Ciudad del Maiz is our last stop before our self guided waterfall tour. We spend what feels like a night out in a Mexican film that begins in our authentic hotel room. A space barely big enough for a double bed is looked down on by a tv we remember from our childhood. When we attempt to power it on, Spanish blares over top white noise, and we agree on keeping the television in the off state. Our shower is stained with memories, and has no shower head, but it's still a shower. The windows are locked shut, so that we can absorb the poorly painted blue walls in their truest form, and all of a sudden we're laughing at the thought of sleeping in the chinook instead. Our evening is spent walking into town following our noses to some incredibly cheap tacos, and getting more comfortable with the fact we're the only travellers here.

  The drive from Ciudad del Maiz to our first waterfall: Cascadas de Mijas Viejas can only be described as reflective. As the screaming of the chinook's motor takes a break, we close into a canopy of green. Our elevation is the lowest it's been in weeks and our skin is the first to notice. Every crack on my lips puff full again, a thin glow coats my once dehydrated arms and my hair grabs the back of my neck refusing to let go. It smells different. The vines hanging from the trees, I can smell them. The mango sitting outside the market with a bruise, I can smell it. There's something lingering too, sweet corn I think, but where is it?

  You can tell you've been in the desert too long when a tree wrapped in green leaves sends your smile to the roof, and your belly in circles. Varieties of flora I've never seen before twist together as they shoot for the sun, and fruit tries its best to hang on for just a couple more days. Briefly, the green canopy fades behind us and what is revealed is horizon-wide fields of what looks like tall grass. But, there's that smell again! The sweet corn! Our road is now shared with ginormous logging trucks carrying what looks like burnt bamboo. The smell is unbearably potent as they zoom past us, and the curiosity couldn't run wild much longer. Google enlightens us, and we are pleased to learn that these are sugar cane fields. Matthew and I gaze in awe at the men working in the fields at 38 degrees celsius, and send cooling thoughts.

  Once we've reached the point of uncomfortable in our own skin fidgety I'll do anything to get out of the truck antics, we're presented the entrance to the waterfall. Coming from our own version of waterfall paradise in British Columbia, I couldn't help but recognize the opposite personalities they have of the one before us. Waterfalls back home act as the guards of a very special gate which holds something even more special behind it that you're not allowed to see. They are loud, intimidating and powerful. Most times free falling from intense heights, and removing anything in their path. They provide from a distance and are always worth a second look. This Mexican cascade masterpiece is much different. Water folds over the earth and pours gently into a perfect pool as to not miss a drop. If you listen closely, you can hear the harmony as the they blend together rather than crash into one another. Swallows dive through the mist to cool off their wings and dragon flies catch dinner just above the pool. It feels as though if you looked away, everything would pause until you looked back again. A waterfall begging to be painted. "I'll stay still" it promises.

  Colours so surreal I'm constantly rubbing my eyes expecting them to desaturate. They don't. And if there is a god, I'd like to thank him personally for this place.

  We spend hours enjoying nature's spa, and then set the chinook up in the parking lot. It is here we are gifted our first ever firefly show. Little lightning bugs bounce around the truck acting like tiny lanterns for the night life outdoors. Goodnight small creatures, thank you for being such a sweet ending to a perfect day.