Viva la Mexico

The B5 Gang split up last week when Cowboy and I embarked on a much-needed vacation. Rising at o’dark-thirty, we tossed a few things in bags, kissed Girl 1, Girl 2 & Girl 3 (who didn’t get out of bed to see us off, btw), and headed to the airport. Everything went right…no traffic, quickly found airport parking in the economy long-term lot, immediately picked up by the shuttle, early check-in sped us through the ticket counter, and upon arrival at our gate were told that we would board early and leave early.  YAY! 

The flight was great…no turbulence, smooth landing. We landed 20 minutes early in Cancun, Mexico, and at 10:00 a.m. it was already a sunny 75 degrees. We easily slipped through immigration, found our bags waiting at the luggage carousel, handed our customs paperwork to the attendant, bypassed the vultures trying to sell timeshares in the lobby, and a driver called us by name, escorting us to his van.

Traffic was light, and in 20 minutes we were at Puerto Cancun. I slipped inside, bought two ferry tickets to the lovely Isla Mujeres, boarded the ferry, and in no time at all the captain began backing away from the dock.  I lay my head on Cowboy’s shoulder, breathed in the salt air, felt the tropical breeze blowing through my hair, and must have taken a bit of a siesta, because before I knew it, we were at the resort. A bellman unloaded our bags, opened his arms wide, and said “Welcome home!”

Ahhh…(deep, dramatic, contented sigh…) There could be only one explanation for the easy-breezy path there…

The entire universe had conspired to put us right there, in that very place, at that very time. This could mean only one thing:  I BELONG in Mexico. I was smiling. Cowboy was smiling. The resort staff was smiling. Even those silly Mayan gods must have been smiling.

Our week was amazing. Views previously enjoyed but erased by the passage of time once again flooded our vision. We took in every morsel of it, intent on memorizing the horizon, the crystal clear turquoise waters of the Caribbean, the reflection of the sun’s rays on each surface, the rumble of the waves.  Each night we fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing at our balcony, and awoke to the same. We soaked up the sun and wiggled our toes in sand. We marveled at sea stars, sting rays & colorful fish. We were captivated by pink sunrises, golden sunsets & burning red full-moon dusks. We watched as streaks of lightning pierced a dark night sky, and a colorful rainbow graced the morning's dawn. We met new friends, learned their stories, laughed with them, cried with them, and shared our common faith in the Creator who blessed us to be there together, embracing the beauty that surrounded us. It was an awesome week.

And suddenly, it was Friday evening…the night before the dreaded moving-out-and-going-home day. Cowboy and I decided to deviate from our normal routine and walk into town for dinner. Mistake #1. Never EVER leave a gorgeous, tranquil, private beach with lovely resort restaurant for a tent restaurant on a public beach. Never. Did you hear me? Don’t. Oh, the food was delicious, it was the experience that was excruciating. Inebriated girls stumbled into the sea and “somehow” lost their bikini bottoms. Men (and woman) blew cigar smoke right over our table. Two 60-something grannies decided to change their bathing suits, nearly losing their towels in the process. And then, as if a sign from above, it began to sprinkle. We walked back to our resort and stepped inside the lobby just as the skies opened up and torrential rains came pouring down.

Saturday morning we tossed our things in our bags, headed to the buffet for breakfast, said goodbye to our new friends, checked out of the resort, and headed to the ferry. Once there, I realized something important that would have been nice to have known exactly one week prior. Had I not been captivated by the easy-breezy path, I might have realized it sooner...I had purchased two round trip tickets for the ferry. Hmmm. Where WERE those tickets? Did I keep them? Did I toss them? As I opened suitcases, searched pockets, and dug through bags, the ferry pulled away from the dock. Darn.

After a thorough search, I came up empty handed. No tickets. Darn again. Cowboy rolled his eyes, approached the ticket booth, and bought two ONE WAY tickets to Cancun. We maneuvered our bags through the waiting area and plopped down on a bench. I opened the front zipper of my carry-on to stow away the receipts for the new tickets and guess what I found. Yeesh. The round trip tickets. Oops. This time a “SANDRA!” was attached to Cowboy’s eye-roll. Yikes.

We boarded the ferry, found a seat on the top deck, and made our way to the mainland as dark ominous clouds began to settle above us. We encountered traffic that doubled our transit time to the airport. We stood in a long line of grumpy passengers at the ticket counter, picked the wrong security checkpoint line, and got stuck behind a woman who apparently “looked suspicious” to the TSA. All the while, unbeknownst to us, a monsoon was fixin to hit Cancun. I’m not kidding. Monsoon.

We ambled to our gate where throngs of people filled the seats and overflowed to the floor. Sheets of rain pelted the windows. Grumpy home-goers were drinking their sorrows away in the airport bars. Annoying announcements were being made over ear-piercing loud speakers. Every flight was delayed by the storm.

We waited. And I got antsy. And we waited some more. And I paced.

Finally, four hours after we had arrived at the airport (two hours after we were scheduled to take off) our flight was called to board. “Just wait, San…no hurry,” said the cowboy. So I waited. Against my better judgment, I waited. I was the 2nd to the last person through the gate, and WHO do you think they chose for a “random search”…?  Me. They opened my carry-on, they opened my purse, they ran a metal-detector over me, they patted me down, and soon after they eradicated the last morsel of my dignity, they let me pass. And Cowboy chuckled. I saw it. And I wasn’t happy.

We descended the stairs to the tarmac where there was a bus waiting. Yes, a bus. The rains were so heavy that they were bussing passengers across the tarmac to the waiting plane. We boarded the bus, and I was mentally preparing to make a mad dash for those flight steps. I was DETERMINED to the be the FIRST ONE to board that dry plane, by golly! The other passengers were either old or carrying babies and car seats, so I was SURE I could win the race to the top.  My adrenaline was pumping…I was on my mark…and then Cowboy reached out, touched my arm and said “Just wait, San…no hurry.” So I waited. Against my better judgment, I waited. And I was the 2nd to the last person off the bus.

There was a looooong line of people on those steps waiting to board that plane. I was 2nd to the last in that never-ending line. I got wetter, and wetter, and wetter. The man behind me got impatient and began yelling “PUSH ‘EM IN AND RUN ‘EM OVER!” He sounded a lot like Cowboy (ahem). And it was in that moment that I realized…

The entire universe had conspired to put us right there, in that very place, at that very time. This could mean only one thing: Mexico was taunting me. I wasn’t smiling. Cowboy wasn’t smiling. The tarmac staff wasn’t smiling. And I silently cursed those stupid Mayan gods.

Hasta la vista, baby!