A six hour flight from home left me tired but excited to begin my new adventure. I missed travel. I missed meeting new people, viewing new sites, tasting different foods, and simply walking around a different environment. I missed the variety. I missed the change.
And I needed the diversion.
Travel is escapism. I am not apologizing for my eagerness to go somewhere. I always enjoyed travel, but recently travel has become a form of therapy for me, a way to temporarily find a bit of relief from the toxic atmosphere permeating my country.
It has been four months since we sold our house and moved into an apartment. I love the floor to ceiling windows that bring light into my rooms all day. I love the space not yet filled with clutter, the oversized bedroom large enough – for the first time in my life – for a king size bed, the large closets and kitchen cabinets with extra space I can fill with future travel purchases. But…
I do not like the cold, both literally and figuratively, and this winter has been brutal. Frigid weather, temperatures in the single digits and wind chills minus single or teen numbers (Fahrenheit), unfortunately match the dark, cold winter our country currently experiences.
The trip to our destination lasted almost 24 hours. A driver picked us up at 5:00 p.m. for the two hour drive to Newark Airport. Newark is not the closest airport to our home, but the only place we could book a nonstop flight to Guadalajara, Mexico. We opted for the extra drive rather than switch planes along the route. We had a quick dinner in the hotel restaurant, then retired for the night. I was already exhausted. I set the alarm for 3:45 a.m. and went to bed.
The alarm jolted me awake in the middle of the night. Bleary-eyed, I dressed and dragged myself and my bags to the lobby. The hotel van drove us to the airport. Usually travelers are deposited at the airport train for the ride to their particular terminal. Since Steve uses a rollator (walker), the driver was kind enough to drop us off at our terminal entrance, saving time and much hauling of luggage through the airport.
I had requested a wheelchair for Steve. Wheelchair travel in an airport, we have discovered, delivers you to the entrance of security, customs, and directly to your gate, bypassing long lines, a common airport occurrence.
We booked our flight on Volaris, a budget Mexican airline. I did not realize the flight offered nothing on board for free, not even a glass of water. One food kiosk was open in the terminal, and I purchased breakfast sandwiches and coffee to munch on the plane. Experience has taught me to expect poor food on planes, and passengers may have to wait a long time to get anything. We were hungry and I knew the sandwiches, however mediocre, would beat any airline food.
Breakfast was satisfying and edible, probably because we were hungry having been awake for hours before we settled into seats and unwrapped our meal.
During the flight I napped, read some, and napped again. Midday our flight landed without incident. We picked up our bags, headed towards the exit, and searched for Fortunato, our driver who would whisk us to our home for the next month. We were told he would be holding a sign with our name on it.
Soon we were safely settled in comfortable van seats, and viewed the landscape as we whizzed by. Industrial sites predominated, then country landscape with rolling hills of low bushes, grasses, and recently planted crops. Retail stores and restaurants dotted land adjacent to the highway.
Within an hour the van climbed the mountain to Lake Chapala and Ajijic.
I hoped my mind would begin to calm as the distance lengthened between home and Mexico. The venomous atmosphere at home was impossible to avoid unless one wore ear plugs, blinders, ignored news, commentators, talk shows, and videos on all social media, radio and TV, and refused to listen to or talk to anyone about anything happening in the country.
I am too much a news nerd to follow my own advice.
I am an optimist, but trying times strain my optimism. I need to step back and regenerate before moving forward. I want to plunge into the protest movement and make my contribution, but feel rootless. What can I do that will make a difference?
I can write. I can talk to people. I can read and educate myself, and possibly educate others – if they will listen with an open mind.
We are not completely cutting ourselves off from home. A major American event occurred while we were in Mexico, and we didn’t want to miss it. We watched Super Bowl LX at a bar in the Mexican town of Ajijic, jam-packed with ex-pats and visitors from the U.S. I enjoyed a favorite fairly unhealthy repast of wings and a Coca Cola Light. I communicated with fellow Americans for one evening without descending into a political rabbit hole. We shared a table with Texans from a small town. Their political leanings? I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.
Sadly, even the big game became a political football. Which half time show did you watch – Bad Bunny or the competing MAGA show?
When will the craziness end?