5:00 a.m. wake-up call courtesy of the cat, standing directly on me. This is his move when we sleep too long or he wants attention. He hasn’t done it in a while, but when he decides it’s time for lovin’, you’d better move fast.
Time to wake up, find some energy, and get a little work done. Olivia, my business partner, is moving today, so I need to step up on the business side — blogs to write, final checklists, the usual last-minute “did I forget something?” spiral. Packing is done. Shower, sweep the kitchen, and pack my carry-on with snacks.
Chris is taking me to breakfast, so of course I need to review the menu first. I’m no longer in full panic mode — just quietly hoping I didn’t forget anything important.
Chris wants to be down for breakfast by 10:15. Breakfast is at Olga’s at 10:00. The place has been open for over 30 years and only takes cash. You’d think that wouldn’t work in a world where no one carries cash anymore, but the restaurant is always packed — regulars, locals, the same faces every day.
I order a bacon cheeseburger with fries. Why breakfast food for lunch? Because I have an egg allergy and I really don’t feel like taking medication for something that could potentially kill me. Even with medication. Sigh. Breakfast and I are no longer friends.
Uber arrives quickly, and we load the final luggage count into the trunk:
• one 50-pound suitcase
• one 20-pound suitcase
• two backpacks
We have everything we need. And if we don’t? I officially don’t care.
The flight app tells us to be at Tampa International three hours early. Not sure why, but off we go. Boarding isn’t until 1:30 p.m., but airports love to keep you guessing.
It was cool in the restaurant. It’s cool in the airport. I didn’t forget my light jacket… but of course it’s in my checked luggage.
TSA is smooth, except Border Patrol is waiting on the ramp to the plane, asking everyone for passports. I comment that I wasn’t expecting that. The officer looks at me and says, “This is called a gotcha moment.”
I reply, “If you got me, you’d give me right back.”
He laughs. I’ll count that as a win.
We finally find our terminal and suddenly it feels like we’ve entered the Twilight Zone. We haven’t even left Tampa. Tampa, Florida. America. And yet the woman on the loudspeaker announces everything in Spanish. No English follow-up. No translation. Just Spanish.
I wouldn’t have minded Spanish and English — but no. We’re Group 4, back of the plane, and have no idea when we’re boarding.
Once on the plane — Copa Airlines — Spanish is clearly the first language. I get that. But I am a redheaded white girl. I do not remotely look Spanish or bilingual. They absolutely speak English, because when I ask a question, I get an English answer. Even the pilot joins in, doing announcements in Spanish first, English as an afterthought.
Then comes the turbulence.
Dear Lord.
I hate flying. I’ll do it for travel — but this was rough. Seatbelt stayed on the entire flight. The turbulence was bad enough that every time I closed my eyes, I felt like we were dropping out of the sky.
They announce in the app that earbuds are available from the flight attendants. I ask. They laugh at me and say they don’t have any, like I asked for something wildly inappropriate. No movies for me.
Snacks: plantains, berry cookies, and Coke Zero. I guess diet soda isn’t a thing here.
We depart early, which means we arrive early. Unfortunately, that earns us a four-hour layover. Since we’re in the back of the plane, it takes about 15 minutes to get off. First priority: the bathroom. I haven’t gone since we left the house, and my husband has the bladder of a four-year-old.
We start walking to the next terminal. Ten minutes go by. Then more. We finally see a sign telling us we’re halfway to Terminal 103 — with another 12 to 15 minutes still to go. Sigh.
We decide to eat before boarding because we won’t get to the hotel until midnight. Long travel day. We cave and eat at Olive Garden — not our usual travel choice, but at this point Chris wants pasta, I want pizza, and we don’t care where it comes from.
Food was fine. As we finish, we realize we still have another five-minute walk. We show up early like they told us to… and wait.
While waiting, Chris plays on his phone, desperately trying to charge it because 39% won’t get you far. I type out my blog for the daily news. Eventually, we board again — back of the plane — and up we go.
The flight is only 45 minutes, but takeoff and landing are rough. Turbulence continues its reign of terror. No matter what time you fly today, you’re bouncing.
We land and exit directly onto the tarmac. Apparently building a jet bridge was optional. It’s 11:00 p.m. and we are exhausted.
Immigration wants to know everything — including the name and phone number of the hotel we’re staying at. Once through that, we’re immediately confused again. Everything is in Spanish, and we need to find our luggage… to put it through a scanner… before we can exit?
Sure. Why not.
To top it all off, our very kind cab driver cannot find the hotel. We drive in circles. Multiple times. I finally pull up the address and plug it into GPS myself — and sure enough, there it is. Turns out we passed it several times, but without a neon sign screaming HOTEL HERE, it was ignored.
11:45 p.m.
I am in bed.
Too tired to unpack.
Sleep takes over in 3.3 seconds.
Until tomorrow.
Add comment
Comments