The Mexico Story, part three - Revenge of the Guacamole!

At the end of The Mexico Story, part two (which you can read here), I was desparately clinging to a cement planter at the Villa Del Sol. We resume our story here...

Speedo-man turned out to be a terribly nice german man who with the help of a least one other speedo clad bavarian got me to my feet. By this point someone had found a hotel employee (Who for the purposes of this story, we will call Paco), who seemed very eager to help. Now that I was upright, they had to figure out what to do with me. What ensued was a conversation I didn't really understand in german-spanish-english, with possibly some pig latin thrown in for good measure. The decision was made to put me in one of the empty guest rooms.

The Villa Del Sol is a beautiful resort. The grounds are gorgeous, the staff is friendly and the rooms are immaculate. Which is good, because I now had the chance to spend some quality time at the hotel. Paco and company helped me across the grounds to a room that looked identical to this one. They helped me lay down on the couch and Paco covered me with a blanket. As Paco closed the double doors (which are directly across from the couch) he told me, "I go, come back with doctor".

The problem is, Paco never came back...ever.

For the next four hours or so I lay under the blanket shivering and burning up at the same time. At several times during the afternoon, they tried to move guests into the room I was in. The porter would open the door, see me on the couch, quickly say "Sorry Senor" and close the door. I kept saying "wait, don't go, where is paco?", but they were in such a hurry to not disturb me, they never heard my pathetic cries for help. After the third "Sorry Senor", I was finally left alone to suffer.

At some point in the afternoon I decided to move to the bed as the couch was a little short for me. I think I must have slept for awhile, although I don't remember waking up. I did notice that I was starting to feel progressively worse and that it might be time to find another cement planter. I headed for the bathroom. When I got up I was really dizzy, so I very slowly moved along the wall, through the doorway and into the bathroom. I knelt (very carefully on sunburned knees) in front of the porcelain altar. ...and nothing happened. I stayed there for a long time. ...a very long time. For two reasons really; one, my insides where spinning like a top which led me to believe I would have another Exorcist moment very soon and two, I couldn't really get up. I was way too dizzy. When my insides finally called a cease fire, I decided to go back to bed. After several attempts to stand up, I crawled out of the bathroom to the bedroom. Thank god the floors were really clean, not a cucharacha in sight!

Al's Rules of Traveling: Rule #2 - If you are going to be sick in a foreign country, do so at a five star resort. (BTW - Rule #1: For god's sake don't eat the guacamole!)

Upon returning to the bedroom I noticed for the first time a bottle of water on the dresser. At first I didn't want to drink any, it was for hotel guests. But after a few minutes, I decided I could drink it as long as I reimbursed the hotel for it. (Yes, all of this took place while I was sitting on the floor). After drinking some water I crawled back on the bed and went to sleep. When I woke up it was dark out. I was feeling a little better. I took the water bottle and staggered my way to the front desk. When I got to the front desk, I asked to speak to the manager. The girl at the front desk did not speak much english. That was ok, because I could see a man who I assumed was the manager in the office behind the front desk, giving an employee the butt-chewing of a lifetime. I could see that girl at the front-desk was clearly embarassed. I stood there for what seemed like ten minutes swaying side to side, while the manager raised a rucus in the next room. Finally I put some pesos on the counter, said thanks for the agua and headed out the front door.

I walked the block back to the Fiesta Mexicana hoping to get a ride to the Irma. When Mercedes saw me, I thought she was going to burst into tears. "Where have you been, I was so worried", she said. I hadn't really realized it but I had been "missing" for about 10 hours.

She sat me down in a beach chair and called to get me a ride, then in a very motherly way tried to get me to eat something. I couldn't, just the sight of food made me queasy. One of the Irma's hotel staff showed up in a pickup truck to take me back to the hotel. I rode all the way back to the hotel like a dog, with my head out the window. The breeze felt wonderful.

When I got the the Irma, the hotel manager (Mercedes' husband) met me in front of the hotel. He told me he had called a doctor and to wait in my room. About 10 minutes later the doctor showed up. He was very nice and spoke excellent english. He insisted on telling me that in Mexico people become doctors to help people, not to get rich like in America. I felt very self conscience at that remark, being the capitalist running-dog that I am, but I don't think he could see me blush through the sunburn.

The examination was pretty quick and pretty non-medical. Mostly just questions about what I had done and what I had eaten. He didn't even listen to my insides with his stethoscope, which I think would have been highly entertaining as my spleen was now picking up the local mariachi station.

After several minutes he came to his prognosis. "Mr. Partridge, I do not believe that you have a parsite, I think that your body has had a reaction to some of the mexican food you ate (Do you think?)". "I believe it would be best if you did not eat anymore mexican food". Now if I was at home this would have been no big deal but beings I was in MEXICO, this presented a slight problem. He told me to drink lots of bottled water and went on his way. I just sat on the bed and laughed, then I drank a whole bottle of water and went to bed.

The next three days are pretty much a blur, I went to Ixtapa the next day and saw the other 7 hotels. I then flew out to Mexico City and then on to Puerto Vallarta. A water bottle constantly at my side. The flight to Puerto Vallarta was cool because the seats had monitors in the back of them. Remember this was 1992, that was big deal. I watched an episode of Moonlighting in spanish, it was really funny. That Bruce Willis has an awesome spanish accent! I got into Puerto Vallarta around 10p and caught a cab to the hotel. I shared the cab with a mexican family with several small children. I am sure I was quite a sight. Have you ever seen a really pale sickly sunburned gringo before? Scary, I am sure. At one point on the ride in we stopped at an intersection next to a mini-mall (do you call that a mall pequeno in spanish?) and the smell of McDonalds french fries wafted into the taxi. I know that people say love is the international language, but when that smell hit the car, I knew exactly what those kids where thinking.

When I checked in at the hotel a very nice woman at the front desk told me that the local Alaska Airlines office would be open at 10a tomorrow morning and if I needed to change my reservation, I could call then. She also said how sorry she was that I would not be staying to enjoy beautiful Puerto Vallarta. I tried to tell her, "It's not you, it's me", but I don't think she bought it.

When I woke up the next morning I didn't even bother to get out of bed, I just flipped on the tv in time to catch an eight hour The Saint marathon. Funny thing is, Roger Moore has an excellent spanish accent also. When 10am rolled around I called the Alaska Airlines office immediately. A woman with a wonderfully American voice answered and after a few minutes was able to get me on the flight leaving at 3p. I nearly started crying. I must have thanked her ten times before hanging up to get packed.

The flight home was uneventful, except for the stop in Mazatlan. Just as we got to the end of the runway, a pregnant woman decided that now would be a good time to have her baby so we had to go back to the terminal (El Terminalo) so they could take her to the hospital. It made us late getting into SFO. In order to make my connecting flight to Portland, I ran from customs in the international terminal all the way to the Alaska gates. I managed to get there 10 minutes before boarding. At this point I had not eaten in 3 days. I went across the hall to a snack stand and bought the biggest sandwich I could find. It was gone before I got on the plane.

When I got home, I had lots of people ask me if I had lost weight (which I had lost around 20 pounds). Are you on the South Beach diet? Naw...the Zihuatenejo weight loss program.

Final Score:
Mexico - I Million Pesos / Al - 0