The fear of the unknown has only gotten worse as I have gotten older. Friday night, I opted for a tried and true restaurant instead of taking a chance on a new one that was highly recommended (but likely overpriced). Saturday, I checked out a new bar (hesitantly) and looked like a complete ass because we stepped in the door and I just stopped, feeling kind of overwhelmed. Where is the bar? Is that the bar? Should we sit at the bar? What about a table? Is that table in the bar, or in the restaurant part? Is there a waiter/waitress? Do I have to go to the bar? The host actually said "you look lost." Yeah. More than you know buddy.
(ps. the new bar was a great choice as we got a cool little table in front of a little tv screen and got them to change it from basketball to the Miss America pageant. Of course, there was no sound, or captions, but just being able to make rude comments about the girls based purely on their awful dresses and spaced out smiles was awesome)
I so want to be the type of person that can backpack through Cambodia, kayak down the Nile, eat insects in Patagonia (ok, well, only if they are vegetarian insects) and join the Peace Corps when I get tired of my current gig. But its really not me. I like it when people speak my language. I like western medicine. I like water I don't have to sterilize. I like knowing where I'll be sleeping that night (and it better have 400 count sheets, thank you very much). And I really like knowing what exactly is in my food. Really.
So when my friend Fro (who is an actual adventurer) asked if I wanted to wander around the Yucatan Peninsula with her this spring, I was caught between my two personalities: Susan the Adventurer and All-Inclusive Susan. Of course I want to careen down a hillside in a bus filled with chickens and goats. Of course I want to camp and snorkel in a Mexican National Park. Of course I want to go to Belize. Of course I want to dance and flirt with swarthy men. Of course I am terrified of being robbed and kidnapped. Of course I am terrified of accidentally eating chicken or fish. Of course I am terrified of Montezuma's revenge (seriously terrified of that one). Of course I am terrified of just "seeing where we end up" (dead. in a hole somewhere).
I thought about it. And thought about it. And said yes in my head. And said no in my head. And then yes again. Then my pregnant friends who have no chance of escaping to Mexico for at least 18-20 years berated me. Then I berated myself. Then I saw the movie "Yes Man." Then, I booked my ticket.
(the movie truly pushed me over the edge. Thank you Jim Carey)
Yup. I booked my ticket. I leave in late March and will spend 10 days wandering about with Fro, who is well versed at wandering about strange countries and speaks at least enough Spanish to get by (I only know how to ask for a beer and the bathroom). I'm hoping to be able to stay calm and collected and not turn into an anxiety-ridden bitch from hell. Well, if I do, I hear there's lots of tequila there. Then at least I can be a drunk anxiety-ridden bitch from hell.
Now that the hard part is over - the decision has been made, the ticket has been booked, I lose a considerable sum of cash if I turn back - I'm starting to get excited. I swung by Borders today and got a travel guide, which I'm hoping will say "it is totally safe for two blonde, female Americans to flit about Mexico as they please." What do you think the chances of that are?