. After years of moving, I’ve become a pretty skilled packer, which definitely helped. It feels good to know that even though I don’t currently have a physical home, I still have the pieces of my life waiting for me when I return.

    For the next few nights, I’ll be staying with Stacie. I’m grateful to spend this time with her, and my fur-grandbaby, Bonnie. I already miss my family deeply. The thought of being so far away from them sometimes catches me off guard, and doubt creeps in. But when that happens, I try to stay focused on what this journey is about.

    Stacie has been my rock through all of this. Even when I’ve been panicked or second-guessing everything, she’s been steady and encouraging—my voice of reason. I’m also so thankful I got to spend time with my granddaughter, Maya Daisy, last weekend. She is such a light in my life. Seeing the Munoz-Simmons clan before I leave was a true gift.

    And now, as I sit here without a permanent home, I find myself asking: What is the purpose of this journey? The truth is, I don’t know yet. I just know a huge shift in my life about ten years ago threw me off my axis, and I’ve spent the years since searching for a new sense of home and purpose. Maybe this trip to Mexico is part of that search. Maybe it’s the next chapter in healing and rediscovery. My only hope is this: that I find peace, that I feel love, and that I learn to offer tenderness to the weary parts of me and grace to the places still learning how to heal.

    So, here’s to the unknown. To being brave. To taking the leap.

    Blessing of the Animals, Olvera Street, Downtown L.A. – My last weekend in L.A. before the big adventure.