A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

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Day 1 - Travel Day, Seattle to Puebla

2/11/06

Had a bit of a close call the morning of our departure. I’m not what one would call a “morning person” and generally try not to recognize that any hours before 7 a.m. even exist. However, when a flight leaves at 7:01, and when the flight is to a foreign destination for a most-expenses-paid family vacation, I’m willing to make a few sacrifices. Yes, I’m just that generous.

Because the flight left at seven, we needed to leave the house by 5:00 am. This semi-tight schedule, mind you, was due only to the fact that my father was not along on this trip. He, in his delightful Aquarian organized Type-A control-freak way, generally arrives at the airport 2 and a half days early just to be on the safe side. As my sister A was in charge, however, it was determined that arriving 90 minutes before the flight would suffice. That’s not to say, however, that A is not also an organized Type-A control freak – she definitely is. It was just that she has a slightly more relaxed attitude about airport scheduling. Plus, as we discussed later, if we had planned to leave the house at 4:30 it would mean getting up in the “3”s, which is clearly nighttime and an unacceptable hour in general unless there is a great deal of alcohol and perhaps Las Vegas involved.

My wake-up time, consequently, was 4:25. Still not a good time – I am not at my best in these situations. Just a couple of months previously I had suffered a similar wake-up time in order to catch the Amtrak, which rolls through my town at 5:45 am (ugh). I planned to get up at 4:45, take a shower, and finish my packing, which I naturally had not done the night before like a normal responsible person.

I woke up without the alarm, glanced at the glowing digital clock and leaped out of bed in panicked horror. OH MY GOD I HAVE 7 MINUTES UNTIL MY TRAIN WHERE THE HELL IS THE DAMNED CAB DRIVER!?!?!?!? I galloped through the house pulling on mismatched clothing and stuffing random items into my luggage, and was simultaneously brushing my teeth, checking the Amtrak website, and flipping through the phone book with the intention of making a screaming and semi-profane call to the taxi company, when I heard, from somewhere in the distance, the soothing tones of Steve Inskeep, introducing the next NPR Morning Edition story. Yes, you guessed it. I had indeed awoken 7 minutes before my alarm went off. Sadly, before 7 am I am seemingly incapable of accomplishing the most basic tasks, including, obviously, telling time. What’s even sadder is that I have a digital clock. What’s sadder than that is that this wasn’t the first time I had made a similar mistake.

I digress, of course, but that tale is illustrative of my previously introduced premise that early mornings are a frightening and dangerous time, none more so than on the first day of a trip. So to recap, it was 4:25 am, and I staggered to the bathroom semi-blind, having misplaced mi glasses. A shower was clearly in order. How was I to know the dangers that existed in A’s guest bathroom?

Hair suitably dampened, I reached for the shampoo and squeezed a dollop into my palm. Mmmm, apple scent! I’d be the freshest smelling gal on the plane. It was only as I returned the shampoo to the shelf that I caught a glimpse of a blurry german shepherd on the bottle. At first this just seemed an oddity that my brain only semi-processed, but just before the green blob got dropped on my head, I had the sudden AWAKE realization that I was using dog shampoo. Aaurgh. Did I really need to protect myself from any fleas and ticks that might be hopping about the airplane? This was clearly All A’s Fault. It’s just irresponsible for a hostess to subject her guests to such early morning trauma. I mean, for crying out loud, that shampoo was indistinguishable in color from the herbal Cucumber-Melon Body Wash that she also had in there. Only time will tell if therapy will be needed.

After the morning trauma, the journey went quite smoothly for the most part, although oddly, we got to see the paramedics come onto both our flights, something I’d never seen. On the first flight the kid directly behind me was practically puking up a lung and looked like he was in the later stages of consumption. Naturally, I noticed nothing amiss, as my attention was fully captured by a series of New York Times crossword puzzles, the remainder of my book-on-CD, and the adorable baby girl with the strawberry hat sitting just ahead of me.

The incident on the second flight was more inconvenient for all. Some yahoo (not that I’m making any judgments here) felt extremely sick, throwing up, etc. and waited until we were backing up from the gate to decide she couldn’t take it anymore. The challenge these days is that the puking woman could in fact be a very crafty terrorist, possibly with a SAG card or maybe just a background in community theater. Thus, while it only took 5 minutes to get her and her family off the plane, it took another 30 or more to ferret out all their luggage in the belly of the plane. By the way, were you aware that the airline clerk now asks for your next of kin when he checks you in? Kind of morbid and reassuring at the same time.

We landed in Mexico City around 5 pm, and the only thing worth comment was the push-button customs check. After we picked up our luggage we handed off our card to the Customs officer, who then directed us to the Yellow Button. It was a mini-kiosk with a single yellow button to press, after which the monitor tells you if you’re free to go or will be subject to a luggage search. Mom was the only one to get picked, and not only does she look like the least likely smuggler in history, she also greeted the searching table with a chirpy “So I’m the lucky one!” Her search was cursory, at best – open suitcase, touch clothes, ask friendly question, Muchas Gracias.

The traffic in Mexico City was awful as usual, but as our luxury bus driver had never met a lane change he didn’t like and drove like he was competing for a Nascar slot, we arrived in Puebla in just a couple hours. Sadly, this was about 10 minutes before our movie ended – a ridiculous King Arthur film that was only redeemed by the presence of the smoldering Clive Owen. Mmmm, Clive Owen.

Our hotel in Puebla, the Camino Real, was absolutely gorgeous. A restored convent, it is rife with elegant arches, 17th century wall paintings, carved doors and charping courtyards punctuated with classical statuary and fountains. I had practically worn the battery out on my digital camera before we even left the hotel.

Dinner was the usual exercise in getting lost in a new city. the desk clerk, who made the recommendations, was less than competent. She tried to give us rooms with only one bed, and managed to mark two non-existent restaurants on the map for us. We never found either of her suggestions, but ended up in the midst of the live music night scene of Los Sapos as well as the more family-oriented beehive of the Zocalo, the central plaza in front of the lovely and impressive Basilica. Decorative lit giant trees, hundreds of strolling families, competing singers, bands and marimba players, and crowded sidewalk cafes reminded me of how great and different it is to be in a country that is more night-oriented. We finished dinner around 10:45 and still saw kids and their parents wandering around, listening to music and losing their balloons. We had our first taste of Mole, the chocolate/chile sauce native to the region. It was good, though Mom began to fear for her digestive system if our entire week of cooking was to be equally spicy.

The other regular visitor to the plaza was the parade of sirened police cars and trucks with armed cops leaning on roll-bars military-style, who would periodically careen through the festivities for no apparent reason. Maybe to show the folks they mean business -- we wouldn't want all those grandpas and marimba players to get out of line. They might end up popping some balloons without government clearance or something.

That's all for today -- here are a couple more pictures of the lovely Camino Real:








© 2006 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 7:47 AM