Another airport. Another upcoming flight. Get up in what seems to be the middle of the night. Walk a mile from hotel (which doesn’t offer early morning shuttle service for an early morning flight.... Delta rep says “Thanks for choosing Delta.” And I beg, “Just please don’t lose my luggage.” She replies, “Well, can’t guarantee that.” Umm, not reassuring. I didn’t pack a lot into the checked baggage but after figuring out the clothes I would need for slightly chilly, slightly damp (who am I kidding?) Ireland, I knew that I couldn’t manage with just a carry-on. But so far so good. I somehow got “TSA Pre approved” so I didn’t have to take my shoes and jacket off, I didn’t have to unpack my liquids or iPad. And I didn’t set the detector off and subject myself to a pat down. It’s all good. Especially as I reflect on past travels....
My first flight as a “grown up” was with a friend to Freeport Bahamas. It was through Sun Tours, Air Canada’s shoestring vacation company. And it WAS a shoestring for me. I never had a lot of money once I was on my own—partly because I didn’t earn a lot of money and partly because my budgeting skills were not the greatest—so I found myself at the end of the holiday very short. Too many rum punches. My kind friend (and yes, she is still a friend) lent me $10 so I could eat the last day of our holiday. I came back from Freeport very tanned, very tired, with a bad cold. Don’t fly with a bad cold unless you’ve swallowed a bottle of decongestants. A week after I returned my ears were still blocked. But it was fun and my traveling life had begun.
Two years later another friend (who I have since lost touch with) suggested we take a two-week tour of the Yucatán. Sounded exotic. I tentatively said yes but as the time grew closer, I worried I wouldn’t have enough money. “You can’t back out now, I am counting on you,” she said. So I borrowed on my credit card (sigh) and off we went. Flight from Montreal to Mexico City was fine. But when we got to Mexico City, they had overbooked the next flight to Merida and bumped us off. Guess they figured two “girls” in their early 20s, no big deal. We hung around Mexico City Airport for four hours and finally after threatening (empty threats, but they worked) they let us on a flight to Merida. Arrived at 9 p.m. to find—guess what—they had overbooked the hotel so bad news no room. Good news they found us another hotel for the night. Bad news it was on the other side of town and we would have to pay for the taxi. Good news it was a really nice hotel (better than the one we had booked actually). Bad news breakfast wasn’t included as it had been in the first hotel. And of course there was the taxi back to the first hotel (we couldn’t switch our reservation sadly.)
Merida was interesting, my first time in a foreign country since Freeport (the U.S. wasn’t a foreign country to a Canadian back in the 1970s.) My friend enjoyed all the attention from the Mexican men, I wasn’t sure. Especially when one older man, who with his companion had joined us at our table for an evening meal, commented “I would never let my daughter travel unaccompanied.” And then proceeded to wine and dine my friend. Less said about that, the better. We stayed in Merida for four days then travelled (by local bus, complete with chickens) to Chichen Itza, where we stayed at an old hacienda that had been part of early 20th century archaeological research. Very humid, very jungly (got used to shooing the tarantulas out of the bathroom) I could almost imagine I was part of an old Harlequin Romance. Except there was no tall dark and handsome stranger giving me smoldering stares across the dining room. Oh well, I learned a lot about the Mayans, some of which was contradictory depending on which tour guide we had that day. (Yes there were human sacrifices, no there weren’t, they would sacrifice heroes after a futbol game [which they played with human heads], no that was all nonsense.) Three days in Chichen Itza, back we went to Merida and took a flight to Cozumel which back then was very undeveloped and beautiful. Swimming was the main thing to do that week although my friend once again found a handsome young man to be with. Just not my luck I guess. On arrival at the the airport I discovered that Mexico had a $15 departure tax. Pay them $15 or you don’t get to leave. Cash. So once again I had to borrow from a friend. And then I missed my connection in Toronto (my friend and I weren’t flying the same route back, I had had to stop in Toronto to get some printouts [the days of localized computing] for my company. I had no money for a hotel so had to swallow my pride and call my boss in Montreal, who authorized a night’s hotel stay. Back in Montreal, the friendship considerably cooled as I stared at my MasterCard bill, it would be two years before I attempted another foreign holiday.
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