extrawords

april 29, 2007

Miss Blistering Sunburn 2007

It's not easy to achieve a title at luminous as "Miss
Bliserting Sunburn 2007" or the equally prestigious "
Runner Up Miss Welt 2007" They say success is when
opportunity and and preparation meet. I can certainly
attest to that.

It all began with a purchase with an airline ticket to
Honduras. Visions of sun and rainforests danced in my head.
Several weeks later at a party, an inebriated married woman
offered to read my tarot cards. As a novice in the world of
metaphysics, I agreed figuring no harm could be done. The
first round of cards were dealt, and my fortune teller's
smile diminshed ever so slightly. The second round was
dealt and the smile disappeared altogether. After the third
and fourth round, she began to emphatically emphasize how
wonderful my like will be...just not now. For now it will
seem that the universe is against me. It's going to get
better, but I might as well be on suicide watch for the
time being. Sometimes parties are not that fun. The phrase
"the universe is against me" has become my all too true
mantra.

After weeks of much anticipation, beautiful and sunny
Honduras finally awaits me with a 5:30 am flight. Whoever
imagined such an idea really needs to be shot. I board the
plane and become unconscious instantly. I awake only to
hear the pilot announce that my flight has been rerouted
from Houston to New Orleans. The Houston airport has been
closed for arrival due to fog, we must wait for clearance
in New Orleans. Considering there's only one hour
connection time for my next flight, I prepare myself for
the very real thought that Honduras is not in my future
today. Upon arrival in Houston, the pilot confirms that the
Tegucigalpa flight has indeed left without me.

"Houston, we have a problem", I rant to my mother, the
Neo-Floridian, and the philosophical one. There's only one
flight to Tegucigalpa per day, so I'm stuck in Houston for
the next 24 hours.

The airline people set me up with a new boarding pass, a $5
meal vocher, and a voucher to the nearest Roch Motel. This
doesn't help the fact that my aunt is waiting for me at the
airport and the Honduragno dinner party being thrown for me
that night is now ruined. The Neo-Floridian emphasizes that
the universe is not against me and this is just a minor
hiccup in the road to relaxation. Hmmph.

I refuse the Roach Motel voucher and check myself in to a
hotel with decent sheets and room service all in the name
of sanity. 24 hours in a dank and dark room will not be
good for my ever increasing depression. I never pick up my
luggage because the airline people advise that it will
automatically be transeferred to my morning flight and I
wouldn't have to go through the hassle of checking in all
over again. They hand me a little bag with a toothbrush and
a comb, so I trust that the internationally rated global
airline will not disappoint me. 24 hours in Texas does not
change my mind that the universe is against me.

The next day is Tegucigalpa 2.0. I borad the plane and
hours later I'm officially in Honduras. Finally, the
holiday can begin. I go through immigration and dutifully
wait for my luggage to come around on the carousel.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

All the luggage that is fit to be carried has been claimed
by their rightful owners. No luggage for me? I can't
believe that universe will be so cruel. Alas, it is. I
assume my place on the lost baggage line, and do my best to
block out the jolly voices indicating that lost luggage is
part of the fun of visiting Honduras and one just has to
have a hearty chuckle. I'm not amused.

When I reach the front of the line, the woman blathers to
me in Spanish, and I can only look at her blankly. Another
woman sort of takes over and takes whatever information I
have and dismisses me. I ask her whether it might be
necessary to you know, fill out a form or something. She
seems surpirsed but grudgingly complies. I meet my aunt and
uncle out in the waiting area, and tell them although I
have arrived my luggage has not. All I have is the clothes
on my back and I left my toothbrush behind in Houston.

All I can say about Tegucigalpa is that there's a Church's
chicken. If you know your stereotypes, feel free to use
your imagination. I see the famous Dunkin Donuts and that
makes me smile. Actually there are many Dunkin Donuts, so
it feels a bit like Boston. Even though Tegus is not that
pretty, the mountainous hills are gorgeous and it's like
driving through the Napa Valley only without the vineyards.

After attending a birthday party where the guests are
stunned that I knew what ceviche is, my aunt hits the skype
button to drop words like "embassy", "ambassador of Italy",
and "international scandal" to the airline people. They
promise the luggage will arrive first thin Monday.
Considering we are leaving to the Bay Islands on Tuesdayit
had better.

You don't realize how fundamental clothing is to your daily
existence and well being until it's not there anymore. I've
worn the same outfit for 36 hours,and I don't even have a
fresh pair of underwear to put on or a brush to run through
my knotted hair. My aunt supplied me with some things, but
they aren't mine.

Monday arrived and my luggage still hasn't. Instead of
departing on the next flight to Tegucigalpa, my little
backpack and suitcase were being flown to San Pedro Sula
(the other side of the country!) to thenbe trucked 6 hours
back to the capital by 7:30 pm. My bags were having a much
more exciting trip then me. Even though the airline gave to
ok to buy some supplies, it didn't help. I'd rather have my
own scruffy flip flops.

7:30 arrived and the airline then said thebags would arrive
at 9. We arrive at the airport at 9:30 only to be told the
truck has been in an accident and will not arrive until
dawn. Seemingly, this doesn't seem so terrible but my
flight to Roatan is at 8:30am. How will I get those bags?
What if they still didn't come?

My aunt screams at the airline officials while my uncle and
I sheepishly shuffle our feet. Angel Funes, manager for the
airport for the past 14 years, promises that Linda, the
woman who didn't even want to fill out a claim report for
my bags, would be at the airport first thing with all my
bags in time to catch the flight to Roatan. I'm quite
skeptical by that notion.

Another day, another early flight departure. We arrive at
the airport with no sign of Linda. The airline attendants
act like they have no idea who Linda even is. This doesn't
instill much confidence in me, and my patience is beginning
to wane. I've gone 72 hours now with no luggage, no
clothing, no anything. I don't think I can take any more if
these bags do not show up. Luckily, Linda arrives and my
bags are safely on the flight to Roatan. I'm whisked
happily away to the Bay Island paying no mind to the smell
of gas or the eerily suspicious leak that seems to be
coming from the plane's engine.

Roatan is paradie. I spend my days floating in the glorious
turquoise ocean and eating lots of coco bread. I frolick on
the beach and religously apply lots of sunscreen and bug
spray. Each night I come back with more and more red, itchy
bug bites and red splotches of staying too long in the sun
all over my body.

I once had a boyfriend tell me that he couldn't spend the
weekend with me because his brother had leprosy. Obviously,
his brother was suffering from the same condition I
currently have, a horrible blistering sunburn gone awry. I
am an odd shade of biscuit and tomato and most likely
resemble a leper from Calucutta than that cute Coppertone
baby. The universe is against me!

Four days in Roatan come to an end, and it's time to return
to the mainland. The only problem is the Roatan airport has
decided to close to repair it's tarmac. All flights are
cancelled. This normally would not be a problem, but the
next day I'm scheduled to retun home to the states at
12:30pm.

My aunt screams at whoever will listen. More words of
"Embassy", "Ambassador", and "scandal" are dropped. We are
booked on the first flight back to Tegus at 6am which means
that again I will have to be up and out by 4:30am. The
flight departs and we briefly stop in La Cieba. Instead of
travelling the 10 minutes directly to Tegucigalpa, the
plane decides to detour to San Pedro Sula instead. The
other side of the country over 35 minutes away and then
return to Tegucigalpa. Instead of arriving at 7:15am, we
arrive in the capital around 10 am. Plenty of time for my
flight except I have to return to the house to pick up this
little something called my house keys.

We return to the airport in plenty of time, and I'm only
bringing carry on for the journey home.The holiday is
coming quickly to an end. It's a sad moment, but we are
immensely cheered by the McDonald's sighting at the
airport. It's a tiny McDonald's but quite festive as
there's entertainment and wait service. My aunt thinks this
must be the opening day. I scoff and say that if it was
Ronald himself would be there.

We turn to watch the planes land and are distracted by the
sound of cheers and clicking cameras. These sounds are
usually reserved for Madison Square Garden and not the tiny
Tegucigalpa airport. We turn to to see a resplendent vision
on red, white, and yellow. It is Ronald McDonald!

He smiles for the paparazzi and expertly maneuvers his way
through the crowd. Stopping for pictures, and to kiss
babies, and shake hands. This is a sepcial moment. My aunt
stops him and says a few words, he shakes her hand and then
shakes mine. He says he's very excited to meet me. Not only
is this one of the most exciting days Tegucigalpa has ever
seen, but one of the best days of my life. I may never wash
this hand again.

The moral of the story is to never forget your ABCs. Always
Bring Carry-on.