Simple Magic Everywhere - Slow Travel at our Eco-lodge in Mexico

My son opened our front doors this morning and found this amazing moth spread out on the stone walkway—owl eyes! On my jungle hike just now, I saw hearts in the leaves. Simple magic everywhere. You just have to look 👀.

Yesterday morning offered another quiet gift. As I rolled out my mat for my pre-dawn workout, the sky was still dark—only the sounds of the jungle and my breath. Just as I settled into my movement, a shooting star flashed across the sky: bright, unmistakable, and gone in an instant. A precious moment, gone in a second.

Life here has a way of offering these reminders quietly. Not through big moments or dramatic gestures, but through small, fleeting experiences that invite us to slow down and notice. My children pausing in wonder at the doorway. The soft symmetry of heart shaped leaves along a jungle trail. A brief flash of light across the sky before dawn.

When the world feels overwhelming—when the pace quickens, the noise grows louder, and the weight of it all begins to creep in—I find myself returning to these simple gifts. The ones that don’t demand anything from us. The ones that gently steady us, reminding us to breathe, to look up, to be here now.

Why We Believe in Slow Travel at Our Eco-lodge in Mexico

Living at an ecolodge in Mexico has taught me that simplicity isn’t about lack—it’s about presence. About designing life in a way that leaves room for wonder. This is something we think about often here, both as a family—three generations living together at the lodge—and as stewards of this land.

Slow travel in Mexico, at its heart, is about giving yourself time to arrive. Time to notice the details. Time to let a place reveal itself slowly. It’s waking with the light, walking without an agenda, lingering in conversations, and finding joy in moments that weren’t planned.

Sustainable travel in Mexico naturally follows when we choose this slower way of moving through the world. When we’re not rushing, not consuming, but truly experiencing where we are. Caring for a place becomes instinctive when we feel connected to it.

There’s a story I love—often called The Mexican Fisherman. In it, a fisherman chooses to fish just enough, spend time with his family, and nap in a hammock each afternoon. When told he could work harder, earn more, and someday buy back that peaceful life, he simply smiles—because he’s already living it.

The following is my version of the parable of the Mexican fisherman (originally written by German writer Heinrich Böll):

An American businessman was vacationing in a Mexican village when a small fishing boat landed on the beach. A whistling fisher- man hoped onto the sand and unloaded several mahi mahi (dorado). Impressed, the American asked the fisherman how long he’d been out on the water.

The Mexican looked up from beneath his sombrero, smiled, and replied: “Only a few hours. I catch what I need—a couple for my family to eat, a couple for my friends, and a few to sell—then I head home for siesta.” The American scratched his head. “But what do you do with the rest of your day?”

The fisherman responded, “I surf with my kids, lounge in the ham- mock, sip tequila, dance with my wife, then play guitar and dominoes with my amigos. Oh sí, señor, I have a rich and beautiful life.”

The American raised his eyebrows, “Well, you know, I’m a business consultant, and I’d be happy to advise you. If you spend more time fishing you could buy a bigger boat. Then you could catch more fish and maybe even have a whole fleet of boats! Then, you could open your own fish market and your own cannery. You would control everything! You could leave this little village and move to the city where you will run your growing business.”

“How long would this take?” the fisherman inquired.“Fifteen to twenty years,” the American responded.“And then?” asked the Mexican, eyes wide.“Well, when the time is right, you would sell your company and become very rich.”“Rich?” the fisherman responded with a dubious chuckle. “Yes!” the American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small fishing village where you would surf with your kids, lounge in the hammock, sip tequila, dance with your wife, then play guitar and dominoes with your amigos . . .”

I shared that story in my book, Wildpreneurs because it captures a question many of us carry: why do we so often chase a future version of life, when what we’re really longing for is already available—time, connection, and simplicity?

The jungle here asks that question gently, again and again. In owl eyes resting on the stone path. In hearts hidden in the leaves. In a shooting star you might miss if you’re moving too fast.

These moments don’t solve everything. But they soften us. They remind us that beauty is still here, that wonder still exists, and that gratitude grows easily when we allow ourselves to slow down.

And maybe that’s the quiet invitation of slow travel at our eco-lodge in Mexico: not more experiences, but deeper ones. Not more doing, but more being.

Simple magic, everywhere.

Explore the jungle with us!