| | |  Travel & Outdoors 
A Return to Mexico to Find Lost Dignity
 Jillian Levy - Daily Cardinal
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April 14, 2010
 |  | I like to live dangerously, and so my triumphant return has been laid out. Because there might be outstanding warrants for my arrest in Cancun, I decided to spread my love to an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta. |  | | |
After spending all of last week being regaled with stories about sandy white beaches, margaritas served in foot-long tubes, karaoke clubs in China and all the glory that was Spring Break 2010, I decided I’d had enough. I’m not really good at the whole “be happy for your friends” thing; I’m much more of a “fight fire with fire” person. I gathered my troops, planned and booked a seven-day getaway to Mexico. Take that PCB-ers.
Mexico, you should know, is my FAVORITE country. Mexico has given the world tequila, sombreros, nachos and Diego Luna - all of which find places quite high in my list of favorite things. While I’m fully aware that alcohol and severe sun poisoning have seriously skewed my only direct encounters with the country itself, I’m from a very Hispanic neighborhood in Chicago so my appreciation of Mexican culture is very real. Which is why I can’t wait for graduation to come and go so I can return to the greatest place on Earth.
The last trip I took to Mexico was also post-graduation - high school edition. My father, who either couldn’t take anymore of my constant whining or was so pleased that I had broken up with my boyfriend and decided to attend college out of state, agreed to pay for a trip to Cancun planned out by a few of my friends. One week after graduation, 21 of my friends and I boarded a plane headed for fun in the sun.
Like an overwhelming majority of MTV-crazed high school students, we booked our trip with Student City, so everything we did was pre-planned. Nothing could have been better than walking off that plane and being handed a weeklong itinerary where every destination was a shit show. And of course, at least one cast member from “Laguna Beach” was guaranteed to be at every bar on the strip; and of course, I was dead set on meeting every single one of them. Please remember, this was 2006 and I was 17 - let’s be serious though, I’m still a celebrity-crazed idiot but at least now I set my sights much higher... and younger... like on Justin Bieber.
Unfortunately, I really can’t tell you much about that trip in between the terrifying van ride to our hotel and the plane ride home, during which I threw up approximately ten times and was called a “disgrace” by the very unhappy couple sitting across the aisle from me. During my 168-hour blackout, I managed to take hundreds of pictures so I know that I met Dieter Schmitz from Laguna, wore the same bathing suit three days in a row to at least five different clubs and found myself a very good-looking Cancun boyfriend who was either named David or Patrick.
And because apparently, drunk me is all about meaningful souvenirs, I also woke up with a tattoo on Day four. That was a super-exciting conversation to have with my father, who hates tattoos and consequently hated me. No, I didn’t get a disease and luckily, I managed to limit myself to three flowers on my hip - although my friend Erin later informed me that I was dead set on getting a mural of dolphins, palm trees and a setting sun on my stomach until the artist told me it was $400.
My best friend Dan still has scars from that trip, and I still have pictures of him butt-naked curled up around a toilet that span a 24-hour period. I’m pretty sure if I ever went back, I would still be able to find my dignity and pride on Señor Frogs’ dance stage where I left them four years ago.
The fact that I made it back from that trip alive - albeit with a liver functioning at about 25 percent and a mild concussion - is a miracle. But I like to live dangerously, and so my triumphant return has been laid out. Because there might be outstanding warrants for my arrest in Cancun, I decided to spread my love to an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta.
This time, instead of humiliating myself for a week straight in front of my entire group of friends, I’m reserving that privilege for my boyfriend and our friends Chris and Sam, who we work with and also happen to be dating. Sam is my absolute favorite person to black out with because she is the only person who rivals my ridiculousness when intoxicated. After downing a liter of Doctor together on Super Bowl Sunday, I proceeded to fight one of my Gritty co-workers - in front of half the staff, including our owners - and Sam insisted she had lost all mobility in her legs and insisted on crawling back to her apartment.
Truthfully, our boyfriends are accompanying us primarily as assurance neither of us will die, a fear my Dad has expressed genuine concern about every day since I told him we booked our trip.
Fear not faithful readers - all five of you - I don’t leave until after graduation so the possibility I might not return from Mexico will not affect my ability to finish out my column for the year. And for everyone who had an amazing Spring Break trip, suck it. You know Mexico is way better.
Want to debate the superiority of Mexico to all other countries? Have some Puerto Vallarta vacationing/avoiding-epic-hangover tips to share with Jillian? Email her at jlevy2(at)wisc.edu. |
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