My Guadalajara Adventure (or How I Got a “Mexican Souvenir” in My Eye)

It all started with one of those brilliant — and slightly questionable — ideas:“What if I went to a waterfall with a complete stranger from the internet?”

I posted in a Facebook group for expats in Guadalajara, asking if anyone wanted to explore a waterfall outside the city. A girl replied: “I’d love to!” That was it. I didn’t know who she was, she didn’t know who I was, but hey — what could possibly go wrong?

We shared an Uber — 40 minutes and about 500 pesos later, we arrived. At the entrance, we paid 100 pesos each and got a life jacket. That immediately made me suspicious — why would I need a life jacket for a “peaceful” walk to a waterfall?

There were three waterfalls: the first, the second, and the third. The third one was closed — “too dangerous,” they said. Miraculously, we decided not to risk our lives that early in the day.

The walk to the first two waterfalls took about 30 minutes. We arrived at the first one — stunning, surrounded by trees and echoing with loud Mexican music. That was the exact moment I thought: “Okay, I’m officially in Mexico now.”

We swam, we soaked up the sun filtering through the trees, and then headed to the second waterfall. The trail? Let’s just say OSHA would not approve. Slippery rocks, uneven paths — the kind of thing my mom would’ve had three heart attacks over. But there I was, a spiritual Tarzan in wet sneakers, following my new friend through the wild.

On the way back, I turned to check if she was behind me… and that’s when a plant decided to physically assault me. A branch went straight into my eye. Ale, the Mexican adventurer walking with me, laughed and said:— “It’s a souvenir from Mexico.”A gift. From nature. In my eyeball.

But the fun didn’t stop there. We decided to follow a random path not marked on the map (because obviously we hadn’t learned our lesson) — and got completely lost.

We wandered through the hills for nearly an hour, with no cell service, no Uber, and no dignity. By the time we made it back, it was getting dark. And then came the mosquitoes — a small army ready for dinner.

Ale, being a true saint, lent me her pants — yes, her actual pants — so the mosquitoes wouldn’t eat my legs alive. They were women’s pants. Tight. But survival doesn’t care about fashion.

By 8 p.m., a small truck showed up. I thought it was a produce delivery. Nope — that was our ride back to the city. I climbed into the back and spent 40 minutes bouncing around like a sack of potatoes.

We finally made it back around 9 p.m. My eye was throbbing, I was covered in bites, smelled like river water, and looked like I’d just escaped a National Geographic documentary.

I decided to take an Uber (this time with air conditioning and zero insects), said goodbye to Ale — my lawyer-turned-jungle-partner — and got home around 10:30 p.m.

My friends were half-dead with worry. I hadn’t been able to text because we had no signal, so they’d already imagined every possible Netflix crime documentary scenario.

But I was fine. Half-blind, bitten, and exhausted — but fine. I took a long hot shower and slept like a rock.

Moral of the story?

Not every spiritual journey happens in a temple.Sometimes, it’s in a Mexican mountain, with a branch in your eye, wearing borrowed pants, on the back of a pickup truck — and realizing life is hilarious, messy, and absolutely beautiful.