from Hell - Part 3
The best time of day was after the sun went down. It cooled off a little and the club looked beautiful with all the night lighting. We liked to walk along the little paths near the ocean. At least, I did until two iguanas about the size of raccoons scuttled across the path we were on. I'm not usually skittish about icky animals, but the reptiles and bugs in this place had nightmarish proportions. Ned thought my shrieking was really funny, and I guess I did too, in a hysterical freaked-out kind of way.
The first night they had other restaurants open (I think it was Wednesday) instead of the buffet, we went first to the "Surf-and-Turf" restaurant. Well, Ned doesn't like surf and the turf looked a little leathery for my taste, so we went to the other restaurant that was open--Italian. This is the way it worked: first course is a help-yourself antipasto bar, second course is a pasta dish, third course is one of three meat dishes, and final course is some kind of dessert. The anti-pasta had obviously been sitting out for a couple of hours, or the flies just worked fast. Ned ordered the beef and I ordered the turkey (only other choice was seafood--bleh). They brought us our pasta and it was a shade of orange that outdoes any Chef-Boyardee I've ever seen. A half-an-hour after we finished picking at our pasta, the food-server came to tell me they were out of turkey, would I like something else? Okay. One hour and fifteen minutes later (I timed it), the hostess came up to ask us what kind of dessert we would like. I informed her that we had yet to be served our main course. She had a brief moment of surprise before asking if we would like some more wine while she investigates about our dinner. Smart girl. I told her to forget my entree, because that pasta pretty much did it for me. They eventually brought Ned's and we managed to get out of there before I completely went off on every single staff person there.
In the middle of the night Ned started moaning--the meat dish got him. He was absolutely miserable for the rest of the week, not to mention making me think he was at death's door in the very beginning. Beautiful timing I have to say--right when I'm beginning to feel well enough to do some things and eat something besides fruit and mashed potatoes.
I think I forgot to mention that until this point Ned and I have been keeping to ourselves our feelings about how this honeymoon is going. We finally admitted to each other that we were having a rotten time and spent the rest of the week consoling each other with "Only four more days...only two more days." Pathetic.
So that's our honeymoon. You think it's over? Oh no. We still have to get home, right?
During the week I have been trying to get a hold of our travel agent and tell her that she flew us to the wrong goddamn airport (you remember that goddamn airport, right?). She says she told Ned that the tickets were to the wrong airport, but that they would be good for a flight to the right airport--NOT! So I tell her she needs to get us reservations out of Huatulco, not Oaxaca, for the flight to Mexico City. No problem, she says; all taken care, of she says. And I believed her! Not only did we not have reservations for the correct flight, but we had to wait until the last second to get seats and run for the plane before it left without us.
But wait; I need to interject a little story before I finish the flight home. When it was time to leave our beloved Club Med, we made reservations for a taxi back to the airport. This is another beautiful example of the very business-like and extremely silly professional pretense we kept running into. Ned and I and one other couple (that makes four people--follow closely) were the only people going back in this van. We went up to the little desk where a man gave us our tickets while the driver looked on behind him. Here's how it worked: the ticket had three sections. He filled out each section with the same information. He then tore off one section, kept it, and gave us the remaining two connected sections. Then the four of us walked over to the van, with the driver (who had been looking on the entire time), and climbed in. The driver then leaned in and said with all seriousness, "tickets please." We all looked at each other with a small amount of confusion, and then handed over our tickets. The driver proceeded to tear off the second portion of the ticket and stick it in his pocket. We were then allowed to keep the third portion for our own records.
The best part of this entire journey was the flight from New Mexico to Puerto Vallarta. We were going to have to wait about five hours for our flight. However, we got to the ticket counter just as they were starting to board an earlier flight and the ticket guy let us take that one (a beautiful, beautiful man). There was almost no one on the plane so Ned and I got three seats to ourselves. They served us a cold chicken dish which was delicious and which we inhaled--both being able to eat once again--and very, very cold beer. That, plus the fact that we were going home made us deliriously happy. The only down side was that three little children were sitting directly in front of us. They kept bouncing up and down and spilling my beer! The first beer I'd been able to drink all week! I started to scold them about it, but just their luck, they didn't speak English.
At this point, we have finally learned our lesson and know that this is too good to last. So, right on the I-can't-believe-this-is-actually-happening time schedule, the group that got on the flight in Puerto Vallarta consisted of about 200 high-school kids on their graduation celebration. All the way home we listened to overly-loud walkmans, somebody yelling at somebody who's in their seat because they want to sit next to their friend, "I-was-so-wasted" stories, and two assholes screaming, "We're gonna die!" during the landing while the plane fishtailed all over the wet runway in San Francisco.
We did manage to get home to our apartment, even though we arrived five hours early so no one was at the airport to pick us up. I'd tell you about how things went from there, how we had to move the next day, then I started summer school the day after, and then the band went into the studio the week after that, but I don't think anyone would believe that someone's life could be so amazingly disastrous. I would like to end on a positive note, however. At the time, Ned and I said to each other that if we could live through a honeymoon like that, we could get through anything. I'm beginning to believe it.
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