Back in 2019, I picked up an artisanal mug while in Cancun, not realizing it would become my emotional support mug. I brought it to every office meeting and used it daily at home during the pandemic. It came to represent a lot—my love for Mexico, hot tea, and small comforts. When we moved to Puerto Vallarta last year, it was the only mug from my collection I brought with me.
I’ve kept an eye out for others like it during our Mexico travels, but nothing has made the cut. I have a thing for hand-crafted mugs, but to avoid hoarding, my one rule is they have to be massive.
A few weeks ago, my Cancun mug chipped in three places while in the sink. I glued it back together, but it felt like my heart chipped with it. Then yesterday, while hiking through Yelapa—a small beach town accessible only by boat—I finally spotted them. Tucked inside a little drink stand, a stack of these mugs. I was so excited, I bought two.
After six years of casually searching, I didn’t think I’d find any more. But there they were. And somehow, my chipped heart feels a little more whole.
Viva La Vida Lopez 