I Went to Mexico City and Didn’t Get Kidnapped
But there’s always next time
“Mexico City?” my best friend asked when I told her my weekend plans. “Why?”
I can’t count how many people have told me not to go everywhere I’ve been.
India — WHY?
Morocco — WHAT FOR?
San Jose, Johannesburg, Rio . . . What’s wrong with you?? People get killed there!
People get killed everywhere so let’s all just calm down, say a fucking prayer and live our lives. I mean I don’t travel to war zones. At least I haven’t yet.
Anyway, my part-time boyfriend looked at the itinerary I meticulously laid out for our 2.5-day trip and said, “I work and I can’t take a day off of my life to go to Doll Island.”
The nerve of him to shatter my dreams.
That was right after he found out the whole truth that I may have slightly omitted— that it was an ordeal only an obsessed lunatic would follow through with. It was a 45-minute drive from our hotel to the channels of Xochimilco, a two-hour boat ride each way, which, according to my favorite one-star review on Tripadvisor forewarned of a “view of weeds, and empty yards” and deemed the whole experience a “colossal waste of time and money.”
