What happens in Mexico... ends up in the newspaper

If you looked through my camera roll from our recent trip to Cancun, you'd probably think it was a picture-perfect vacation. 

Crystal-clear water. Mariachi band dinners. The occasional coati climbing through the trees. 

What you won't find are the moments that happened approximately 30 seconds before or after every photo – the ones that actually made the trip memorable. 

Vacation photos are professional liars. 

Take our budget, for example. We went into the trip with a very responsible plan: spend around $2,100. 

Somehow we managed to accomplish that in about 48 hours. 

Don't ask me how. I still haven't done the math because I'm choosing peace. 

Then there was the resort itself, which somehow managed to be both beautiful and impossible to navigate. Every boardwalk looked the same, every building had a tropical name I couldn't remember, and yet every single time we took a wrong turn, an iguana would be sitting there like some sort of tiny concierge. 

"Looking for the pool? Follow me." 

"Trying to find breakfast? This way." 

By the end of the week, I trusted the iguanas more than the resort map. 

Meanwhile, the pool taught me two valuable lessons. 

First, there are apparently people who arrive at the swim-up bar at 10 a.m. and simply never leave. They eat there. They drink there. They become one with the water. I'll let you connect the dots on what that means for everyone else in the pool. 

Second, if you sit there long enough, wonderfully over-served strangers will eventually start buying you drinks. I don't know if that's Mexican hospitality or vacation math, but I wasn't about to argue. 

Meanwhile, my brother spent what felt like half the vacation watching World Cup matches on his phone. We were in another country, and somehow I still knew exactly what minute every match was in. 

My mom, on the other hand, had a different vacation strategy. 

Every time I looked up and couldn't find her, I'd panic for about 30 seconds before spotting her in another lounge chair, fast asleep, mouth hanging open, her usual chaotic self gone and soaking up a week of zero responsibility. 

Honestly, goals. 

Then we ventured into Playa del Carmen. About five seconds after stepping out of the car, we were surrounded by Spider-Man, Shrek, and The Mask, all enthusiastically posing for pictures. 

My mom thought they were just being friendly. Bless her heart. 

The next thing I knew, Spider-Man and Shrek had hoisted me into the air while someone else snapped photos at lightning speed. Then came the request for a tip. Turns out nothing in life is free – not even being airlifted by Shrek. 

Later that night, Mexico won its World Cup match, and the streets absolutely erupted. Car horns echoed through downtown, strangers cheered together, and the entire city felt like one giant celebration. My only regret? Not buying the Mexico jersey I'd been eyeing earlier that day. 

Our final adventure was snorkeling off Isla Mujeres. 

The brochures make snorkeling look graceful. Reality looked more like me trying to survive the Titanic. 

Between the waves, the frantic breathing through the snorkel, and goggles squeezing my face so tightly I looked like I'd gotten a lip flip, I spent more time trying to stay afloat than checking out the tropical fish. 

Our tour guide, Poncho, somehow kept the energy high through all of it. On the boat ride back, he had everyone dancing together, pouring tequila down our throats, and continuously reminding us, "What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico!" 

Judging by some of the dance moves I witnessed, he was absolutely right. 

Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico on the flight home, I realized vacations have a funny way of making even the most ridiculous moments seem normal. Following an iguana because you think it knows the way? Makes sense. Getting picked up by Shrek? Sure. Trusting a guy named Poncho who's handing out tequila and telling everyone to dance? Why not? 

It isn't until you're home that you start thinking, "What on earth just happened?"