Mexico - When you open your heart.

It's easy to be afraid when you travel. Afraid of spicy food, afraid of people who smile too much (suspicious, right?), afraid of a way of life that's nothing like our well-ordered routines.

But when you open your mind – and especially your heart – everything changes. Magic.

It was thanks to this openness that I met Elísabet. We had crossed paths once or twice on the street. And then, when I saw her again, she asked me to watch her bike while she ran an errand. Me, the passing stranger, with my tourist face practically shouting, "I don't speak Spanish very well yet." Then she offered to exchange numbers "in case I needed help." Seriously? We would never dare do that back home without a notarized contract and three references.

This generosity was the beginning of everything. A few messages later, she invited us to dinner at her house with her family. And there we were, welcomed by Elísabet and her three children – Emma, ​​Milla, and Salvatore, nicknamed Chaba – into their home. (Her husband was working that evening; he escaped the madness of the invading Quebecers.)

Think about it: inviting complete strangers into your home, without a resume or background check... In Quebec, we would start with a timid coffee on Zoom. But Elísabet thinks bigger. She wants to exchange our cultures, our stories. She's fascinated by Canada – her father worked in British Columbia, Ontario, and Quebec for years. She's even heard of poutine.

To welcome us "in style," she prepared a traditional dish from Yucatán that takes days to prepare: cochinita pibil. Pork marinated for a long time in spices, then slow-cooked underground or in an oven for the more modern versions.

A treat that melts in your mouth and makes you forget all the diets in the world.

And that's not all: she adds a pasta appetizer (because Italy always makes an appearance) and a clericot, that summery Mexican sangria made with wine, diced fresh fruit, lemon juice, sparkling water, and honey. Refreshing, light, and perfect for beating the heat... and overcoming shyness. Luckily, she spared us the maguey worms – those large white larvae that live in the agave plant and are eaten grilled or fried as a "delicacy." An excellent source of protein, apparently. Me, with 60 years of deeply ingrained Quebec culture (poutine, maple syrup, fear of insects), I would have politely declined. Something like: "Thank you, but I've just become a vegetarian for the evening."

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The evening ended in style with a display of cohetes – those Mexican firecrackers that make a deafening noise and that, here, punctuate every celebration. Back home, we'd call the fire department. Here, they dance.

Thank you Elísabet, thank you to the family. Thank you Mexico for reminding us that opening your heart (and your plate) is the most beautiful adventure there is.