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August 07, 2008
Travels
I adore the international terminal of the airport. The girls dressed in miniskirts with punk rock hair and cowboy boots are straight out of Shinjiku, right next to scruffy backpackers who have clearly forgone all hygiene products in an effort to avoid the no-liquids rule at security. The old Pakistani couple sleeping head-to-head on a long row of benches, with a Care Bears blanket swathing the woman from prying eyes intermingles with the chic Parisian businessmen wearing sharply cut suits that would make Anderson Cooper proud.
I’ve made it to Chicago, where the 15 minute walk to the international terminal is like a journey to another country. The middle-aged woman in sweats that reminds me a bit of my mother next to me is speaking something resembling Tagalog, and there are the requisite number of people sprawled along the walls to be in closer proximity to the ever-precious electrical outlets. It seems that no matter where you are from, you have at least two devices that need charging.
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Now I’m in Guadalajara, where I’ve made it past the hundreds of garish billboards and shantytowns on the way from the airport, to a hotel where I was unexpectedly upgraded from a twin bed “single” room to a junior suite. The hotel is lovely, right in the middle of the historic old town, and I’ve taken a shower to wash the filth of air travel off and had a surprisingly spicy dinner of enchiladas verdes while being serenaded by a delightful bolero group in the hotel foyer. A few margaritas have been consumed, and I’m pleasantly tipsy, just now realizing how romantic the setting is and feeling more than a little sad that Mr. MMB had to bail on our vacation plans. With this nice hotel room, I’m sure I could find many things to occupy our time.
Instead, I will crawl into bed with my iPod and probably fall asleep within seconds – having gotten only 2 hours of sleep last night. In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to get 2 hours, but I forgot to set my alarm and thus was awakened only when my parents knocked on the door to take me to the airport. Thank goodness I had packed the night before—I just had to brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw on some clothes to make it out the door 10 minutes after the insistent knocking alerted me that something was amiss.
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I’ll admit it, I’m feeling a little homesick. Usually my travel is all business, and usually I don’t have someone waiting for me at home. But this time it’s different, and I have a feeling that there are going to be some unpleasant moments—like the 5 minutes when I couldn’t control the weepiness associated with missing Maya and her soft black puppy ears during the hair-raising ride to the hotel (where lane lines were made to be crossed--in haste and with no regard for the driver's blind spot). And of course I happened to bring along a book that mid-way through (and about an hour away from Guadalajara) suddenly blossomed into a September 11th drama and then all I could think about was the potential dangers of me traipsing about Mexico for the next couple of weeks while Mr. MMB plays in Yemen with their open air gun markets. I’ve never been in a place where I felt such worry over silly and highly unlikely scenarios – and yet I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time fretting about car accidents, kidnapping plots, and terrorist attacks.
On the other hand, the margaritas have dulled that anxiety a bit, and I’m looking forward to a night of blissful sleep and a day of adventure tomorrow. Happy travels, dear reader.
Comments
Are you reading "The Whole World Over"? Keep going. I loved it so much at the end but did want to quit halfway through.
I know exactly what you mean - reading material for travels should come with warning labels.
Posted by: Elizabeth at August 8, 2008 12:19 PM
