We’re at the ass-end of summer and have but two Airbnb guests left on our schedule. Maybe that’s a good thing. Prior to this trip, I began to feel as if we were running out of places to visit that financially justify renting out our home for the weekend and all that comes with that, like: cleaning, getting over the image of couples less sexy than the Gibsons doing it on our bed, and feeling bad about ransacking hotel rooms when the kids come along for our weekend getaways.

But then we took a day trip to Tecate.

The 40-minute drive through the mountains (State Route 94) and to Tecate felt like an obstacle course. Maybe more so for Amber, who sternly reminded me to stay three car lengths behind traffic, which seemed excessive being that our car has brakes.

Then I saw a roadside memorial dedicated to someone who presumably died on the route. Then I saw another. Soon after, traffic stalled. A pickup truck had crashed into the roadside mountain. There was blood splattered on the door but no sign of a driver. I took Amber’s advice for the remainder of the drive. Well, sort of. I stayed, by my estimate, 2.75 car lengths behind the driver in front of us. Marriage is about compromise.

We parked behind a convenience store on the U.S. side and walked over to Tecate. The crossing is a sleepy part of the border patrolled by a single Mexican agent with a big ass machine gun. He did not acknowledge us. From there, we caught a cab and took the five-minute drive to El Santuario Diegueño, an ultra-luxurious hotel fit for royalty, or P. Diddy, or even me at just $184 a night.

The ceilings in our room were probably 30 feet high. The balcony was covered with flowers (and thorns for any haters below). The bathroom were as nice as the ones at Bloomingdale’s. The bed was soft but just firm enough, like a giant titty. What did we do to deserve this! Nothing much besides having the good fortune to live in the U.S. and benefit from a strong dollar. Thanks, Barack.

Shortly after check-in, we took our peasant funds to Asao, the hotel’s restaurant, and ate like kings. Ninety minutes of joyous gluttony: tuna carpaccio, ribeye steak, seafood pasta, sweet duck tacos, beer, more beer, and wine, and more wine. All for $55, including a $15 gratuity I gave for the great service and to help rid the stereotype that we hyper-melanins our shady tippers.