That thing I said about never being sick in Mexico? Whoa.

Try instead eating a lovely meal at someone’s house (home-cooked food: what a relief, after two weeks on the road). Then you get to the last bite and realize something is Terribly Wrong. You make a break for the bathroom (“Cairo, I’d love to tell you about Cairo! But first, I really, really have to use the bathroom!” I said with all seriousness and calm). But instead you start to black out just about the time you get halfway there–the fridge is the last thing you see, and you put in an extra sprint toward the bathroom door in hopes of getting there on auto-pilot.

You come to, after what feels like the most restful dream-filled full-night’s sleep but was really about 20 seconds, slumped in the bathroom doorway and covered in your dinner, in many forms.

That hasn’t happened to me since I was a kid.

Anyway, to be fair, the kind of sick I got was really not Mexico’s fault. It was completely mine, for stomping around in the noonday sun, with no lunch and only the merest suggestion of Gatorade. I hadn’t been eating because my gut had not been flawless (OK, that’s sort of Mexico’s fault), and I just didn’t want to eat another taco. I was holding out for this delicious homey meal that night. And ooh, baby–I got to enjoy it coming and going!

I have gotten this same kind of sick once before, not in the third world, but in NYC, after tromping around in the noonday sun in the summer, stupidly wearing corduroy pants and drinking nothing but beer. By sundown, after arriving at another long-awaited home-cooked dinner, I had a sip of a gin-and-tonic and promptly yakked. I spent the rest of the night in a darkened bedroom, moaning, occasionally dragging myself out to vomit as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the dinner party that continued on without me.

Some people might think this last point is demented, but I think it’s essential. The Dinner Party Must Go On! The last thing a sick person wants is for everything to grind to a halt while everyone crowds around and looks on in shock and pity, and then quickly says their goodbyes.

And to my impeccable hosts’ credit last night, they did carry on. Presto, my utterly soiled clothes were in the laundry (what luck! I’d spilled eggplant on my skirt earlier in the night–no need to worry about those oil stains!). I was led to the shower, and given a whole new, cute outfit to wear and an open invitation to all the assorted lotions and products. Then I came downstairs and drank some tea. I went on to vomit a couple more times (demented again, but I actually don’t mind this at all–good thing I like my body, or I would be a class A bulimic), while the lovely lady of the house served my mother dessert.

I got driven home in an air-conditioned car, the non-bumpy route, with bags of assorted things to get me through the night and assurances that a doctor could be summoned if need be. This morning I feel fantastic, and I even ate a teeny bit of the cake from last night.

Now that is true hospitality, and that is why these flawless hosts also run one of the finest B&Bs in Merida.

I’m sorry I had to get so violently ill just to test them, but hey, I’m just doing my job, you know?