My flight from Dallas arrived an hour and a half late to Cancun, and my connection, the only flight to Flores, left without me. Maybe I feel grumpy, a little bit -- and perhaps a nice glass of chilled wine will ameliorate any unusual feelings -- but I have had a quarrel with the way transfer passengers have to go through passport control and customs in Cancun before continuing to another country. I would have made my flight to Flores, I think, if they arrange things to better serve transfer passengers. Perhaps I would not have to remain overnight in a resort. Thankfully they had a room for me during this busy season. That's good news number one; good news number two is that I have my bag; three is I have my laptop and access to the internet, and to emails from my Mr. Mallory.
So here I am stranded in Cancun until my flight tomorrow. This place qualifies as "paradise." The beach and the water have truly remarkable shades of white and blue, especially when the rays of the sun pass straight overhead. The hotel I stay in, the Hilton Cancun, seems utterly contrived, as much as Disney Land but in a more subdued way. Oh, I sound so, um, snooty, I know; but, really, this is my first visit to a "resort," and there seems a bit of culture shock to attend to for a person who has grown accustomed to natural habitat-type places -- places where the architecture follows the shape of the land and soothes the soul; places where pelicans have cackled as they fly overhead for hundreds of years, undisturbed by great machines that structure the earth. Here, it seems bulldozers razed the land to erect a cookie cutter structure. At first I could not imagine anyone staying here on purpose; wouldn't it seem better to spend their hard-earned money in a place that would soothe the soul? But as I walked around the pool, then felt the sand under my feet, and then dipped my toes into the ocean, I sympathized with the people who come here. Guests can lay about the pool, snorkel, scuba, swim, paraglide, play golf in a tropical landscape . . . engage in activities they normally do not do, and spend restful time away from the toils and stress of work back home, then return home refreshed and better prepared to face their world.
The travel agency, International Expeditions, responded to my emergency phone call. The voice on the other end, John, told me he would take care of things. My main concern, sitting here in the middle of paradise, consisted of Nathan, who no doubt wondered why I had not arrived in Flores, where he waited for me with the rest of the group. I hope I don't miss anything too important tomorrow: I seem to have left our itinerary at home with my wonderful hubby, Mr. Mallory. Oh, well, perhaps it's best I don't know.
Here, the phone charges seem so exhorbitant, I think they give new meaning to the expression "highway robbery." Rather than incur greater cost, I will count on him checking his email and responding to my messages. I will lurk at my laptop every hour, checking my email. I think I will do fine without interacting with my hubby, my everything, the first day away from him. Tomorrow, though, I will yearn to hear his sweet voice, truly music to my ears.
I met a new friend, Iggy the Iguana. Here is a photo of him. He eats pizza. He is shy, too, like me. We talk a lot.
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