I can’t remember where I was, what city, but I was in Mexico, that I know. Maybe San Miguel de Allende or Guanajuato.

Traveling with college kids put me where I might not have otherwise been. But my decisions were my own. Nobody forced me to do anything. This is just one of many adventures that changed my life forever.

I was having unusual fun inspite of my normally sedate mother/wife self. Alot had changed, me included. A weight of some sort had fallen away. I was ready to take risks.

Not that I hadn’t been happy. I had been very happy but I was very comfortable with this new me. The minute I stepped off the plane in Mexico for a semester at the Universidad de Querětaro, I wasn’t afraid to die.

As we sped through the streets of Mexico City, I felt that if I died, I’d die happy.

Most taxis looked like they had met with many mishaps. The streets were filled with pot holes of every size. There were metal poles sticking out of the pavement with no apparent purpose except as obstacles. There were hundreds of taxis going at breakneck speed and it seemed that no one paid any attention to traffic lights or signs. Whoo, hoo!

I didn’t die but it was not through any good sense that I survived. This is just one of my mis-adventures. I will be painfully honest, so bear with me, if you will. There will be more stories recounted as I dare to share them. Please note and keep in mind, that I have no regrets.

There is a stereotype, widely held in Mexico, that women and mainly American women are there to go wild. As we know, stereotypes often bear some semblance to truth though are more likely to be erroneous or at least an exaggeration. Since I was in Mexico to attend the university, my intentions were far from going wild.

I had never traveled outside of the US. I was a new student, even back home, with one semester of Spanish under my belt. I was a wife of 27 years and I had two grown children. That made me, let’s see, 46 years old. A student of this age was nearly unheard of in Mexican universities. I was the same age as the mother of my host family.

To say the least, I felt very strange and uncomfortable at school and at home, but I was too excited to be daunted by emotions. I was there for the total experience. On arrival, I was not at all prepared for what that meant, but I was soon to find out.

Lupe, the mother and wife of the household, cooked for me and even did my laundry, while I attended the same university as her children. If that wasn’t strange enough, I left every weekend to either meet with the other American students for drinks and music and exploring town, or I hopped a bus to other cities and often to the beach. Not one of the other students were out of their 20s. So, 20 somethings do what they do and so as not to be left alone to wander about, I did what they did… went to dance clubs.

I won’t say I didn’t like it most of the time. I love to dance and no one questioned my age. I started my Mexican adventure nearly 40 lbs overweight. I walked miles to and from the university four times a day. Even universities take siestas and there’s no food on campus. I’d either walk back home or into the center of town to eat. Before long, I had lost all of my extra weight and had a substantial tan and had gained a good deal of muscle and endurance. Those 20 somethings had nothing on me. It helped that I was going to the beach, swimming and walking everywhere.

Back to the dance clubs. Most of the time those nights were uneventful. We’d go, we’d dance our asses off, then I’d go home to sleep, but twice I thought I might die. You’d think after the first time, I would have stayed home, sat with Lupe in her kitchen watching telenovelas (soap operas) while she made me “Bimbo” bread sandwiches with thin sliced ham, tomatoes and pickled jalapeno or sweet pastries and “Nescafe”. But no.

I wasn’t in Mexico to learn how a middle-aged housewife lived, though I really liked her. She treated me like a special guest. We might have become good friends if I wasn’t so determined to see and do everything presented to me, apparently, no matter how dangerous.

Don’t misunderstand me, though. I didn’t go looking for trouble. Perhaps I was naive. I met my husband to be when I was just 16. I married him at 21 and had babies at 23 and 25. From that time forward, I was a housewife and mother. Other than moving, there was little excitement in my life, and as I mentioned before, I had never traveled, we didn’t go dancing, or any of the things I was doing in Mexico.

I was not clueless, however. In the short time I had studied Spanish, I had become sufficiently fluent. Though our classes were described, in the study abroad brochure, as being taught in English, we were thrown into the deep end on site. All classes were taught in Spanish, as were assignments and tests in Spanish.

One time in the post office, I asked a clerk if he spoke English and he responded in Spanish with, “Why would I?” It was sink or swim when a grocery cashier tried to charge me $20 for a can opener. I would have been robbed blind if I didn’t understand that a $5 taxi ride shouldn’t cost $20. Immersion is, no doubt, the best way to learn a language, and as I learned, it can save your life.

Back to the dance clubs. This particular night, a group of my fellow students and I had traveled to, I believe it was, San Miguel… I don’t remember exactly where we were. This fact added to the danger I was in on this particular night. At the time, of course, I knew where I was but no one else did except my friends. No one knew where we had traveled for the weekend, either. We were dangerously footloose and fancy free. No one ever knew where I was except when I was either in the classroom or at Lupe’s.

We had explored the city all day, we had eaten and now that it was nearing midnight, everyone wanted beer (more beer), music and dancing. Who was I to go back to the hotel and go to sleep? So I went along. I ignored alot of things, like everyone was at least 20 years younger than me. And I accepted other things like, I was at least 20 years older than everyone. I felt great and I was doing things that I hadn’t imagined when I signed up to be a foreign exchange student.

The club was pulsating with flashing colored lights and loud music that you could feel in your whole body and it was quite dark. It had been at least 25 years since I’d been out dancing. We were dancing all together when a young Mexican man began to dance with me. He was a very good dancer and it was almost entirely no contact except for some exceptional twirls. This was not the first or last time I danced with some great dancers. No foul. No harm. As the night went on, he stuck pretty close to me. The music was so loud, there was no conversation. My friends and others were dancing right beside me.

In the wee hours, my friends decided to head out and find some food and more beers. I decided that I needed to go back to the hotel and collapse. I didn’t mind going alone since the hotel was close. I walked out of the club and there behind me was the boy I had been dancing with.

I can’t recall his name since it’s been so many years now, but he introduced himself and introduced another young man who he said was his brother. They then invited me to their house, their parents house, to have some food and to meet their parents.

Now before you start jumping up and down and screaming at me about how stupid I was, let me tell you that I met many people, went to their houses and even spent nights in the homes of very kind and hospitable strangers. I would not have known how people live, eat, work and play if I had not taken the risks that I knowingly and willingly took. They were not all good experiences but few led to danger.

So, needless to say, as tired as I was, I accepted their invitation. We walked along narrow cobblestone streets, up hills, into a residential neighborhood, talking and getting to know a little about each other. They were very curious to know what I was doing there. I was certainly an oddity. They were promising some amazing home-cooked food and said their parents were probably still awake.

We arrived at a large colonial style house overlooking the city. There were few lights on. We entered through gigantic carved double doors and into a cavernous and dimly lit living room. The “brother” disappeared down a hallway. I needed to use the bathroom, let’s call him Felix, took me down the same hallway to a fully tiled bathroom that was resplendent with gold framed art and gold furnishings. When I came out, Felix was standing in the doorway of a small sitting room.

He invited me in and said to remove my shoes because of the carpets. I sat on a large divan and slipped my shoes off. Felix said he was going to see his mother about food and he’d return shortly. Of course, I was fascinated with everything. They were obviously quite wealthy and lived luxuriously. Up to this point, mostly I had met villagers in remote places. This was an entirely new experience.

As Felix walked out of the room, he turned off the lights and as he quickly shut the door, I heard the lock latch. I was completely in the dark. There were no windows and there were no cell phones for me to call for help. I stumbled around reaching for the door and trying to feel for a light switch. I couldn’t feel or see a thing. I tried to find my shoes, but they were gone. I didn’t want to get too far from the divan because I didn’t want to lose my bearings and I didn’t want to hurt myself. I waited. I told myself that he didn’t mean to leave me in the dark in a locked room without my shoes. I wasn’t going to panic… yet.

The door opened quickly and closed before I could speak. I was pushed backwards onto my back. I felt long, thin hands on my bare legs, gently moving upwards. I yelled no and wiggled away.

He only persisted for a few moments and was not in the least violent. He spoke quietly and tried to persuade me to give in. I told him, in Spanish, that nothing was going to happen. He left the room. I could hear whistling in the distance… like signals.

Soon, another person came in and the scenario was repeated. Finally, a third person came in. I could tell this was Felix. He was apologizing and telling me that he had misunderstood and thought that I wanted to have fun, all the while touching and carressing my arms and legs and trying to kiss me. Finally, I screamed, what I thought was, “get a life!” I think what I said was, “are you alive?”

Suddenly, he stood up and moved away. He turned on the lights and brought me my shoes. Strangely, he wanted to walk me to my hotel because it was so late and wanted me to be safe.

He did just that. We walked slowly through the dark streets in the early morning hours talking about his life and dreams and mine, too. He dropped me at the entrance to the hotel. We embraced and we wished one another luck and fortune in our respective lives.

I know what you’re thinking… but don’t say it. This was not the only risk I took while in Mexico. I willingly stepped up to the edge many more times. Remember what I said? If I die, at least I’ll die happy.

I didn’t know it when I signed up to study in Mexico that I would encounter so much adventure, but I’m glad I did.