World-School in Between Bribes

“Surprise!” my husband held out his phone, showing an airline confirmation number. “We leave next week!” The next few days were a whirlwind: getting our last load of watermelons shipped, pumpkins and squash picked—and of course my new horse. At one o'clock on the day we were to leave, I was still out running farm errands (with an empty bag at home)—and we were to leave at 3. Thankfully the kids have been traveling since they were toddling, and are pretty efficient in packing their own stuff. Which meant I only had to worry about my own. At 2 I was running for the house to tackle that empty bag. My husband's bag lay open, with all his clothing neatly folded. I wrinkled my nose as I opened my swim suit drawer and dumped the contents into my bag. I grabbed a stack of skirts and pajamas and piled them on top. Next I threw some sandals in along with my dive gear and crammed the lid shut. My toiletries I shoved into an outside pocket. Ten minutes for my clothes, that gave me a little time to make sure I got the important stuff: books, games and my camera gear. Soon we were in a rental car driving down the Yucatan Peninsula. A region famous for its Mayan history, underwater rivers and cenotes. The great thing about “world-schooling” is that when an opportunity like this arises, our study of Winston Churchill can easily be set aside to learn about the Mayan civilization. We learned that there are no surface rivers in the Yucatan peninsula—so the people (past and present) re lied on the fresh water of the underground rivers and cenotes for both drinking water and irrigation. If that wasn't reason enough to make them interesting, many of the cenotes act like sundials, offering a front row seat to the zenith sun with a beam of light into the serene blue water underground. For two weeks we read books about the Mayans, hiked some of their ruins, and built sand castles patterned after their temples. We drank hibiscus and soursop juice—both supposed to be Mayan drinks. And much to the kids' disappointment—I didn't forget their journals. Many nights, their entries started with, “we got shook down by the police again today...” The kids definitely got an education this trip. Day after day, our adventuring would be interrupted by another armed officer demanding a bribe before we would be allowed to continue. In between these "shake downs" we snorkeled, sampled weird fruits, went ziplining, repelled into underground rivers, and my oldest got certified to scuba dive. We finally got to see Chichen Itza. Years ago, while playing "Trekking around the World," my youngest son, still learning to read sounded out the name: "Chicken Eats Ya." From that moment on, it's been a place he's wanted to go. Soon it was time to pack to come home. My husband spent the morning carefully folding every item in his bag—separating them into special stacks of I don't even know. My youngest and I swam in the pool until the very last minute possible. With 30 minutes to check out, we scurried inside. I opened my bag and in reverse order crammed all my stuff back inside. “All done!” I sing-songed as I glanced up to see my husband glower at me. “The real souvenirs are the wrinkles my clothes get to take home!” I grin. “But you brought them wrinkled!” he chided. “My momma said never to go any place empty handed!