DAY 1: CANCUN

*NOT ACTUALLY CANCUN

4/20, I began the day like most days since last fall: groggy, bleary-eyed, weeping, starving, hungover, nauseous and stricken with the occasional (every 5 minutes or so) bout of panic. Standard operating procedures, with the added anxiety about forgetting to pack the ONE THING that will likely save my life while I am being eaten by alligators or ransomed by drug lords. I wanted desperately to go on this trip. I desperately dreaded going on this trip. For every ounce of me that felt excited I had a corresponding 3.7 lbs of me that wanted to hide in the sewer instead. It was a heavy morning. 

Flashlight - check. Lip balms of varying flavors - check. Passport - check. Map - check. Malaria pills - check. Towel - CHECK. Definitely need a towel. 1 tampon (JUST IN CASE...I DON'T KNOW) - check. 14 pairs of socks for 7 days of mostly wearing flip flops - CHECK. Brand new, real, outdoor hiking boots the likes of which this city-sidewalking girl has never worn - check. What else?

Should I bring my checkbook so I can pay the kidnappers on my own? Maybe not. I don't really have the kind of money I'd ask for my own ransom in the bank, anyway. At least, in my opinion, if I had the opportunity to kidnap myself I'd ask for tons of cash. I'm well groomed, that must be worth a lot for a ransom. I'm also a basket case. Ok, no checkbook.

No credit cards. No purse. You know what, I only need one lip balm. Maybe 2. No keys. No wallet. Flashlight, map, tampon, towel, socks. Its going to be an adventure. I'm leaving every 3.7 lbs sack of inner fear behind, and packing only the excited ounces that float above my conscience like better ideas. That was it. 

I cried all the way to the airport.

Bravely, I stepped out of the car and defiantly said my serious "Good-bye", because that's the way I pictured it in my head: a scene from an 80's film. I'm going off for a life-altering soul search, and I'm going to get my shit SO together. I stepped onto the curb with my suitcase, took 2 steps towards the airport entrance, when the loopy laces on my high-tech hiking boots got caught on the hooks from the opposite shoe and sent me skidding across the cement like a sobby-faced snot rocket. My jeans were torn, my knees were bleeding, my ego...obliterated. 

I cried (and bled and limped) through security. I've actually done it before, the crying part. It doesn't help you get ahead. 

After security check, I took a minute to sit and figure out the damn hiking shoes. I'm on the other side of security check now, I have a ticket for a flight. I am doing this, and I will NOT be falling all over the place while the drug lords drag me through the jungle. I will NOT. Sometimes the most empowering thing you can do for yourself is solve a problem, no matter how trivial or trite. So I figured out how to successfully tie and tuck the laces and I wiggled my ankles and brushed my feet together, and I figured it out. I learned how NOT to fall on my face. That was a brilliant start. And then I realized I had stopped crying.

And I was on my own. Alone with a suitcase full of socks. I felt a smile creep over my lips.

Just then, an older woman who had been arguing with TSA behind me while I experimented with my shoelaces, waddled over to me and said, "You've been sad but you deserve better. And very soon your life will change, because you will change it." My heart was racing. My eyes were saucers. Who was this oracle??

Then she said, "God told me just now, so you've got the update."

Nevermind. To The Gate!

I was early (for once) so I had some eggs and a Bloody Mary before my flight to Houston. I was feeling better. On the flight I got myself a Vodka and some orange juice. Damn, I am going to destroy Mexico! I got to Houston with an hour to kill. I found the bar. Why not, I was on a roll! I had one glass of Sancerre, then another. When day drinking, especially in the midst of travel and/or emotional stress, there is a tipping point at which the buzz of elation returns to a dark intoxication that consumes you whole. I found myself crying again during my third glass of wine. Screw this, I headed to the gate. I'm going to Cancun! To hell with everyone! But, where IS everyone? Why is no one at the gate? WHERE IS THE PLANE????

As I was clawing at the locked and plane-less gate, as if I could somehow get through and race after my flight that left 3 minutes before, a United Airlines Rep came over to me. She didn't need to hear an explanation, she knew what happened. She was nice. The only way to get me to Cancun at that point was to fly me to Mexico City on a 5pm flight (it was 4pm), then I'd have to wait around Mexico City airport until 11:45pm to catch my connecting flight to Cancun. I wouldn't get there until 2am. NO! I needed the evening in my pretty hotel by the lagoon to reflect on the journey before me! I can't arrive in Cancun at 2am, get a rental car and find my way to who knows where? But there were no other options, and she must have pitied me because she didn't charge me a dime. She didn't even ask to see my passport. 

I called hotels.com and Expedia and I made all the necessary arrangements for my changed itinerary. As I was waiting for the plane to board and listening to music, I adjusted to this new plan. Maybe its not so bad. I will still have the morning in Cancun. I will just sleep on the flights, wake up early and go for a cool, morning swim. Once I've acclimated, I will get in the rental car and proceed with my journey.

Then, I realized it was 6:30pm and we hadn't boarded. I removed my ear buds to a cacophony of angry German and Spanish being spoken around me. Apparently, there was a malfunction on the plane and they were trying to fix it.

7pm. They couldn't fix it. They needed a new plane. Why were there so many Germans going to Mexico City? Were they dropping off ransoms for kidnapped family members?? With every hour the mob around the gate, yelling threats and ultimatums, grew bigger and louder.

"Why aren't you doing anything to get us another plane?" and angry traveller said to the United Airlines Rep.

"Ma'am, we are doing everything we can to solve this problem", this exasperated man replied.

"Well, you should be getting another plane!"

More hollering. 8pm. 8:30pm. 

Now I realize I may miss my connecting flight if we don't fly out soon.

NOOOOOO!!!!! This means I would be stranded for a night in KIDNAP CITY, MEXICO!!!!! This was not part of the plan! I blame the hiking boots! Panic attack ensues.

The attendant politely advised me to stay the night in Houston, they would put me up and I can fly out direct on the first flight to Cancun. "It will be better for you here, I think," he said. I would not accept that this was happening. I HAD to get to Cancun. I HAD to start my journey there. I already paid for the hotel room, and it's ON the lagoon!

9:30pm, the flight finally leaves for Mexico City. I asked them to place me as close to the exit as possible because I will be running (not falling!) to catch my flight. They smiled blankly at me and sat me up front. 

I sat next to a lovely woman from the State Department. An American, working at the embassy in Mexico City. She said, "Don't stay in Mexico City, it isn't safe." Yes. This I know. She broke the fall before we landed and eased me into the expectation that I would not make my flight. Still, I would not give up hope. She gave me her number and said I could call her if I got stranded...which we all know at this point is where the story leads...obviously.

Once the plane landed I rushed to the front, and they told me they've booked a hotel for me, in the airport, and they will fly me out at 3pm the next day. Enjoy Mexico City! 

NOPE!

Here is when being a hysterical basket case can come in handy - I am impossible to ignore. I cried and yelled and weeped and hollered at everyone I could find. I speak Spanish. I weeped in Spanish. And in English. I wish I had known German, too.

They could not confirm a seat for me on any United partner airline until 3pm the next day. This was unacceptable. They offered me the option of finding another flight on my own then fighting United for the reimbursement. Hell no! Listen, Universe - I will meet you half way. I will spend one shitty night in this shitty airport, but you WILL get me to Cancun at dawn. NO NEGOTIATIONS. 

No flights. UGH!

I had an unfortunate but very polite Mexican attendant from United escort me to my hotel. At this point it was almost 1am. I showered, tended to my bloody knees, and realized my right knee was swollen. To this day it still hurts. I ordered room service (on United) and proceeded to call more people at United and Expedia, and cry and holler. I had a few hours left to get on that 6m flight!

After being hung up on twice, I finally got a confirmation number, and a seat on the 6am flight. I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU!!! But, its an overbooked flight so I needed to be the first person there. No problem. I left the hotel at 3:30am, for a 6am flight...that was down the hall. I slept at the gate, clutching my backpack with my legs twirled around my suitcase. I woke up when the plane was ready to board, and realized there was a massive clusterfuck of angry travelers at the gate. They weren't kidding! Several people paid for a flight they weren't taking. Airlines are mean.

SCREW YOU MEXICO CITY. And thank you, lovely lady from the State Department, for telling it like it is.

Also, flying over Mexico City at dawn was the only magical part about Day 1. That, and learning how NOT to fall on my face.

*note - all photos were pulled from internet.