I now have a new travel planner. The next time the Center for Disease Control or the World Health Organization declares a, "Threat to all of humanity," I’m booking a trip. I recently returned from that hotbed of swine flu, Mexico and had probably my best vacation yet: no crowds, excellent service, my choice of rooms and, oh yeah, no swine flu either.

Thanks to the aforementioned CDC and WHO (and I don’t mean Roger Daltry and Pete Townsend, whose opinions I would give more credence,) most folks bailed on their trips to the Mayan Riviera of Mexico this past May. We fretted about going, not because of the official warnings; I was just concerned there wouldn’t be any Limeys or Canucks to party with. The British and Canadians are always out in force in Mexico and even though their English is atrocious and they tend to watch goofy sports like Cricket and Curling, they are a lot of fun at the swim-up bar.

Our neighbors to the north were absent due to their government’s ban on travel to Mexico but our British friends were well represented by the few still there from the week before. The Brits usually stay for two weeks on the Mayan Riviera because it takes them that long to figure out what that big bright light in the sky is. You see, they don’t get much sun back home so they are easy to spot as they apply their SPF 10,000 sunscreen on their pasty white skin. Of course, after a week or so they sport a nice radioactive-red sort of tan and blend in a bit better.

I love the accents and though we weren’t showered with the, "Eh," ending to every statement the Canucks make, I did learn the proper uses of, "Pissed," and, "Loo." from our British friends. It seems, you go to the, "Loo," if you have to piss, but you are only, "Pissed," if you get drunk. That makes sense doesn’t it, eh?

Anyway, back to the details of our trip. We arrived at the airport, not really sure if the flight would happen. The media was full of well, besides the word I wanted to use, I’ll just say, bogus warnings. There hadn’t been a single case of swine-flu in the whole state of Quintana Roo we were headed for, yet only thirty four passengers made the trip on a MD-80 Aero México plane which normally holds around 150. What a treat. Everything was so relaxed on board; I actually landed with my seat not in its’ upright position. Yes, "Danger," is my middle name. The service was awesome and get this, they left on time, arrived early, gave us a box lunch along with free cocktails and didn’t lose a single piece of luggage of which there was no charge for either. Why any American airlines can’t do any of the above is beyond me.

Immigration and Customs was a breeze except when our buddy Gene had his bag of Beef Jerky confiscated. He’s the only person I know who smuggles food into an all-inclusive resort, but that’s just Gene. We then hopped in our van to the Grand Sirenis Resort and arrived relatively sober. That is, if your relatives are giggling drunks.

The economy has taken a massive hit down there and unfairly so. I heard reports of as many as 70 percent of the staff being laid off though you would never know it by the excellent service we received. The locals down there are so friendly and accommodating, even going so far as acting amused as The Wife hit on every entertainer/dancer at the resort, be they gay or straight. I asked for the Spanish translation of, "Cougar," and was told it’s, "Hammer’s Wife."

We were offered unlimited use of the ala carte restaurants, a perk that is usually limited. You are expected to clean up your act though, and wear long pants for the restaurants, both of which are a chore for Gene. We were joined for dinner most nights by our new friends, not just from abroad, but from such exotic locales as Missouri and Oklahoma; talk about funny accents.

Most nights, we were entertained by spectacular shows in the theater, both onstage and off with the dancers dancing and The Wife petting the dancers. We would then make our way by golf cart to the Disco; trust me, it was way too far for this group to walk. Due to the, "Threat to all of humanity," we were usually the only customers there, probably a good thing in retrospect. You see, I did a bit of dancing, something I don’t normally do. Of course, I don’t normally have a hot 21 year old British babe dragging me on the floor. I admit there were massive amounts of alcohol required to pull off this feat, and I mean on my part, not hers, so stop your snickering. Luckily Gene was too occupied with his dance moves to tape it for blackmail purposes. He was in a dance contest with one of the pro dancers from the Theater show and almost had a shot if he wasn’t so, well, white.

After the disco, we would wind up at the pool grill, wake up the cooks and stuff ourselves with chicken wings and beer. I’ve been searching for a chicken wing rehab center as I wake up every night at 2:00 am, craving wings, along with a sudden urge to tip someone in pesos.

All the food was fantastic down there which I can prove as there is a whole lot more of me to love now. They do tend to overcook their steaks, though that did help Gene get over the confiscation of his beef jerky. There was only about 120 people staying at a resort that holds something like 2000 guests, but we never felt slighted in the least. That is, except maybe for The Wife when she had to forego the hot male dancers with the six-pack abs for me with the eighteen pack belly at the end of every night.

As far as excursions go, we travelled by cab to Yal Kul Lagoon one day and Akumal beach another. We snorkeled with numerous fish, an octopus, several sting rays and a couple of turtles. There were also reports of two white whales in the area, but I believe they were mistaking Gene and me. I talked our intrepid gang of six into walking to Half Moon Bay which I was told was a leisurely ten-minute walk. I’m sure it is leisurely if you are twenty years old, used to the heat and sober as was the guy who gave me directions. Unfortunately, we were none of the above, so after twenty minutes or so of the, "Half Moon Death March," the natives started getting restless. They decided to turn back until I convincingly explained there was a bar around the next corner. Of course I had no idea where we were nor what lay ahead, but thankfully the next corner did indeed produce a very inviting beach bar or I would not be here to tell this tale.

The Wife finally fulfilled a life long dream of riding horses on the beach and in the ocean. Gene and I are just happy we can check it off the list and never have to do it again. They took the saddles off and we rode bareback through the ocean; not as easy as Hollywood would have you believe. My buddies, Slim Jim and the Twins were not too happy, if you get my drift. The horses also have a rather large backbone that tends to ride up into an area I prefer nothing go up. Gene swore his horse asked for his phone number after the ride. The women seemed to love the ride for some reason and were in a far better mood than the guys. The horses on the other hand, just wanted to get back to the barn for a smoke and a nap.

Unfortunately, our week was coming to a close and it was time to return to the drama that is our life. The Mexican authorities, on top of things at the airport with this, ’Threat to all of Humanity," asked if we required protection. Not realizing they meant masks and gloves for the flu, I asked where they were before my horseback ride. They had us fill out a form asking if we were experiencing any, headaches, red eyes, aching joints or coughs. Sounds pretty much like every last day of vacation for me. The Wife suggested I check, "no," instead of being honest, as these were hangover symptoms for me, not flu. We were then checked for our temperature with a tap on the forehead and sent on our merry way.

The flight home was just as spacious, as I once again had my own row; a fellow could get used to this. Customs and immigration was once again a breeze, making me realize I didn’t really need to slip that little package into Gene’s luggage after all.

So I am back home now: fat, sun-burned, tired and cranky, pretty much like normal, except with a better tan. The Wife seems to have gotten over her infatuation with gay dancers and I’m walking a lot better two weeks after my date with a horse’s backbone. As usual for me, I am already researching our next trip. Instead of using Trip Advisor and other sites though, I now check with the CDC and WHO for the next media-induced panic, so I’ll know where to book my next trip. I’m thinking maybe, Bird Flu in Aruba?