The Adventure Begins!!!

We are in Merida. And, my, what an adventure John had to get here.

My experience was relatively simple. I simply got lost in the Mexico City airport, could not find anyone who could adequately understand my English to give me proper directions, ended up outside the airport, had to go through security again,almost missed immigration, and got to my gate just at EXACTLY the right time to walk straight onto the plane!

When I got to Merida, I found a Taxi stand outside the airport building – something new, you pay before you get in the taxi – remembered to get my “recebo,” was soooooo grateful that in the darkness of the early evening I had a taxi because I would have never otherwise found the hotel which was down a very narrow one-way street after a harrowing half hour drive through very crowded streets and cars and trucks jutting out into traffic and loads of pedestrians on the sidewalks and crossing the streets.

On top of all that, you would have never even known there was a hotel at the spot where the taxi stopped. No neon lighted sign. No big painted sign. Only a very discreet awning with three inch high letters saying, “hotel” and engraved on the window glass, “Dolores Alba.”

As I entered the lobby, I first saw a striking reproduction of a self-portrait of Freida Kohla, the great Mexican artist. She looked gorgeous dressed in a red dress with her hand brushed tentatively on her neck with gorgeous red flower on her head. I have seen the movie about Frieda, loved it and felt instantly at home when I saw this painting.

However, Frieda was a strange internally distressed human being, fluttering between bi-sexuality, angry with the infidelities of her fellow-artists husband, and tortured by a tragic bus accident that left her crippled and in great pain for most of her life. Her self-portraits, with her black single eyebrows staring back at me, felt slightly disturbing.

My feelings were not unfounded because John should have been waiting for me at Dolores Alba and he was no where to be found. He was supposed to fly into Cancun at about 1:00 p.m., rent a car, and drive to Merida. We would meet at Dolores Alba in Merida and would be on the same schedule the rest of the trip. Where was he?

After I checked in and showered, he still had not arrived. I was very hungry but felt too tired to walk the “three block and one over or five blocks in the other direction” to find an open restaurant in the darkness. Furthermore, I felt that if I left the hotel, John might arrive and I could miss him.

I decided to buy a package of “japonais” flavored coated peanuts in the vending machine, buy a bottle of water – made the mistake of starting to brush my teeth before I remembered to use only bottled water – felt I was too tired to go out so, after standing outside the hotel for a while hoping John might drive the busy narrow street without obvious hotel markings and flag him down.

He did not drive by. I had half the package of peanuts in my room, drank some “agua purificado” from the bottle, brushed my teeth with the same water and decided that wherever John was, I needed to get my sleep to better look for him, if he did not turn up, the next morning.

I reminded myself that John is a very hardy individual and has survived retying ropes to his beloved sailboat during hurricane Isabel, was lost in Paris for five hours while I waited for him to pick me up and because my intuitiion was working at a full ability “knew” he was lost on the circular and triangular Parisian streets so left my luggage with the concierge and went for lunch at a nearby bistro.

The long and the short of it was that I turned the a/c on in my room and fell asleep.

A wakened to hear tapping sounds on the door. John’s voice whispered, “Carol, it’s me.”

He’d made it. I shuffled to the door. It was him!

My first thought was, “What time is it?” Isn’t it strange what you think of to say first. Not, “Thank God, you made it,” or “Darling, darling!” It was obvious he’d made it and obvious I missed him since we were hugging.

“3 AM,” he said.

He told me that his plane, out of Miami, had turned back after being one hour in the air. Later, the co-pilot explained that the windshield of the plane had developed a crack and they had to turn back.

In the end, he was delayed by seven hours arriving in Cancun.

I am really proud of myself that I did not go into a warp-drive panic. Maybe my intuition was working in spite of how tired and exhausted I felt from a day flying from Richmond to Dallas to Mexico City and finally to Merida.

More on John’s adventures driving here and finding the hotel later.

Carol Chapman

Copyright (c) 2009 Carol Chapman