I am old

In thought, blogging while on vacation sounded like a brilliant idea. However, the computer situation at the resort didn’t cooperate with my brilliance. With only two computers on the property with internet and a 15 minute time limit per guest, it wasn’t feasible.

Something happened on the trip home yesterday that has changed me. I got old.

The flight from Cancun to Denver is 4 hours, give or take. It started out beautifully, with window seat 20A and gray clouds over Cancun (which made it easier to leave. Who wants to leave when it is 85 and sunny?). There were only 3 or 4 open seats on the flight. The gods of the Friendly Skies smiled on me and one of the vacant seats was 20B. Mister 20C was pleasant, but not chatty, I had a good book, a nutrition bar and 4 hours to nap or read or watch a movie…this was a perfect flight.
Let me point out that just 8 days earlier I had this in reverse….except I was sitting in first class, sipping my “free” wine, eating giant shrimp on a bed of greens off of a real china plate and wiping my hands with the hot washcloths they hand you with little silver tongs. So perhaps the flight home wasn’t PERFECT, but it was as good as one can when having to travel as the working class does.
Approximately two-thirds through the flight, after a nice nap, I realized my legs felt very strange. Rotating my feet and stomping them a bit, it becomes quite clear they weren’t asleep. Well, I looked down and there attached to my leg, below my knee; someone had replaced my own leg with that of an elephant! You know that look, just one diameter from knee to foot?! I kid you not….my ankles had swollen to like twice their normal size! You have seen the old woman whose purple bulging ankles hang over the sides of her pink Keds? Well that was me…..except nicely tanned, in flip flops with a great pedicure. The whole thing freaked me out a bit. I spent the next hour of the flight appearing to have a serious tic, as I moved my legs and spelled the alphabet with my feet to get the blood flowing again. I am sure my seat mate was pretending to take a nap to keep from smacking me. Thank God 20B didn’t make the flight.
In Denver, I had 80 minutes between flights. It sounds like a luxurious amount of time. You would think there was plenty of time for a glass of wine, some shopping, and a trip to the ladies room? OH no. First off all, I decided to hell with those moving sidewalks, I was going to walk briskly and get my real legs back….no one told me it was 4 miles, but I walked every step. I was not going to succumb to a day of living with cankles. So, in my rubber flip flops (those black and clear ones that are $3.78 at the ABC stores in Hawaii….only the most awesome flip flops known to woman kind. If you are heading to Hawaii, please let me know, cuz I need a new pair.), I took off for customs. When I arrived, there was no line! Sweet! I breezed on up to the counter, smiled at the agent, glanced at his nametag and said, “Well, hello Mr. Brown, how are you today?” I am not sure how in all of my travel preparations I failed to read that chapter on DO NOT SPEAK TO THE CUSTOMS AGENT UNLESS SPOKEN TO. Mister Brown was not happy nor the least bit friendly. (I honestly stood there wondering if he even laughed at The Hangover.) He asked me a bunch of questions about where I was, what I brought back and if I had been there with anyone. (yikes, do I look like I have a Mexican lover?) When I answered “No”, he looked and me and replied, I swear this is a quote, “That didn’t really sound like a NO”. I was sure he knew that I had one Cuban cigar in my sunglasses case at that point and was trying to break me. Sweating, I explained that I met a group down there for my sister’s wedding, but was traveling alone (in my mind screaming………..YES, I have an outlawed Cuban cigar hiding behind the 60 pesos, 7 receipts and my new killer Diane Von Furstenberg sunglasses. Please don’t send me to prison!). He glared right through my soul and without a trace of emotion said “welcome back to the US”. Whew.
I grabbed my bag and headed to security where I encountered half of the US and part of Europe trying to get through security. This is President’s Day weekend, I understand, but come on! This was worse than trying to get onto The Matterhorn in July. It took me a good 30 minutes to get to the front of the line. There was a sign there that shows how to be prepared for security. I want you to note that I fell into “Traveling Expert”. HA. Ready….liquids in ziplock, items laid flat in bin, shoes off, pockets empty, even remembered to take my bracelets off since they set off the beeper door thingy. I had 4 minutes until boarding, but things were moving along. My bag disappeared into the x-ray machine and stopped. The man, who was a dead ringer for the man behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz, smiled at me and asked me to step to the table, as I have been randomly chosen to be searched. Great. 3 minutes. He was pleasant and kept calling me “dear” and explained every step of what he needed to do. Luckily they found no random traces of explosives on my bag. When he finished I ran to the shuttle train to take the short ride to Concourse B.
Having barely recovered from the shock of elephant leg, I walked onto the shuttle leaned against the rail near the back of the train. There was a young couple sitting in the back seats who smiled at me, and a handsome, slightly graying man standing across from me. I saw the young couple whispering, and in my naivety was thinking how cute young love is. Until they looked at me and OFFERED ME THEIR SEATS! The man across from me smiled and asked if I wanted to sit. Like they are were in agreement that the winded OLD LADY with the freakishly large ankles needs to sit.

I hate Denver.

the final quest!

Well, today was the trek to Seattle to secure my passport. I drove up from Portland last night, so I would have to fight traffic this morning. It was quite handy, as I found a reasonably priced hotel just about 4 blocks from the Federal building. It was late, about 10pm when I arrived. Thank goodness the valet was still available!
The room was small and whole place was a tad rundown, except for the gorgeous carpet they had recently put in. Seemed like the old "lipstick on a pig" trick, to be honest. It has been such a long day and I fell right into bed. Now, at that moment I started wondering why hotels put in mattresses that are comparable to a sheet of plywood. Seriously, the floor would have been softer with that new cushy carpet. If it is a matter of longevity for a softer mattress, charge like $5 a night more and then every couple of hundred nights, they could easily afford a nice new comfy mattress! It isn't rocket science.

As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well. Not only was I sleeping on concrete, but I forgot that downtown hotels have downtown noise. At 6:30am I was laying there wide awake listening to the sounds of the street below and wishing I was still asleep. No idea why I can't seem to drag my body out of bed on a work day, yet a morning I can sleep in for a few minutes, I am wired and ready to roll.

I got to the passport office at 9, checked in with Mr. Window One, then given a number and waited for B208 to be called. The whole process went very smooth! Especially when compared to last week. There was a point when Mr. Window 5 had all my documents spread out and said he would "be right back" and then he disappeared for like 10 minutes. I started sweating. But he came back, just like he said and finished up. All I had to do was pay $135 and come back at 3pm to pick it up.

As I did a week ago, I wandered up and did some shopping and then decided to have lunch down at Pike Street again. The lady at the information booth suggested a french place called Maxemilians (sp?). Yum. So I went down and got a table for one overlooking the sound. As I sat down, I noticed the fellows at the next table were obviously french. They were dressed casually, but were speaking french. There was this popular book out a couple of years ago called French Women Don't get Fat. As a side note I bought it and read it. If you eat cabbage soup every 3rd week and never have more than one bite of dessert...or anything fattening for that matter, you too will not get fat....or that is what the book said. Well, the french-er of the two men obviously did not read this book. Also, I learned today, French Men Don't Bathe. The aroma of them wafted over my table, but it took me a few minutes to realize it was them. It wasn't that fresh "I just left the gym" body odor. It wasn't even the "I stayed out too late and slept in my clothes" body odor. It was SOUR-stink body odor! Like "I rolled around with my filthy wet dog".....No, worse than that. It was a "I haven't bathed in over a week and am totally rank" type of body odor. I had to sit sideways, half facing the wall, to avoid it. I had a beautiful dungeness crab and mushroom omlette, which I imagine must have smelled heavenly if the aroma could have reached my nose over the stench of sour-stinky frenchmen. I only ate about half, because who wants to eat an omlette that smells like stinky frenchmen. The large of the frenchman chatted and ate and occasionally smiled at me. No doubt he was thinking, "I hope she doesn't notice that I smell of an old garbage can".

Well, I paid my bill, left the restaurant and started the hike back to the Federal Bldg. If you have been to San Francisco, you are constantly approached by homeless men and women asking for money. At times I have even gotten nervous from their aggressive "asking". In Seattle, it is the canvassers. I was approached to feed hungry children, help with poverty in the US, support doctors-without-borders and at least 3 others that as I drew near to them, pretended I was crying, so they wouldn't talk to me. This was quite easy because my allergies loved Seattle and came out in full force. From the minute I stepped outside in the morning I had to dab my eyes with a tissue every 32 seconds. Then all I had to do is add a quick blow of the nose and instantly looked like I had just put my dog down, or buried my favorite grandmother. The smiling girl in the raincoat and pink hair would see me and immediatley realize could not go another minute without rezipping her coat, or sort through the papers in her plastic binder.

I think I am a compassionate person, but this was nuts. Most downtown blocks had 3 sets of canvassers! You can only mock cry so many times in a block.

Well, I made it back to the Federal Bldg at 2:30 and this time checked in with Ms Window 7 who had my passport waiting for me! Finally!! I am now officially a US Passport holder. Watch out world!