When I first asked my parents if I could go to South Padre Island with my friends Maddy Heck and Jessica Garcia, both Free State High School students, they were pretty skeptical. Even when I mentioned that we would be chaperoned, the idea of sending their daughter to one of the most cliche spring break party spots wasn’t comforting.

They agreed though, and we booked some cheap, indirect flights and reasonable hotel rooms, and spent months in anticipation of basking in the hot, southern Texas sun.

Despite an early flight out of Kansas City, our relay race of planes and rental cars came to an end without a hitch. The only unpleasant experience involved unsanitary bathrooms and tiny $7 boxed salads in the Dallas airport.

Once there and in the tropical air, we suddenly remembered why people bother to travel. It’s funny how palm trees can make any hotel parking lot look exotic and beautiful. I have been traveling since I was a kid, but I am continually astonished at how I can wake up in slushy, freezing Kansas, and the same day watch the sunset in the desert. After getting over the initial shock of our new climate and eating for what felt like the first time in days, we set out to make our trip as busy and fun as possible.

We were approached in our hotel by a tan, fast-talking man with an official-looking MTV badge who claimed to be running out of tickets to the next day’s beach party. We cautiously declined, not wanting to be scammed on our first day in South Padre. The second time we ran into him, however, we gave into our desire to meet people from “The Real World.” After having our picture taken with a few D-list celebrities – I’ve already forgotten their names – we quickly lost interest.

Feeling a little dejected, but optimistic, we made plans to go snorkeling early the next morning.

Unfortunately for us, a rare cold front greeted us the next day. After driving to the other end of the island, we found out it was too cold to snorkel. I then made it my mission to find an activity for us, since lying on the beach was out of the question. After calling every over-priced jet ski place and discovering the water park didn’t open for months, I was down to my last tourist pamphlet from the hotel lobby. It was labeled “Fun, Fun, Fun Tours of Mexico” and had a fuzzy picture of a bearded man standing in from of an ancient Ford van. I made reservations for our group and was mildly confused when the overly friendly woman on the phone promised that our tour guide named Skipper would take care of us like a grandpa, but also show us where to get $1 margaritas.

Armed with bottled water and varying levels of high school Spanish, we set out with Skipper to Matamoros, Mexico, which was about 45 minutes away.

We went to a small bartering market where my knowledge of the Spanish words for “bathroom,” “how much,” and “no thank you” were sufficient to get us by. We didn’t buy overpriced items from the shops, but couldn’t resist buying gum from an adorable little boy. We also ate some authentic Mexican food at a little restaurant near the market.

Although we ended up buying sweatshirts thanks to surprisingly cold weather, I had an amazing time in South Padre. I tried five new kinds of seafood, including snapper and crab, and even managed to gag down a piece of sushi. I saw dolphins for the first time during a sunset dolphin watch.

I won’t lie. My parent’s suspicions were right. There were 99-cent beer bongs advertised in every gift shop, and some of our hotel neighbors decided to move their bed onto the lawn one night, but it wasn’t as wild as I had suspected.