After spending my Spring Break in Mexico, I have come to realize how fortunate I am to live in the USA.

This year I was blessed with the opportunity to go on vacation with my girlfriend’s family to the Allegro Resort in Playa del Carmen, about an hour south of Cancun. The experience was unlike any I’ve ever had. From climbing onto a plane in frigid Chicago to stepping off the same plane in 80-degree Cancun, the experience was nothing less than surreal.

During the week, I witnessed two extremes: the grandiose luxury of Mexican tourism and the unmistakable face of Mexican poverty.

In the van ride from the airport to our resort, I sweated droplets from the heat as I digested the sight of poorly dressed people living in rundown huts constructed from cinder blocks and sticks.

Much of the once lush forestry of the coast was still recovering from the string of hurricanes it endured during the last few years. Most of the debris and destruction had been cleaned up, but it was still unmistakably present.

Our Spanish-speaking van driver tried to break the ice by playing a burned copy of The Beatles’ “1,” which ended up skipping horribly.

After arriving at our destination, the scenery quickly changed to a picture-perfect display of luxury. Perfectly groomed bushes surrounded bubbling fountains and palm trees were all around us as we walked into our hotel’s lobby, welcomed by glasses of champagne and sincere enthusiasm.

The resort was an all-inclusive wonderland, complete with free bars and buffets, multiple swimming pools, a beautiful beach and the nicest staff I’ve ever encountered.

Receiving a healthy dose of sunshine, eating and drinking more than my fill and sleeping eight hours a night were daily occurrences during the course of the week. The more-than-friendly staff never stopped smiling and habitually filled the air with laughter and shouts of “Arriba!” and “Tequila!”

Although the portion of Mexico I was exposed to was highly Americanized, I still felt like I had woken up in an alternate universe. One afternoon we traveled to the nearest town to shop for souvenirs in flea markets and I was astonished at the plethora of things I was exposed to.

One afternoon I was heckled by drug dealers and pimps. It seemed that every time I strayed more than five feet from the group, I was offered pot or hookers (and gay hookers).

The entire flea market seemed to support itself by ripping off naive tourists. Prices were jacked up to ridiculous amounts, and I was able to employ my haggling skills and talk overly pushy street vendors into lowering the price of various souvenirs.

The rest of my week ran the gamut from climbing ancient ruins, snorkeling amidst tropical fish and cliff jumping, to meeting an impoverished man who made his living doing lawn work using a machete – the only tool he owned.

By the end of the week, I was initially very sad to leave (having just had the best vacation of my life), but I’ve since come to realize how grateful I am to live in the United States. Attending a university and having a career is something unheard of by the majority of Mexico. As much as going to class can seemingly suck, I’ve experienced a newfound appreciation for the country I’m blessed to live in.

– Dan McClanahan is a sophomore in pre-journalism and mass communication from Ames.