After more than a half-day's worth of glorious airline travel and nearly missing my connection in Miami last night, I've finally returned from vacation in Mexico. And thanks to American Airlines, I'm one suitcase lighter.
Speaking of which, American sucks. Oh sure, we didn't crash or anything, and I can even handle "losing" luggage due to simple human error as long as it doesn't happen very often. And, of course, considering you have to hand your luggage off to TSA agents at customs, I suppose it's a small miracle you ever get from points A to B with everything you've checked. But it's not the government's fault when AA reps tell you they can't locate your bag -- makes you wonder what all those fancy tracking numbers are for -- because "it's probably still sitting on the cart waiting for the next flight from Miami to Dulles." If you're wondering why that precludes a baggage handler in Miami from running to the fricking cart and looking for my bag, you're not alone.
Anyway, most regular readers know by this point that I can't stand flying in the first place, but I won't ever be doing it with American Airlines again. I can actually handle the luggage issue and crappy customer "service" -- in this rent-seeking nation we've become, I don't usually expect much from companies who employ more than 50 people -- but, seriously, is it too much to ask for an airline to hand out a pack of pretzels during a two and a half hour flight? And if the intent really is just to get people to drop 20 bucks for a couple sandwiches, which is advertised at the outset of the flight, is it too much to ask for those sandwiches to actually be available?
Whatever. I'm done bitching about American. It's Southwest or, better yet, nothing from now on.
Before going any further, many thanks to Brutus, who in no uncertain terms kept this blog afloat while I was away. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder why I even bother writing anymore after reading his posts from the past week. Well done.
With that, a few random comments and observations from my trip:
- For starters, week-long excursions to remote arid climates are no longer called "vacations" when they involve one-and-a-half-year-olds. They are work, plain and simple.
- After almost two decades in the sauce, I've finally discovered the cure for the common hangover: going to bed at 8:30 p.m.
- If the duty-free section of Cancun International was any indication, one needn't a prescription for drugs like Viagra and amoxicillin in Mexico. Admittedly, I was there for only a week. But from what I could tell, there are many, many Mexicans living there, which leads me to believe that their failure to overregulate drugs (you know, like Sudafed (!)) is not resulting in wanton deaths.
- The weather in the Mayan Riviera in April is freaking awesome.
- In general, everyday Mexicans speak much better English than everyday Americans speak Spanish.
- Why do so many Americans freak out when private companies like Lowes and Wal-mart post signs in English and Spanish? Even in downtown Playa del Carmen and Cancun, almost everything you read is written bilingually. Could it be that businesses are just trying to cater to and capitalize on their most frequent customers? Nah!
- This should come as little surprise, but Mexican beer is good. Compared to the home-brewed garbage you usually find in the Caribbean islands, this is reason alone to visit Mexico before many other tropical locales. Even though most of the Dos Equis I consumed was from a tap at a pool bar, it was head and shoulders above Aruba's Balashi and the Dominican's Presidente.
- If you're looking for a great resort in Mexico, you can't go wrong with the Iberostar Paraiso Maya. The resort is spotless, the maids mop your floor every day, almost everyone can get you where you need to go in English, and for an all-inclusive, the food generally was above average.
- However, how ironic is it that the worst dinner I had in Mexico was at the Mexican restaurant?
- That said, the Mexican fare at the lunch buffets was pretty good. Good combination of authentic Mexican cuisine for the adults with American-style fries and burgers for the kids.
- Calling Barry Obama: Somehow in all your spending glory you have failed to create all the gummint jobs our country can handle. There is a job opening at Miami International at Gate 4 of the customs terminal -- the one (of several) you must report to with your immigration card after you've frantically grabbed your luggage and try to head to the one (of several) where you drop it off for yet further screening. Gates 1-3 were staffed with some of America's finest parasitic protectors, but I can only imagine the Gate 4 inspector's failure to report for duty was in large part responsible for the massive bottleneck I encountered in my near-futile attempt to make my connection.
- I would be remiss if I didn't give a shout out to my girl at the Starbucks counter at the E 20-25 terminal at Miami International, who donated a bottle of cold milk to my little boy after she had closed down for the night as I was literally running with about two minutes to spare to catch my flight. I offered to pay and then a tip and she declined both. It was most likely a karmic response to my decision to scarf down a venti caramel frappuccino earlier in the day, but it was mucho appreciated. My decision to grab another at 1:00 a.m. this morning out of some perverse food-and-sleep-deprived sense of emotional solidarity when we finally arrived at Dulles -- which almost instantaneously sent me into sugar shock during the ride home -- was probably not my best decision of the past week.
Well, kids, that's it for now. I'm trying to help the wife clean up after the fallout upon returning home and still make it to Tiki Bar on Solmons Island in time to enjoy a couple hours of the afternoon sun here in Maryland, which is finally beginning to see some of those balmy spring temps that attracted me to this police state in the first place. Oh, and if you don't get that final reference, this should help.
Finally, if you're reading this, you've decided to stick with me upon my return from a week-long absence, and that means a lot.