Mérida May 2026- Arrival

I’ve done a lot of work on myself since Oaxaca.

Over the past year, I shifted my timeline again and again—much to my husband’s dismay. I kept accelerating the pace, setting new deadlines for decisions he barely had time to process. Everything became urgent. I threw it all into one bag, shook it, and suddenly life felt like one continuous demand for answers.

And then—I left work. And it was clear. All that stuff in the bag felt urgent but there really was only one urgency: leave work.

I like to say I retired, but if I’m being honest, I left. I quit. I chose myself. I gave myself permission to be happy, to step outside the mould. More than anything, I allowed myself to be free.

Now, I’m stepping into something new. I’m learning what it means to create my own rhythm, my own routine. My mornings are slower. Softer. Filled with fresh air, long walks, and time with my dogs—who absolutely notice the difference.

There’s a lightness now. A freedom. A quiet kind of happiness that comes from finally listening to my heart.

The storm has passed… but not in the way I once imagined.

There are still moments—subtle, lingering waves of anxiety. Sunday nights that sneak up on me, whispering that I’ll have to go back. Even though I know, deeply, that I never will return to that environment, my body still remembers 22 years of dread. It’s a pattern I can’t carry forward.

So I made a decision.

A quick, seven-day trip to Mérida to clear my soul.

My first time in this city, though not my first time in Yucatán. Something called me back. A quiet pull toward the country my soul fell in love with decades ago. I came to reconnect, to feel its energy again, and to release a tension I can’t quite name.

I booked the flight, the hotel, and a few activities—but the intention is not to fill the week. Quite the opposite. I want to let the wind carry me where I’m meant to go, without resistance, without overplanning.

My flight landed in Mérida an hour early.

Customs was easy—the officer smiled when I spoke Spanish, and we exchanged a few pleasantries before he waved me through.

Outside, I met my driver—John. Thirty-eight, from Mexico City. We clicked instantly. Thoughtful, grounded, a gentle giant. Despite our very different upbringings, we quickly realized we see the world in similar ways. The value of simple things. Our reflections on time, money, and the invisible barriers we carry. And, of course, a shared love of food—always a reliable bridge.

The ride from the airport felt short. He carried my suitcase to the entrance of Japoneza Retreat—but no answer at the door.

So we pivoted.

We headed into the center for a drink while waiting for check-in. The heat was intense, the kind that quiets a city. Streets and patios were nearly empty as people retreated indoors.

We found a shaded table outside.

Micheladas first. A mezcal cocktail followed—smoky, layered, with Ancho Reyes, hibiscus, chile, and lime. I had been looking for this liqueur for over two years. Ancho Reyes - a liqueur made with chiles. And there it was!!

I might go hunting for a bottle to bring home… though we barely drink. Still—this one might be worth it.

It was smoky. Complex. Delicious.

John knows his city deeply.

Mérida wasn’t always one unified place. It was conquered. Once, it was a network of Maya communities, with pyramids rooted in ancient culture and ceremony. Then came destruction—stone by stone—driven by a priest determined to replace them with Catholic churches. The people were forced to dismantle their own history.

But resistance has its own quiet intelligence.

Some hid pieces of those pyramids high within the new structures—too high, too dangerous to remove. A silent act of defiance, preserved in plain sight.

I have so much to learn about the Maya.

And I’m looking forward to spending more time with John—not just as a driver or guide, but as a friend.

When I finally arrived back and stepped through the large wooden doors of the hotel, everything shifted.

From the street, Japoneza Retreat looks almost abandoned—weathered, quiet, unassuming. But inside, it opens into something entirely different.

A hidden sanctuary.

A Japanese-inspired retreat. Intimate. Peaceful. For now, I’m the only guest. My room—a master suite—features traditional soaking tubs, an outdoor shower, and a tucked-away hammock in a secluded corner.

It feels like the perfect place to land. To root. To rest.

First order of the day: the shaded pools. A long soak. A full exhale. Disconnecting.

Now, with my skin cooled and my body softened, hunger begins to surface.

The sun is lowering—finally.

Perfect timing for a walk.

In this 34-degree heat, all I want is mariscos. A fresh ceviche would be just right.

I walked straight down Calle 60 from my hotel, an easy fifteen-minute stroll toward the zócalo of Mérida.

The city was beginning to soften as the sun lowered, though the heat still lingered heavily in the air.

I found a small seafood restaurant, settled into a table, and ordered a modest portion—not very hungry after the travel and the heat of the day.

Sadly, I couldn’t finish it.

Still, the evening was lovely. I ended up chatting with the waiter about chiles, spice levels, regional flavours, and the different ways people across Mexico use heat in their cooking. Conversations like these always seem to find me here.

Eventually, I made my way “home” to Japoneza Retreat for one final soak before surrendering to an early night of rest.