I’m not sure where the landslide began. Maybe it was the thought about leaving the country? Maybe it was the decision to budget and make leaving the country possible? Or, the last step I left in LAX as I boarded my flight to ‘El Distrito Federal’ otherwise known as Mexico City. The first weekend I spent in Mexico had already been arranged by my cousin. Angelique (born and raised in Mexico City) wanted me to join her on a trip to San Luis Potosi. Little did I know agreeing to join her meant catching a red eye van filled with fourteen people and traversing six hours through pot holes galore as the city flew by while the sights of rural trees encroached. Not forgetting the frequent stops for servesas along the way. It was 4 o’clock somewhere, right? The van stopped outside of a hardy standing stick and leaves structure where we were grabbing breakfast. I looked around absorbing the most simple village I had ever encountered. The main form of transportation within the village seemed to be dirt bikes heavy with several young kids packed on top. It was quite obvious I was the odd one out. My Spanish speaking abilities dibbed me as “gringa” immediately. After finishing breakfast, everyone in the group began changing into their swim apparel. I still had no idea what the game plan was but I stood in line for the outdoor bathrooms. I used water from the streams beside it to flush the toilet. I had so many questions but I’m a sucker for spontaneity. The group gathered and got back into the van. Which drove another 60 minutes on a dirt path that ended at a barbed wire fence. I followed behind our guide as we walked another 10 minutes through what seemed to be farm land scattered with cow pies trailing our path and thin cattle blankly blinking as this herd of humans passed by. Eager to see what was at the end of this trail I walked quickly next to our guide. I noticed the path seemed to drop off as wooden fences tapered alongside us. I heard the rush of water and echoes of laughter coming up from somewhere below. My excitement fueling curiosity. Our guide led us up to a fence and continued to climb through it. A couple steps passed that he led us to a literal cliff edge and dove in head first. Thirty three feet was our first jump, easy. The group started chanting, “gringa” over and over again until I stared down into the murky navy water. I took in a deep breath and calmly stepped off the edge.