Experienced travelers know that there are two Mexicos. Mexico's famous resort cities, such as Cancun, Cozumel, Mazatlan and Acapulco are nothing more than American outposts in a foreign country. You can spend a week in any of these places and never hear a word of Spanish, never eat anything except American food and never even realize that you've left home.

There is probably nothing wrong with this type of vacation. If an expensive room in a high-rise hotel, a nice spot for a day on the beach and plenty of sun, sand and surf are your idea of a good time, these resort cities are great destinations. And they are probably significantly less expensive than most Caribbean destinations.

But if you really want to travel to a foreign country and experience everything that it has to offer, you need to get away from the resort cities. No, you won't be pampered like you would be in a Cancun high-rise, and yes, you will suffer some hardships along the way. But you will also have many interesting experiences that will last a lifetime.

We sometimes meet people who say they have traveled extensively in Mexico. When we compare travel anecdotes, it's very interesting to see that many of these "seasoned" Mexico travelers have experienced nothing more of Mexico than the many "American" resort cities. They've had drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe, stayed at the Holiday Inn and had most of their meals at TGI Fridays and Carlos and Charlie's.

But enough philosophy. What follows is a mostly true (though somewhat exaggerated) account of our first trip to Mexico. Reading this account may pique your interest in travel to the Yucatan. Either that or you'll nod off at your computer and get logged of by your ISP.

My wife Maureen and I made our first trip to Mexico with my sister and her husband -- and that proved to be a dangerous combination. You see, my sister Diane is a bit of a flake, 12 years older than me, and definitely the worse for wear. Diane is a Mexico nut and has read every guidebook, magazine and grammar school essay ever written about the subject. Her philosophy is to travel like Mexican people do: eat in the same restaurants, stay in the same hotels, get arrested by the same angry policemen. Diane's husband Dick is the quiet type, and although I had known him for years, there was something -- unpredictable about him.

The goal of the trip was to leave the bitter cold of a Minnesota winter and see the REAL Mexico. We will avoid the party crowd atmosphere of the Cancun beach strip and venture into the heart of the Yucatan (Merida, Mexico) to meet some real Mexicans.

Tuesday, February 28

We arrive in Cancun, where the Twin Cities party people rush off the plane and are met by tour operators holding up white placards with the names of expensive hotels along Cancun's tourist zone. We, however, are here to see the "real" Mexico, and we gather up our bags and lug them across the terminal to our connecting flight. Diane read somewhere that we can save up to 40 percent by booking our flight to Merida (the "Paris" of the Yucatan) at the airport. Unfortunately, the Air Cuba flight she books makes an unscheduled stop in Havana. Dick spends an hour discussing his Doctorate in Turfology with a bewildered Fidel. An unscheduled tour of a Cuban prison, veiled threats, our promise never to return and we are airborne once again. Next stop -- Merida!

Merida

Maureen and Dick wander aimlessly through the streets of Merida... close on the heels of Glenn and Diane who are both convinced that they know where they are going. (They are both following a special map prepared by their mother Shirley, a renowned navigational specialist.) After many footsteps, the Casa de los Jipis looms on the horizon, and the entire crew leap at the chance to either buy hats or just get out of the hot sun.

Diane and I discover that heads as big as ours haven't been seen in Mexico since the days of a pre-Mayan civilization known locally as "Los cabezas grande." The phlegmatic senora remedies the size situation by stapling two tape measures together and agreeing to custom make a pair of hats -- using an overripe melon as a blocking guide.

By dinner time, the bedraggled foursome sit down at a famous local restaurant, Los Almendros. Diane insists on ordering for everyone in her fractured Spanish. A baffled waiter, believing that Diane must be speaking an ancient Yucatecan dialect, and not wishing to offend, rushes our order to the kitchen. We sit quietly at table side. A man with a mustache and a white cap (who we believe to be the chef) occasionally opens the door to the kitchen a crack and glares out at Diane. An eternity later, a group of waiters arrives carrying what looks like a freshly roasted goat or some other four-legged creature. The scent of garlic, cloves and tequila is overwhelming. All four legs are still attached, and one appears to be moving... Dick leaps on the table top and quickly explains that Diane is not really traveling with us, but just sharing our table.

"And I think she wanted that 'to go'," he shouts.

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