What if we traveled like pilgrims, not tourists?
What if travel could be more than escape or consumption—what if it could transform us? Isla Mujeres made me ask whether pilgrimage might offer an alternative to tourism.
Earlier this year, I arrived on Isla Mujeres after three intense months at sea—sailing from Barcelona to Cancún in pursuit of meaning and purpose, and as an extension of my research on happiness in the outdoors. The journey left me physically and emotionally exhausted. But being on land has given me time to reflect on how the ocean has changed me.
When I first set out, I read a memoir claiming that you arrive on the other side of an ocean as the same person you were when you left. I disagree. Sailing the Atlantic shifted something in me. The sea revealed itself as more than just a route or obstacle—it became a teacher. A living presence. A relational force that demands respect, patience, and humility. Letting go of control, allowing the people and places to unveil themselves to me rather than arriving with a set list of expectations, and learning to trust the rhythms of wind and water became part of the journey.
Looking back, I realize this hasn’t just been an expedition. It is a pilgrimage—a journey marked by challenge, meaning, and transformation. Unlike the modern obsession with control and efficiency, pilgrimage invites surrender, mystery, and slowness as a path to deeper knowledge. In this sense, pilgrimage might be a better framework for travel—one that values personal growth over consumption.
Across cultures, pilgrimages are more than physical journeys—they’re thresholds for transformation. Whether it’s a Christian penance, a Hindu karmic cleansing, or a Maya rite of passage, each form values surrender, connection, and renewal over speed, comfort, or control. In this sense, pilgrimage contrasts radically with modern tourism.
Isla Mujeres—the “Island of Women”—has felt like the right place to pause. Named after the Mayan goddess Ixchel, protector of fertility and the moon, the island was once a sacred site where young women—Maya pilgrims—travelled to make offerings during rites of passage. The whole island holds a quiet spiritual resonance, despite the tourist sprawl at its northern tip. In a place shaped by both its sacred history and booming tourism, I’ve wondered how to document the importance of nature as both a sacred and public space through my camera lens.
Beyond the bars and beach clubs, you still find traces of its soul. Many locals—especially those from fishing families—live in a deep relationship with the sea. The coastline may be shrinking under hotel chains, but the island’s sacred geography hasn’t disappeared. You just have to look a little closer.