A Gringa Goes to Mérida

 

Mexico. Mexico Mexico. 

*clicks flip-flops 3 times*

Friends Were Lost

After months of preparation, weeks of planning, and days of procrastination, I finally poofed myself into the Yucatan state!

You'd think 9 months of planning would have prepared me for just about everything that was to come. And well, for the most part it did. I still have 4 limbs, 10 toes, and 3 egos. I have food, a bed, good wifi, and a phone GPS that's reliable (shout out to AT&T for the free Mexico data, you're a real one).

But what I don't have is even more important. 

The most crucial part of every travel experience, the flying companion that no experienced nomad leaves home without, the absolutely essential item everyone who enjoys peace of mind carries with them wherever they go. I'm talking about a neck pillow of course. 

Her name was Amelia. She'd been with me for some time now and I came to depend on her. Looking back, I don't think I appreciated her as much as I should have. Correctly aligned vertebrae, lack of neck pain, and the ability to sleep anywhere are just some of the many gifts that Amelia blessed me with.

To whatever frequent flyer finds her, lying lost and alone in the Houston, TX airport, I hope you treat her right. Your neck could never ask for a better companion.

Remember to Check on the Check 

But this isn't about neck pillows—although you've been forewarned about their importance. This is about Mexico and all the mistakes I somehow already made (surprise: it only took 24 hours). 

So, Hannah, my travel buddy, & I just finished our first restaurant meal. Between the both of us, we have 4 credit cards, 3 degrees, 2 brains, and 1 bill. Yet, neither of us could figure out how to pay. 

Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Chittering and chattering. Starting to question whether the waiter will come back. Wondering if we're supposed to go up to the counter. Realizing that since I'm the only one who speaks any Spanish, it's my job to ask. Demanding to play rock, paper, scissors to get rid of the responsibility anyway. Still losing. (hint: never choose rock!)

I learned 2 things from my 5 second discussion with the waiter:

1. Rather than just wait around like a couple of flightless birds, you're supposed to ask for la cuenta (the bill). I've been to Euorpe, I should know this!!
2. I'm embarrassingly bad at rock, paper, scissors. 

Okay, Let's Talk About the Toilet Paper

I know I know better. I spent two weeks in Costa Rica on a summer Spanish trip in high school. I should be used to throwing the tp in the bin by now. I know I know better. But, old habits die hard I guess. 

Now, don't get me, wrong, I'm trying, I really am. I really really am. And most of the time I succeed. But I'm so used to the US that the tp drop is as reflexive as breathing. 

And I don't want to be known as the dumb American who keeps forgetting to not flush their toilet paper. I don't want to live up to that stereotype. I just don't. I know I know better, after all. 

If it were something just a hair easier, like trying to fit a tiger into a tu-tu, I'd have a 100% success rate. But changing a small behavior? Well, that's just a little bit harder. 

I event tried to make it better. But, I think that only made it worse. 

The first time I went to wipe and just naturally dropped that cursed white troublemaker into the poop shoot, I tried to fix it. I really did. 

But toilet bowl cleaners are not effective tools at removing a material that is created with the sole purpose of breaking down as soon as it feels a singular drop of H20. They're just not.