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Everybody Has a Story: Once upon a time in Mexico

By Scott Forbes, Harmony
Published: February 2, 2020, 6:05am

In the spring of 1964, my parents decided that I needed to see a little more of the world outside of our small town (now the city of Spokane Valley), so I was invited to join them on a flight to Florida. They were attending a convention in Miami for about five days and decided to make a stopover in Mexico City on the way.

I was 14 years old, and thinking about my first airplane ride kept me awake at night. When my two younger sisters learned they were staying behind with the elderly babysitter, they decided to give me the silent treatment. Their disappointment was understandable, but birth order has its advantages.

Mexico City was confusing to me, since there was so much obvious poverty next to beautiful areas that looked so much like home. I remember the food was spicy and we were told to avoid drinking the water, or risk the dreaded Montezuma’s Revenge! I did my due diligence.

On to Miami for five days of sun at the beautiful, amazing Fontainebleau Hotel. Never before had I seen such opulence. Our room was incredible, with a view of the pool and a beach that stretched forever into the distance.

But just after arriving, both my mother and father began to feel, shall we say, unwell. It was not pretty to see one’s parents in a relay to the bathroom even before we unpacked. It wasn’t long before they were buried under the bed covers, pleading for deliverance. They cursed whatever it was they ate or drank in Mexico City that now totally disabled them.

Me? I was fine. The only problem was being stuck in a sick room. My mother finally was able to communicate that I should go to the hotel restaurant for something to eat and charge it to the room. Sounded good. I slipped on my swimsuit and wished my parents well.

Once at the restaurant I realized I was unconstrained from the side of the menu that was “good for me.” Being unsupervised meant nothing was off limits — but even with no adult veto powers, this 14-year-old had a very low guilt threshold about gorging on cheeseburgers, fries and milk shakes. I decided not to have any of that.

Sitting alone a couple of stools down from me was another boy about my age. We quickly learned that his parents were in the same condition as mine and they had turned him loose as well. Butch and Sundance headed for the beach.

It didn’t take us long to find we were both into sports, and our competitive natures emerged. We raced down the beach and had a rock-throwing contest into the ocean. We decided to swim in the surf, and noticed some beautiful objects floating about 20 yards out to sea. They looked like colorful jellyfish and we decided to investigate. But as we got closer, we could hear people on the beach yelling in our direction to stop! They were very animated and obviously intent on us returning to shore, which we reluctantly decided to do.

It was then that we learned about Portuguese man-of-war. The long, venomous tentacles wrap around prey and deliver a painful sting that can immobilize or kill. Several people on the beach showed us the sting marks on their legs and arms. We couldn’t believe that we had avoided being stung.

We decided we deserved an ice cream float after that close call. I checked on my parents a few hours later and nothing had changed. In fact, nothing much changed for the next several days. My friend and I continued to eat whatever and whenever we wanted, and made each day a new adventure. We explored every part of that huge hotel and wandered long distances down the beach. We couldn’t resist a huge banana split at the end of each day.

My parents didn’t fully recover until was it almost time to return home. They missed out on all the great food and activities this five-star hotel provided.

When my father saw the final bill at check out, he realized I had missed out on very little. Conventions are so much fun.


Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.

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