To embark on unknown paths, feeling the wind on your face that causes your hair to get tangled in a web of knots. The forthcoming hassle of untangling it doesn’t even register in your head. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you’re fully immersed in the present moment, devoid of any concerns. This is the vision that danced in my mind when someone speaks of the phrase “go with the flow.” It’s a common phrase, yet I had never put it into practice, simply because I believed planning ensured predictability and a flawless experience. The notion of being an adventurous and spontaneous spirit seemed distant, residing beyond the boundaries of my reality, until it wasn’t.
The reasoning behind my father’s impulsive decision for a family vacation remains a mystery to me. My recollections of our last family getaway are vague at best, consisting of my eye-level being about four feet off the ground. Nonetheless, I was led down a never-ending corkscrew climber of tasks that I voluntarily took upon myself. I spent days and nights, chugging canned caffeine to keep my eyes opened to surf the internet for excursions to book. I, a mere 17-year-old who wasn’t even of legal age, found myself singlehandedly orchestrating a 3-night, 4-day vacation for my entire family. In the event of any mishaps, my head would be a bounty.
3:00 a.m., was our anticipated arrival time at LaGuardia airport. Check. By 5:00 a.m. the plan dictated that we would have successfully navigated airport security and commenced boarding our 6:00 a.m. flight to Boston. Check. At 9:00 a.m., we would have embarked on our flight from Boston to Cancún. Check. By 2:00 p.m., we would have landed and gotten rid of our airplane ears then checked into our hotel at 3:00 p.m. Check. A series of checkboxes neatly ticked off, bringing a sense of satisfaction that was expected for the remainder of the trip.
On the following day after a peaceful slumber that healed us from the exhaustion of traveling, my brother and I were the unusual early birds of the family. He inquired about our plans for the day, so I handed him the detailed itinerary I painstakingly prepared, and within it was all the tickets for the excursions. His ensuing groans got on my nerves, prompting an eye roll and a rude finger gesture. I expected him to retort with a similar snarky response, but instead, he just pointed at a ticket and gave me a grimace. Glancing down, I realized he was indicating at the date of our Chichen Itza tour tickets which I accidentally booked for the day before.
“Oh my god.” I whispered.
“Yikes, you messed up the booking for the tour today?” My brother loudly commented with an evil intention.
Hearing the creaking sound of a door opening, our heads turn to see a giant with furrowed eyebrows who awoke from his slumber. The glistening morning sun rays seemed to be fighting with the brewing storm in hotel room 1246.
“I–” before I could defend myself, I was abruptly cut off by my father’s furious voice.
“Is what your brother said true? You messed up the booking?”
I slowly nodded with my eyes glued to the floor.
“How could you be so irresponsible? Was it that hard to double-check things?” He shouted as his index finger continuously pointed at me.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could mutter.
“I should’ve never trusted you to plan everything. When we get home, I expect you to get every penny back one way or another.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to blink them away. One minor oversight overshadowed everything else I did, but I had to fix this somehow. Digging through my mind, I unknowingly uncovered gold.
“I heard about a free bike tour around Puerto Morelos today…we could do that instead.”
Silence.
“Okay,” he finally said, followed by a discontented sigh.
When the time for the bike tour finally approached, we all proceeded toward our designated meeting area. Our steps were accompanied by a conspicuous tension that hung in the air. Our bright and bubbly tour guide was like the Sun that drove the clouds away as she explained some basic rules and safety guidelines. Before we knew it, it was time to hop on the bikes.
Being able to bike through the town of Puerto Morelos and seeing the locals was a nice change of pace from the artificial lifestyle of Cancún perpetuated by the wealthy tourists. The farther we ventured from the hotel, the rougher and more unpaved the roads became, causing my grip on the bike handles to tighten with unease. Despite the blazing sun and sweat forming in my bike helmet, there was a nice breeze, and the scent of well-seasoned meat delighted my nose, causing my grip to loosen. My biking was gradually improving but my exhaustion was catching up to me. Just when I was on the verge to give up, the tour guide led us into a small village where the delightful aroma intensified.
Entering, I saw an older Mexican woman exchanging a kind smile and a hearty wave to welcome us as she skillfully flattened tortillas with a wooden contraption. As a reward for biking two miles to get here, the tour guide said we’d be getting to try some food for the price of nothing but our sweat and fatigue. When we sat down in the modest dining area with small, wooden chairs, a plate of tacos that could belong in a museum was brought out. Biting into it, a burst of flavors filled my mouth, and I can tell from my family of foodies’ reactions that it was undoubtedly worth our efforts. The juicy and tender meat with a soft tortilla shell wrapped in authenticity was something I knew I couldn’t get my hands on back home. It was an experience found nowhere else. This was worth every cent that was lost on the Chichen Itza tour and judging from his drool and brightly lit eyes, I’m sure my father agreed.
To be able to finally embark on unknown paths, guiding me on an unforeseen adventure filled with discomfort yet excitement, was something I never envisioned for myself. The irreplaceable sensation of embracing life and “going with the flow” rather than meticulously planning every detail, ignited a new fiery passion within me to enjoy every journey with all the unexpected turns that await me.