Growing up as the daughter of missionaries, my childhood travels were usually centered on giving back. From South Africa and Hong Kong to Romania and Tanzania, each purposeful journey involved some level of digging ditches, feeding children, raising awareness and rescuing the lost.
By the time I graduated from college, I went rogue, traveling for the sake of my own benefit, longing for experiences that would seep into my pores for mental stimulation rather than philanthropic impact. Adventure, freedom, culture — nearly every box was checked in my otherwise home-bound soul.
That is, until Huatulco.
