pdx-->cun
The way I remember it, I could always fall asleep when I needed to. I have slept in the woods, on airplanes, on buses, fold-out sofas, in the back of a 2 ½ ton truck or riding in cars. I have slept lying down and sitting up, twisted with my head against the wall or resting on my backpack. I considered it a gift. I still have that ability, but to a lesser extent than I remember.
Our plane took off around 10:00 PM on the night of the 24th, I packed very light for a week-long trip. I filled a back pack and brought a smaller book bag along. I fretted a lot over what to leave and what to bring. I worried about everything from my toothpaste to my 4-oz containers of contact solution. The maximum is supposed to be 3 oz. It turned out not to be a problem. I could bring everything on the plane in my backpack which is really a first for me. All my stuff fit well enough under the seat in front of me, but this made it a little hard to stretch my legs.
For comfort, I removed my contacts a little after take-off. The lights on the hills looked like shiny strands of costume jewelry. They would normally have appeared as tiny orange pin-points, but with the contacts out, they appeared as big, gaudy nuggets of gold strung together and draped along the dark landscape.
I slept fitfully in increments of about an hour. My ass was complaining and it was hard to get comfortable. The man sitting next to me in the aisle seat was 85 years old. He was spry though if anyone that age can be called spry. In fact, I doubted his claim. He told me he worked at Nordstrom and that he’d been in retail since 1945 but now he was retired. I realize now that I missed an opportunity to ask him a few more questions. For example, “What do you remember about WWII?”
We saw a carry-on bag for a dog on the flight. I never thought about that and it sure seems like risky business taking your dog along on a flight in a carry-on bag.
We arrived at Charlotte North Carolina at maybe a quarter to six in the morning local time. The shops were closed and we were starting to get hungry. With the help of an airport worker, we found a restaurant that was open. The woman who helped us had dark black skin and a deep southern accent and laughed aloud when my wife mentioned that we hadn't had grits before.
Breakfast in Charlotte was sort of funny. My son was the only one to actually order food at the place the woman recommended. He got bacon, biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs. It seemed too greasy for my wife and it was definitely too meaty for me. I wound up with a egg and cheese bagel. Our daughter got something similar with ham as I recall. My wife got some sort of pizza sauce thing with cheese and veggies on it – but what she wanted was some of the Ian’s meal. Her pizza thing turned out to be a bit inappropriate for breakfast and we laughed about how she often orders new things that she dislikes. The secret must be that the mental image of what you are ordering should correspond somehow with the reality of what you are served. With Shelly, it often doesn't seem to happen that way. In the end, she got to share some of our son’s breakfast – which was probably plenty for two people anyway.
As our flight time approached, the gate started getting crowded. Suddenly, a woman arrived that got everyone’s attention. She was well over six feet tall in her heels. She had long, blond hair and a satin top covered in bright pink and red and brown and white. Beneath that were some of the shortest hot pants I have ever seen, though the effect was probably exaggerated by her overall height. The whole package was extremely conspicuous. It was as if she were ready to go dancing at the Charlotte airport at about 9:00 in the morning. Half the fun was watching other people do double takes as they caught sight of her. I decided to try to sneak a snapshot, which probably makes me some sort of weirdo, but I prefer to think it makes me the guy who thought to take a picture. So we get on the plane and take our seats and guess who sits down right next to my wife. Yep, miss hotpants herself. As a side note, she turned out to be Russian.
We landed in Cancun and took a taxi to Playa Del Carmen which, at $85, was cheaper for the four of us than a shuttle van would have been. We then took the ferry across to Cozumel and took a cab to Casa Colonial. By the time we got the rental car sorted out, it was pretty much time for dinner. We chose a restaurant we remembered fondly from two years before. It is called La Parilla Mission. They have a fairly standard selection of local chicken, beef and fish dishes. We like it because it is walking distance to Casa Colonial, plus they are consistently friendly to us.
One of the waiters there seemed to be flirting with our daughter Jillian. Her Spanish is very good and people seem to love asking her where she learned it. I know enough nouns to understand quite a bit, but she is comfortable using Spanish in many different situations.
Ian and Jill both seemed relaxed and everyone was pleased to be at our destination. It was a long travel day and nice to be able to unwind.
Our plane took off around 10:00 PM on the night of the 24th, I packed very light for a week-long trip. I filled a back pack and brought a smaller book bag along. I fretted a lot over what to leave and what to bring. I worried about everything from my toothpaste to my 4-oz containers of contact solution. The maximum is supposed to be 3 oz. It turned out not to be a problem. I could bring everything on the plane in my backpack which is really a first for me. All my stuff fit well enough under the seat in front of me, but this made it a little hard to stretch my legs.
For comfort, I removed my contacts a little after take-off. The lights on the hills looked like shiny strands of costume jewelry. They would normally have appeared as tiny orange pin-points, but with the contacts out, they appeared as big, gaudy nuggets of gold strung together and draped along the dark landscape.
I slept fitfully in increments of about an hour. My ass was complaining and it was hard to get comfortable. The man sitting next to me in the aisle seat was 85 years old. He was spry though if anyone that age can be called spry. In fact, I doubted his claim. He told me he worked at Nordstrom and that he’d been in retail since 1945 but now he was retired. I realize now that I missed an opportunity to ask him a few more questions. For example, “What do you remember about WWII?”
We saw a carry-on bag for a dog on the flight. I never thought about that and it sure seems like risky business taking your dog along on a flight in a carry-on bag.
We arrived at Charlotte North Carolina at maybe a quarter to six in the morning local time. The shops were closed and we were starting to get hungry. With the help of an airport worker, we found a restaurant that was open. The woman who helped us had dark black skin and a deep southern accent and laughed aloud when my wife mentioned that we hadn't had grits before.
Breakfast in Charlotte was sort of funny. My son was the only one to actually order food at the place the woman recommended. He got bacon, biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs. It seemed too greasy for my wife and it was definitely too meaty for me. I wound up with a egg and cheese bagel. Our daughter got something similar with ham as I recall. My wife got some sort of pizza sauce thing with cheese and veggies on it – but what she wanted was some of the Ian’s meal. Her pizza thing turned out to be a bit inappropriate for breakfast and we laughed about how she often orders new things that she dislikes. The secret must be that the mental image of what you are ordering should correspond somehow with the reality of what you are served. With Shelly, it often doesn't seem to happen that way. In the end, she got to share some of our son’s breakfast – which was probably plenty for two people anyway.
As our flight time approached, the gate started getting crowded. Suddenly, a woman arrived that got everyone’s attention. She was well over six feet tall in her heels. She had long, blond hair and a satin top covered in bright pink and red and brown and white. Beneath that were some of the shortest hot pants I have ever seen, though the effect was probably exaggerated by her overall height. The whole package was extremely conspicuous. It was as if she were ready to go dancing at the Charlotte airport at about 9:00 in the morning. Half the fun was watching other people do double takes as they caught sight of her. I decided to try to sneak a snapshot, which probably makes me some sort of weirdo, but I prefer to think it makes me the guy who thought to take a picture. So we get on the plane and take our seats and guess who sits down right next to my wife. Yep, miss hotpants herself. As a side note, she turned out to be Russian.
We landed in Cancun and took a taxi to Playa Del Carmen which, at $85, was cheaper for the four of us than a shuttle van would have been. We then took the ferry across to Cozumel and took a cab to Casa Colonial. By the time we got the rental car sorted out, it was pretty much time for dinner. We chose a restaurant we remembered fondly from two years before. It is called La Parilla Mission. They have a fairly standard selection of local chicken, beef and fish dishes. We like it because it is walking distance to Casa Colonial, plus they are consistently friendly to us.
One of the waiters there seemed to be flirting with our daughter Jillian. Her Spanish is very good and people seem to love asking her where she learned it. I know enough nouns to understand quite a bit, but she is comfortable using Spanish in many different situations.
Ian and Jill both seemed relaxed and everyone was pleased to be at our destination. It was a long travel day and nice to be able to unwind.
Ian at La Parilla Mission
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