I arrive at a city I’ve been to before. I’ve decided to return for structure. Months of writing, healthy living and a chance of settling down. The social scene, food and a forecast predicting one rainy day in the upcoming quarter make this destination an easy choice.

During the following weeks my life starts looking more and more like a 9 to 5 (8 actually). I start uttering cliches, enjoy the company of overly clingy couples and complain about grocery prices.

Probably the reason why I’m balding all of a sudden. Latently tearing my hair out is my mind telling me that I need to leave the structure for a minute and make some questionable decisions.

The solution comes shaped in the form of a heavily tattooed, Canadian friend proposing a road trip. I’m in the car before he even mentions a destination.

Nomadic needs rising, adventure calling.

We drive out of the big city. Cruising over roads I didn’t know existed towards places I had never heard of.

We pick a town a few hours to the east as our home base. A picturesque town where, judging by the looks that we get, we might just be the first foreigners visiting. This will either result in an angry mob with pitchforks or marriage proposals.

The next morning we throw the pitchforks and torches out of the hotel room windows, kick the farmer’s daughters out of the beds, file for divorce and head out.

A midweek of anecdotes follows. A melting pot of memories.

Multiple Pueblos Magicos (‘magical villages’) are visited. Villages with cobble stone streets, artisanal shops, markets full of traditional food accompanied by mountain tops defying the clouds and we see numerous lakes.

In between we find ourselves crossing a butterfly garden, where thousands of butterflies nearly lift up our vehicle and even more so, our spirit.

Tranquility is found at an Aztecan site with disintegrating temples and other ruins. On top of the temples we have a 360 degrees view of the surrounding desert-like landscape.

It’s different from the other sites. At Chichén Itzá life vests were handed out to not drown in the sea of tourists and the amount of vendors nearly made me want to sell my soul.

Afterwards we drive back in time and find ourselves at a carnival in the middle of nowhere. We splurge a few quarters, see the lights coming on and make the merry go round.

Days that’ll last a lifetime. Devouring miles, sipping gasoline. On the road again. Two twisted individuals that keep the wheels spinning until they’re rolling on the rims without getting tired.

Stories get told, experiences are created, the final miles get driven, the car parks.

We see our homes, open the doors and step back into reality.

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