Long distance Mexican buses. Relatively cheap. Includes a cold, shrink-wrapped hot dog with Quaker oatmeal cookies and your choice of soda, water, or peach nectar. Also a never-ending marathon of shoot-em-up movies dubbed in Spanish. Today we saw Die Hard, Iron Man, and Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. I'm quite certain that before today my children had never seen or heard a gun. So long, innocense.
When you're not trying to get comfortable in an un-ergonomically designed seat, you might take in the absolutely spectacular views of the valleys between Vallarta and Guadalajara, including the rows upon rows of blue agave. But most of the time you'll be holding back one or the other daughter's hair while she pukes in a plastic bag. Or checking under your seat to see if said plastic bag is leaking onto the floor of the bus. Oops.
But travel by bus, even "luxury" bus, is cheap. And you don't notice how insane the driving is because you really can't see the road. Or the traffic. Best of all, the kids are separated. No hitting, no kicking, no scratching, poking, shoving, spitting, or screaming.
That, in itself, is probably worth the pukage. At least, it was worth it to me.