Next time I'll have to remember to order Mexico sin vomito.

I was having the most fabulous trip for the first two days. Yes, the bus ride was long, but not that bad. We had lots of good food and company, especially hanging out on the rooftop terrace in the hostel. The problems started on the third morning.
When I woke up, my first thought was that the "hangover" I had was not in proportion to the amount of alcohol consumed the previous evening. As it turned out, it was not a hangover at all. It was the very beginning of a major case of Montezuma's Revenge.
As the average reader of this blog may already know, I'm quite a well-travelled person. I've been to Mexico numerous times and never once suffered more that what Russell once described as "soft-serve poo." The rules I follow are rather simple - No ice. No water unless from a bottle, even when brushing teeth. Mouth closed in the shower. Nothing fresh that doesn't have a peel. Yet, somehow, by the end of the day on the 30th, I found myself cloistered in one of only two shared bathrooms of the hostel, much to the chagrin of the other residents. I've decided that the fault lies with the chile verde enchiladas I had the night before. But lets go back to the beginning.
After waking and dismissing my mild nausea as the result of our fiesta, I joined the others on a hike to the top of la Buffa, the mountain that over looks the city (which is already at almost 7000 feet). About halfway up the side, I was about to pass out, but still insisted that it was some combination of a hangover and altitude sickness. I made it just shy of the top before I finally relented and laid down in the shade. (On a cool little side note, while laying there, a woman passed with a Peace Corps patch on her bag. I talked to her for about 20 minutes and am still so excited, I can't wait to find out where I'm going).
After a round trip of about 10 miles, we finally made it back to the center of town. I tried to eat some soup but to no avail. I ended up going to bed and not getting up except to go to the bathroom until late the following afternoon.
I like to look at the bright side of things though. Mexican medicine is amazing stuff, though I really don't want to know what's in it. Blake went to the farmacia for me the next morning and broke back some magical pills that in a few short hour took me from unable to hold down water to eating saltines and pounding back the gatorade (I was probably severely dehydrated at this point, but as I had other problems, I wasn't too upset by it). By nighttime, I was ready to enjoy my New Year's Eve, even if the celebration wasn't exactly what I had in mind.
The three of us staying in the hostel (out of our group of seven), were invited to the house of Senora Magdalena, the other four's host. She made roast pork and insisted upon ringing in 2008 with cider and 12 grapes (each person must make a wish for each one - 12 because of the 12 months). I never thought that celebrating New Year's with an 82-year-old woman would be so much fun, but we had an amazing night. And it wasn't just because I was finally able to hold down something other than crackers, though that was certainly exciting.
Nonetheless, I'll have to remember next time to order Mexico sin vomito.