On a warm, breezy afternoon in November, I sat cross-legged on a wooden bench outside of the temazcal dome at Naviva, the first luxury tented camp in Punta Mita. In my cream bikini, I felt prepared for what was to come: an ancient sweat lodge ceremony I have done around 20 times before moving to Mexico around four years ago. As the temezcalero Marciano Corona, a resident of the nearby beach town of San Pancho, prepared his instruments—a chalice with smoking copal incense, a leather drum, a rattle—I looked over to my mom, my travel companion for the week. Clad in her black-and-white swimsuit freshly purchased from Chicos specifically for our trip, I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. But there was also something else: curiosity.