The Road Les Traveled

I’m here. I’m in Mexico!

It was a long travel day for both Finn and me. We arrived at the Phoenix airport around 7:30 AM for our 10:15 AM flight. My brother John parked the car so he could help me wrangle two very large suitcases while I handled my carry-on, Finn, and his carrier. As we pulled into the parking lot, things got quiet. I think the reality hit both of us: I’m actually leaving the country for five months.

If you know my brother at all, you know he’s a bit of a worrywart.

After checking my luggage, it was time to head to security. John and I made some awkward small talk, trying to keep things light, but I suddenly got emotional. He looked at me and said, “Don’t cry. This is an exciting time.”

I knew he was right—but my heart was scared. Nervous. I was about to walk away from one of the only men in my life who made me feel truly safe and protected.

John and I weren’t close growing up. We fought constantly, and he tormented me for years—as older brothers often do. But when I went through one of the hardest times in my life, he stepped up in ways I never expected.

Most of you reading this blog today know that I went through a heartbreaking divorce about ten years ago. John immediately took on the role of supporter, protector, and loving big brother. He called, listened, let me cry (a lot), and walked me through some of my darkest moments. He’s been there for every milestone since—celebrating my successes, showing up without being asked, loving me through it all. He’s more than my brother now; he’s one of my best friends, and I’m endlessly grateful for him.

After we said our goodbyes, Finn and I made it through security smoothly. We hung out at the gate until it was time to board our first flight to Houston. Finn wasn’t thrilled about being shoved into his carrier, but he was a good sport.

When I got to my seat, the flight attendant let me know Finn wouldn’t fit under the window seat and asked if I could move to the middle. Thankfully, the man in the middle seat was kind enough to switch. I’m not a fan of middle seats, but it was a short flight—and I took one for the team.

Once we landed in Houston, I made a beeline for the pet relief area. Finn was thrilled to be free from his carrier and took care of business immediately. While we were there, I met a woman with a Goldendoodle who was struggling with a little “stage fright.” I shared a funny story from a previous trip, when a man rushed his dog through the pet relief area without giving it enough time—only to have the poor pup leave a trail of poop pebbles through the terminal. He was totally clueless until fellow travelers started pointing out the little trail his dog had left behind. His face turned red with embarrassment—he was absolutely mortified. 

Well… karma’s got a sense of humor. Not five minutes after telling that story, Finn decided to leave a trail of poop pebbles of his own as we walked to the gate. I was horrified. Those poop bags never want to cooperate when you’re panicking in a crowd. I’m convinced it was Finn’s revenge for the carrier.

We eventually boarded our second flight to Mérida. This time, Finn fit comfortably under the window seat, and we were both more at ease. It was a short flight—just over 90 minutes—and when we landed, I purposely waited to be the last off the plane. I prefer it that way. Less pressure, fewer impatient stares as I juggle a dog, a carrier, and a carry-on.

Getting through customs took about 90 minutes. I entered Mexico on a visitor’s visa, which can be good for up to 180 days. The officer wasn’t thrilled about giving me the full 180, so I had to show proof of my return flight and Airbnb reservations. He stamped me for one day past my return date—not quite the max, but it works.

Next stop was SENASICA, where they do a thorough check of pets and their paperwork. To bring Finn into Mexico, I needed a rabies certificate, a health certificate dated within 10 days of travel, and only one day’s worth of food. It’s no joke—very official. But we passed and were finally cleared to enter.

Our driver, Eduardo, had been waiting patiently at the airport for over an hour. He didn’t speak a word of English, and I know only a few phrases in Spanish, so it made for an interesting ride to the Airbnb. Thank goodness for Google Translate. With some hand gestures and tech magic, we finally arrived: Calle 59, 360, Mérida, Mexico.

To be continued…

Mr. Finn! Happy to be out from under that seat.