Mexico on Repeat: What I Learned Doing the Same Trip Again and Again

My girls on the beach in Isla Mujeres the first time we went, in 2010 (left), and the last, in April of this year. (Photos: Beth Greenfield)

The first time we went to Isla Mujeres, Mexico, our daughter was afraid of the sand. She was only 18 months old, and not yet absolutely sure on her feet, and the lack of terra firma beneath her — combined with the shiny and incomprehensible vastness of the sea before us — made her anxious and clingy. The only thing that calmed her was wearing her sneakers on the beach, or being carried across it by my wife or me to our shaded beach bed. The next year it was better for her, and the next year better still. And on our most recent vacation to Isla — our fifth in just her total six and a half years — she was completely in her element, charging into the sea before flopping into the powdery sand and screeching with joy.

I never thought there’d come a day when travel, for me, would consist largely of repeat trips to the same place — not only the same country, but same island, same hotel. I could never understand why anyone would ever opt to repeat a destination when the world was so vast, and I prided myself in always choosing far-flung adventures that felt totally foreign to me — Delhi and Kerala one year, then Istanbul, Paris, Barcelona, Glasgow. When I met my partner-now-wife we continued on that theme, hitting Havana and Buenos Aires and Oaxaca, then a string of other points in Mexico that few of our friends had heard of — Chihuahua, Durango, Alamos, the Copper Canyon — back when I was a travel guidebook writer; my partner had spent a bit of her youth in Mexico, and she had a deep love and understanding of the culture that easily rubbed off on me.

Related: Kid-Friendly Hotels in Mexico That Delight the Whole Family

Jewelry shopping in 2010.

We began recalibrating our notion of travel shortly after our daughter was born. When she was seven months old we took advice from my brother-in-law — to travel, now, while she was old enough to be alert but still young enough to get free airfare, be immobile, easy to cart around in a carrier, and reliant on breast milk, thus avoiding any drama with food. We chose Amsterdam in the spring — canal strolls, wheat beer, and tulips — and it was perfect.

Then suddenly she was 18 months old, and surprise, surprise, we craved something easy, comfortable — relaxing, even. Our thoughts turned to the idea of the never-before-considered beach vacation, but anti-gay sentiments and policies wiped a vast portion of the Caribbean off our list of contenders. Mexico — always warm, unfazed, and welcoming, in our experience — shot to the top. My partner had been to Isla as a teen, when all the roads were sand and the only “hotel” was a collection of oceanside hammocks tied to palm trees. And it had changed, of course, but was still a far cry from nearby Cancun, according to some friends of ours who loved it. We zeroed in on a perfect-seeming hotel, Na Balam, and were off.

Related: Is Mexico Safe for American Tourists Right Now?

Sunset, 2012.

We found peace — through the quiet nights and beach-bum days, and the still, shallow Caribbean. And while it was all overwhelming for our little one at first (especially after a mosquito spent an entire night feasting on her tiny face), she turned a corner near the end of our week, walking barefoot in the sand and finally running — giddy, headlong, and naked — into the sea. Hotel staffers greeted her by name every morning and evening, and she began conversing with them about the gatos and the arroz con frijoles from our daily adventures. There were iguanas to marvel at. There was a swing set on the hotel beach, and a shaded pool near the yoga palapa. There was an ice-pop man trudging by every afternoon, dragging his metal cooler of candy colored pineapple and strawberry paletas through the white sand. Our girl chose the pink one, and we watched it drip all over her belly as she savored it before rinsing off in the cerulean water. And every night at sunset there was Hector, a nattily dressed musician with a beautiful guitar who offered serenades for whatever you’d like to pay. For our daughter, he chose the beautiful “Piel Canela,” and she sat watching and listening to him, entranced, in an end-of-day ritual we’d adopt for our entire stay.

We were hooked, and before we could realize, we were repeating our trip again and again, given the gift each time of watching how our daughter changed within the backdrop of sweet sameness: She went from clinging to one of us in the pool to jumping in and swimming across its length; from cowering near us on the beach to dashing across it, alone, for quick trips to the bathroom or the swing set or even up to our room to retrieve her comb or goggles. One year my parents came with us, which added another lovely layer (not to mention a couple of date nights).

Related: WATCH: Swimming With 30-Foot Whale Sharks in Isla Mujeres, Mexico

The author and her daughter in 2013.

And on our most recent trip, in April, she fell in love with tropical fish, thanks to the mask and snorkel gift from my dad that she’d practiced with in the bathtub before our departure. The first day we entered the shallow cove near our hotel, she was tentative, nervous about what creatures we’d see and annoyed at the mask’s strap becoming tangled in her hair. But just 20 feet out, where the coral began, it was magic — we were swimming with schools of chubs, watching, amazed, as brightly colored angelfish and needlefish went about their business. She was floored, squealing and pointing in delight underwater, and declaring, when we finally hit land, “That was the most fun I’ve ever had in my life!”

I still sometimes laugh at myself for becoming such a travel creature of habit. But I’m happy and grateful that we made that first trip to Isla, and the next one and the next one and the next one. Because what we found there was life-changing — and life, changing.

Snorkeling in 2015.

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