The Road to Mexico is Paved with Dysentery

I am not the outdoorsy type.

In fact, I am very much the indoorsy type.

I like my electricity and jacuzzi spigots as much as the next fella. I don't camp. The closest I've ever come to camping was accidentally falling asleep drunk on a beach in the Caribbean, and I haven't done it since.

My cousin is getting married at the end of this year, and is having a bridal shower in July in Mexico. I've been trying to plan a trip to bring my daughter to spend some time with my family, and thought that the shower would be a great time to see family and extended family.

I have two airline vouchers from work that I've been saving up, but just realized that the airline doesn't go directly to my destination. I've been clicking through their website, trying to figure out the best airport to fly to, and possibly rent a car from that point to get to where I'm going. The fact that I'm traveling with a three-year old weighs heavily against multi-leg trips and long layovers, because who the hell wants to be stuck with a three-year old in the third airport of a 13-hour trip halfway across the country, I ask you.

So I can use my vouchers to fly from Fort Lauderdale to Albuquerque (2 stops), and then drive 4 a rental car hours south to the El Paso area, or fly to San Antonio (1 stop) and drive 7 hours. I was originally thinking about driving from Fort Lauderdale to El Paso, but then I filled my car with gas the other day at $3.79 a gallon and vetoed that idea in my head. I called my aunt today to get the exact dates of when everyone was leaving to drive the 8 hours south into Mexico for the shower, and she mentions that they're taking the bus, which is a lot cheaper than driving. The bus through Mexico is 9 hours, with one stop in Chihuahua.

Let me backtrack a little here to throw in the fact that although I am genetically 100% Mariachi, I was raised on Long Island. Every time I go to Mexico, I get sick. Sick, as in, frequent visits to the bathroom that flushes when you pour water into it from a cup from the rainbarrel outside the door. Sick, as in, they buy soda for me to drink when I get there, but wash out the glass in tap water, which sends me running for el baño like a bat out of hell. Sick, as in, my official name in Mexico is "la gringa", because I can't hang.

And now, after my planes trains and automobiles Journey to Ernie, we're getting on a bus. With a three-year old. Who kicked me all the way to Copenhagen because she couldn't get comfortable on the nice plane in the middle of the night. I told my aunt that I wasn't sure my kid would make it on a 9-hour bus trip -- apparently, all my cousins managed the same trip without a hitch. But they can also sleep 4 to a hammock while a party's going on outside, while I require a Four Seasons bed, a sleep mask, lavender pillow mist, and complete silence.

My aunt softly suggested that maybe it wasn't a bad thing that my kid become accustomed to falling asleep on a bus ride in the middle of the night.

Oh, ho ho honey.

I'm totally surprised they haven't asked for a DNA test on me yet.

This trip has "Benadryl" and "Oxycontin" written all over it.

Get me a vodka on the rocks. And I want my rocks to be made out of pills.