The first time I travelled to Mexico, several terrorists had just crashed planes into the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon, and eighteen-year-old me had just quit a job in Hong Kong to embark on a backpacking trip across Central and South America with a guy I barely knew.

Feng picked me up at the airport in Mexico City.

It was slightly awkward and linguistically challenging because I didn’t speak much English.

The hostel’s dorm was empty—nobody was travelling right after 9/11. We shared a cóctel de camarón, Feng’s latest Mexican food experience, then we had a giant torta, a delicious street-food sandwich packed with avocados. That night, I realized that I actually liked avocados and that I was actually about to spend the next few months crossing Central and South America… or at least, that was the plan, we were hoping to make it to Brazil for Carnival in February 2002.

Feng had more experience than me with backpacking and life in general. He was nine years older than me and he had already travelled along Australia’s east coast, the classic backpacker trail. I was fresh out of high school but a little bit street-smart since I had already survived (and enjoyed) three solo trips to China. Feng didn’t speak a word of Spanish. Frankly, neither did I, but it felt learnable, especially after studying Mandarin. We had an informal agreement—he was providing the general travel plan, I was offering language skills, and we would help each other.

He showed me his Rough Guide to South America on a Budget, I showed him the Lonely Planet guidebook I had brought, and this is as intimate as we got because he had a cold, I was exhausted after my cross-Atlantic flight, and he wanted to go someplace I didn’t really understand the next day (it was Teotihuacán, the problem wasn’t my English this time, but Nahuatl language!).

Oh, and I may be French but I have standards, come on.

We were sleeping together two weeks later (we still do, thanks for asking) and yes, we eventually made it to Brazil right in time for Carnival after many, many adventures.

Honestly, I think more eighteen-years old should fly halfway across the world to meet with random people. Worked for me, anyway. Sure, there’s the initial plane ticket investment, but think of all time and money I saved not spending my twenties in nightclubs and bars, travelling the world instead!

We came back to Mexico three more times after this initial trip.

In 2003, we “splurged” on a $50 Greyhound ticket from Ottawa to Nuevo Laredo. It involved spending three days on the bus, grabbing takeout in various US bus stations and not sleeping much. We spent part of this winter in Mexico, Belize, Guatemala and Honduras, then we flew back to Canada completely broke and a bit tired after travelling almost non-stop for two years.

In 2011, we flew to Mexico and spent a few weeks exploring Guatemala, Belize and Honduras. I had just quit a permanent job, the kind that comes with a fancy job title and a pension, to start my own freelance business. I was also planning to focus on querying for the novel I had just finished. I was 29 and quite excited to be turning 30.

I came back from this trip with weird morning sickness symptoms.

I spent the following months working as much as I could since I was very much pregnant and I wouldn’t get paid maternity leave as a freelancer.

Mark was born in October and for once, we spent the winter in Canada.

But just a year later, we took baby Mark who was barely standing on his two feet to Mexico, his first backpacking trip.

Let’s be honest, I don’t remember much of it. Travelling with a baby is exhausting and Mark was very, very young.

It’s time to go back to Mexico. It’s long overdue.

Ready or not, let’s go!