Writer's Block: Bad trip.
Actually this question is very timely and it begs the questions "What do you do when something you wanted so bad goes so incredibly wrong? Do you laugh or cry?" For me, I did both.
Last month my husband and I took a very long awaited trip to the Dominican Republic. It was the first vacation in 10 years for us since we first got together. It was supposed to be time spent together eating and drinking and resting for 7 whole days! The beginning of the trip was fantastic! We drove to Newark the night before we were supposed to fly from and stayed in a crappy airport hotel with really bad over-priced food. My chicken ceaser salad arrived with no chicken and the glass of wine cost more the the bottle in our local wine store. Despite the raping of the wallet, we were determined to have a great time and even the uncomfortable bed did not deter us. It was cold in northern New England and as I dreamed of 90 degrees and lots of rum I promptly forgot about my job and responsibilities back home. The next morning we were up bright and early and ready to go. The check in was plagued with travelers complaining about a myriad of issues: "My bag only ways 52 lbs, I know the limit is 50 lbs but..." "What happened to personal service?" "I don't know how to check in online..." the complaints continued as I fought back frustration and waited for slow people to move their backsides and their copious amounts of baggage out of the isles so that i could approach an automated check in machine similar to that of a bank ATM. In the time that it took for me to repeatedly swipe our passports through the machine and get our boarding passes printed I kept thinking that i should be sleeping and fought the urge to shove back as a lady wearing a large hat and lugging 3 huges bags practically ran me over as we made our way to the security check in. After stripping down (remove your belt, your shoes, laptops, liquids, gels, medications, sex toys, magnets, lighters, bondage items, glasses, money, jewelry, watches, hats, gloves, jackets, shirts, sweaters, socks, scarves, empty your pockets of cameras, cell phones, beepers, tape recorders, IPods, walkmans, headbands, gold teeth and sunglasses) we piled our laptops and carry on items onto the belt and suffered temporarily as the items of our personal lives were summarily scrutinized by a stranger hidden behind a television screen.
By the time we boarded the plane we were exhausted. I think the rigormoral they subject you to makes you all the more appreciative of the fact that you are going on vacation (if in fact you are going on vacation). The flight was uneventful and we landed in the Dominican Republic early in the afternoon. As we deplaned the intense heat assaulted us like a slap in the face and the sweat broke out on my body in a sheen. I realized that I was over dressed in my jeans, and t-shirt and fleece vest. A Mariachi band played merrily in the distance and got progressively louder as we approached the open air grass covered hut that comprised of the airport.
Flash forward an hour after we waited for our bags and attempted to figure out how to get to our resort...
We took a hairy ride through the gravel streets of the Dominican Republic towards Hague with a driver who started at 100 miles an hour and slowed only to about 70 as he dropped us off at the front entrance of our home to be for the next 6 days. We were greated with a cold glass of champagne and a cool towel soaked in lemon water. The natives were so accomodating as they showered us with hospitality and kindness. As we followed our guide to our room we walked along beautifully landscaped paths flanked by large palm trees and serene water features. The rocks sang to us as they projected music to the people lounging by the large pool enjoying their cocktails-(I dreamed of volleyball and the swim up bar). Our room smelled like a damp basement and our deluxe tropical view consisted of a giant palm leaf. I smiled at the bellman and thanked him for his help. We figured if we turned on the ceiling fan it would circulate the air and the dampness would diminish and as we explored our new room we looked back towards the door in horror. To the right of the door was a sink-THE sink. Next to it was a half glass door that neither sealed on the top of bottom and did not lock-yet it was the only thing seperating the bathroom from the rest of the room. I turned to my husband and said "I don't think we can stay in this room, i will have stage fright." Little did I know that this statement would come back to haunt me later in the trip.
We changed into beach clothes and took a walk to the beautiful shore a few yards away. The crystaline blue water shimmered as waves lapped the fine grained sandy beach flanked by enormous palm trees. We visited the bar promptly and enjoyed the first Pina Colada of the trip as we walked down the beach and listened to the natives peddle their wares (CHEAPY! CHEAPY!) to tourists who drank too much and had nothing to do but waste time. We walked back to our room and tried to nap-ignoring the dank smell of our room and the noisy hallways beyond where doors slammed repeatedly. At dinner, we made our way to the lobby bar which would prove to be one of our favorite spots on the resort and requested drinks. I decided to inquire about changing our rooms and after a lot of haggling we were on our way to a discounted beautiful room complete with vaulted ceilings and a direct view of the pool. With our upgrade, we were granted use of the private beach and pool and a top shelf bar (score!). Our room had an enormous bed which guaranteed we would not have to touch each other and a wonderfully large jacuzzi which guaranteed we would touch each other. It was quiet and it had a bar with unlimited beer. We slept like the dead. For the next two and a half days we laid on the beach and slept under our smurf hut-i read a book and revelled in the fact that my only decisions were: What would I drink? Did I want to read? Did I want to sleep? Should I go to the bathroom and get a burger while I am up? I didn't worry about the internet or what was happening at home and looked forward to swimming in the Carribean for the first time in my life. When I did I lost both of my contacts at the same time 30 seconds into my swim. Donning my glasses for the remainder of the trip I attempted to convince myself that glasses on the beach are in fact cool. I am a good liar. As we developed a steady buzz and a constant state of relaxation and stupor we enjoyed each others company. This was how we filled our days and we were quite happy to continue this routine until all hell broke loose on Sunday evening.
As the sun began to set we decided to call it a day and come off of the beach for the time being-our sole motivation being food. All though we were off the grid we checked email and learned that my father in law had been admitted to the hospital for cardiac arrest. We stayed in contact with the family as we were accustomed to hospitalizations for him and agreed to wait it out since we would not be able to leave that night. We ate two dinners and attended a beach party where drunk people played games on the beach and wiped out in the sand in dizzying displays of confusion and a mass lack of coordination. I laughed until I cried and we retired early. Around midnight i developed the worst pain i have ever felt in my stomach which led to my self imposed exile to the bathroom (THANK GOD THERE WAS A SOLID DOOR!) where I proceeded to lose 9 pounds over the next 6 hours (need i say more?). The phone rang at 3AM and after learning that my father in law had taken a turn for the worst I decided we needed to come home. My husband felt bad that we had to end our trip early but in my mind there was no other option-i was melting internally and externally and his father was laying in a hospital bed while we were in the Carribean. At that point, the main difference between the hubby and I though is that I became a first responder who was capable of moving the mountains and water that lay between us and home. He was not sure what to do or how to do it and that is okay with me. I called our travel agent and inquired about securing a cab, a bell boy and a partridge and a peartree but since it was 4AM i got nowhere. After 8 that morning, I finally got through to the airline after my agent greased the way at 10:15AM (the flight took off at 12:40PM). All fees were waived yet my husband pulls out a credit card and states "we should leave tomorrow, i have to take a shower and we won't have time." It was at this point that I re-inacted a scene from the Exorcist. You know the one i am talking about-where the green girl rises off of the bed and her head spins in a complete 360 while she speaks in tongues. He proceeded to argue that there may not be enough time to get to the airport, that we could lose our hotel room if we leave and miss our flight and that leaving tomorrow would allow us time to get it all together and leave in an orderly fashion. As the anger blinded me I looked at him and shouted "I have been shitting my brains out since last night! My underwear are on inside out AND backwards and you're worried about showering??? get your shit together, get the bags packed and keep your phone on!" I stalked toward the door and detoured to the bathroom where i threw up again before stalking down to the front desk to secure a cab, a bellboy and a guarantee that they would hold our room for us. Within 10 minutes we were on our way to the airport (after paying $40.00 for an 8 minute phone call to the airline and a $40.00 cab ride). The flight was uneventful despite the fact that i could not stop sweating but I was able to stall the bathroom activity for the ride. We landed in Newark where it was really cold and raining and i cried. An hour and a half later we got on the road and I slept to keep from getting sick and when we stopped at a rest stop i decided i would tempt fate with a quarter pounder with cheese, a large fry, an apple pie AND a large diet coke. My husband looked at me like I was crazy and at this point he was right. As we walked into the rest stop it was dusk and the shadows settled into the corners of the parking lot. The also settled into potholes filled with water-specifically the pothole that was big enough to swallow my foot and drop me to the ground in an instant. It knocked the wind out of me and my hands got cut up. Defeated, I rolled over on my back and burst into tears. My husband tried to help me up and was extremely concerned. Reader you may sigh with admiration for him and his ability to put up with me and say "oh how sweet." I begged him to walk away and leave me there on the ground so that the oncoming mack truck could run me over. If the roles had been reversed I probably would have peed myself laughing at him. Covered in blood and soaked to the core i trudged into the building to hide in a stall for a while, and he ordered my "food" after stating the obvious-"it's not a good idea..."
I left the bathrooms and grabbed his keys so i could change in the car (he didn't understand why in my present condition of swamp thing why i would even dream about grabbing clothes and coming back into the building) and when he came out to the car he hesitated to get in in order to shield my naked ass from the public (the windows were fogged up and it was pouring-we resembled each other by the time he got in). The rest of the drive was torturous as we trekked to the hospital an hour and a half away and as he attempted to rise my spirits by poking me teasingly i threatened to break his hand. He stayed away from me for the rest of the night.
The quarter pounder didn't stick around either and as we ended our really long day the next day, just in time to learn that our furnace and boiler blew to the tune of $7k, our cat had eaten all of our plants and I lost 2 good friends on the same day. We need a vacation to recover from the vacation...and if the whole picture weren't so funny i would cry.