Lisbon Part 1

When I would tell people about my plans for a one-year sabbatical, the second thing that surprised them was usually that Portugal was my first stop.  I don’t think most Americans think about Portugal much.  Travelling abroad usually means the UK, France, Italy, Germany, or Spain.  The little country to one side of Spain usually just slips right by them.

I have to admit that I was of those people.  It only took some research to change my mind.  It occurs to me that the country you never hear about in the news is the one you need to live in.  No political upheaval, no random accounts of violence every day, no major headlines at all coming from this country.  It’s ranked as one of the safest countries in the world with a top 20 rank in healthcare.  English is widely spoken and the natives are very tolerant of outsiders.  

Americans may be ignorant of this country, but Europeans sure aren’t as Lisbon is truly a multi-cultural city.  Just walking down the street, you can hear multiple accents and languages, see every color of skin, and people of all ages.  I like that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb as a single black woman.

My neighborhood, Belem, is located just north of Lisbon proper.  Following a random woman as she crossed the street on my first day, I found myself on a pedestrian bridge that takes you over the busy highway and impassable railroad tracks.  The bridge is connected to a new museum called the MAAT.  It’s modern design gives you a great view from the top while the path leads you down a very nice walkway by the river Tagus.

It was a gorgeous sunny day on Thursday, so there were a lot of people out and about.  Even at 3 in the afternoon there were people walking their dogs, playing with their kids in the park, biking and scooting by (the scooters are everywhere and I think they’re free to the public) and just enjoying the sunshine.  There was a good laid-back vibe to the city that I immediately liked.  I had to take a shot of this contraption as I’ve never seen anything like it before.  It’s a rolling bar where the guests have to peddle to get it moving while they drink beer and socialize.

Beer isn’t the only thing free flowing in Lisbon.  If you’ve been walking all day and really need a glass of wine, Portugal’s got you.  There are literally carts scattered all over the touristy areas offering a variety of wine and some beer (Super Bock is big here).  Even at my lovely apartment, the only bits of ‘food’ were a bottle of water in the fridge and a bottle of wine on the counter.  If I were a wine person, I’d be in heaven.  Though I can’t imagine being a heavy drinker and trying to navigate the uneven cobblestone walkways.

Yeah.  About that.  While pretty and historic, the walkways are kinda tricky.  Rome still wins the title of most exhausting, but this city has its obstacles, too.  Lots of crowds, streets busy with cars, buses and taxis (who are very accommodating to pedestrians), oh, and look out for the flying rat you’re about to kick.  Portugal is big on having stairs just appear out of nowhere.  There will be a slight incline and suddenly there’s a step and if you’re not prepared for it, you will trip. 

The city is known for being on seven hills.  Makes it great when you’re looking out at the skyline, but not so great if you’re walking up those bad boys.  Most people were wearing sneakers or sensible boots which just made the occasional woman looking cute in her high heels stand out all the more.  Every time I saw one, I had to keep my jaw off the floor and pray for the safety of that poor woman’s ankles.

I didn’t come to the city with a specific plan.  While I am scouting Portugal as a new home, I knew I didn’t want to live in Lisbon.  Too noisy, too crowded, and too expensive.  That being said … I could see myself living here.  My rental is in walking distance of a bus stop and the train station.  Belem is three stops away from the end of the line and from there you can exit the street level train and head for the underground that stops all over the city.  Being a mixed-use area, there were several restaurants and small convenience stores along the way to the train stop.  Multiple museums are a few blocks away along with some gorgeous gardens and parks.  If that's not enough, there is a bank of taxis right by the pedestrian walkway and tuk-tuks darting all over the place ready to take you anywhere you need to go.  Gotta love the easy access to everything.  Just what I’m looking for in a new home as I don’t want to own another car or live in another car-dependent suburb. Almost thirty years trapped in Atlanta traffic was more than enough.

Flight Time

The day had finally come.  My last bit of administrative work before leaving America was to sell the car.  I had already arranged for Hennessy Honda to buy the car since I’d purchased the car from them in January 2020.  Having only driven it a few hundred miles before my company went into lockdown in the middle of March, the car didn’t have too many miles on it.  Other than a couple of road trips to Hilton Head in 2021 and 2022, I rarely used the thing.  The low milage and minimal wear and tear contributed to me getting a great offer of $18,000.

I met with the same guy I’d seen weeks ago.  We’d had a nice discussion about my plans and why I was selling the car.  When I showed up again, he was shocked to realize that the day had finally come.  I waited as he coordinated the sale with his boss, who was equally shocked to hear what I was doing.  I know that selling a house, selling a car, and travelling out of the country in the same week is unusual for me – I didn’t realize how much it would shock other people.  Surely, I’m not the first person to chuck it all and leave for another country? Military personnel alone had done the same for years.

I severely underestimated how long it would take to get the car sold.  I had to send away the first Uber driver I’d called because the wait was so long.  Not ten minutes after she left, the sale was finalized.  Instead of leaving with check in hand or a wire transfer like with the house, the dealer said they’d pay off the loan with my bank and mail me a check to the PO box.  Kind of a pain but at least I’m not travelling on that money.  Not a big deal if I don’t see it for a while.

My driver got me to the airport with some delay.  I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve travelled internationally from Hartsfield.  Delta had built a new terminal in the 12 years since my trip to Italy and we ended up taking the long way to get there.  But I was proud to say that booking my first trip with Uber was a success.  Paid with Venmo (thanks to the movers) and got the airport with plenty of time.

I flew out of KLM, another new experience for me.  I liked the service on the airline as well as the fact that I was seated on the edge of a 3-seater in the middle row with no one in the middle seat.  Made up for the only so-so leg room.  Still, I didn’t get much sleep as it was hard to get comfortable.

Being that KLM is a Dutch airline, we had a layover in Amsterdam, the airline’s hub.  I do want to visit the city proper one day, though not in March.  It is still very cold there and had me hoping that Portugal was warmer. 

We went through passport control at Schiphol, but it surprised me that there was nothing in Portugal’s airport.  No customs or passport check getting off the plane which was kind of strange.  I kept looking around to make sure I wasn’t slipping by customs as I headed outside to contact an Uber.

Thinking myself cute that I’d set up Uber the day before, I wasn’t happy to realize that Venmo doesn’t work outside of the U.S.  OK.  Instead of just catching a taxi, I was determined to get the Uber to work.  I hastily set up my primary credit card for the billing (more on that later) and was finally able to get a driver to come.  Being unfamiliar with the airport, it took a while to even find the guy, but eventually I was able to flag him down and we were on our way.

As Vitor, the driver, barely spoke English, we had a quiet trip while I looked out the window.  I knew from my research that I wouldn’t need to rent a car and I’m glad I didn’t – the Portuguese are very aggressive drivers.  There were a lot of people cutting others off and honking horns as we navigated from the highway to the very narrow and congested side streets.

Does this look like the entrance of an apartment to you?  Is it any wonder that both my driver and I were confused?  But the host was kind enough to send me a picture of the entrance along with the code to get in.  I also had the help of a nice man who poked his head out from the apartment next to mine to point me in the right direction.  Despite the unassuming front, the apartment is narrow but surprisingly long with a single bedroom, two baths and a little sitting room in the back.  The way it’s set up means it gets a little natural light, but doesn’t have proper windows. A very nice (if chilly) place in a location that can’t be beat.

Once I got settled, I was ready to explore.  The weather was a sunny 60 degrees.  Perfect conditions to experience a new city.

Closing Time

I slept like the dead after moving day.  Didn’t matter that I was in a strange bed with a very uncertain future ahead of me.  The only things on the agenda for that Tuesday were to gleefully return my cable equipment to Comcast and, of course, finalize the sell of my home.

It had been a journey to get to this point.  Many times I didn’t think the house would ever sell.  While I’d heard stories of homes selling within days of a listing, that was mostly before summer 2022.  Getting towards the end of the year, the economy was heating up, people were getting laid off and everything just seemed more uncertain with each passing month.  I put the house on sale on 12/1/22 and we had an open house the following Saturday.  It was a wet, miserable day so I was surprised that we got four people to come in.  No takers though.

The price was lowered from the original asking price three times and each time we did it, there were more showings.  And yeah, those were fun.  My realtor, Connor, would call/email and tell me when to leave the house, requiring me to erase any evidence that I lived there.  Clean the bathrooms, the kitchen, make the bed and tidy up then make myself scarce.  I had one chick show up twenty minutes early while I scurried out the back, a couple of no shows, and one realtor who used the entire 30 minutes when most of the showings took half that time.  I had gone out for a walk during that one and came back tired and cranky, forced to wander around the neighborhood until these strangers got out of my house.   There were a couple of surprise showings, people ringing my doorbell when the house wasn’t ready and I’d been given no warning.  Then there was the one realtor who showed up ½ hour after his slot when I’d already returned home and was setting things back to normal.  Copping an attitude of ‘well, we’re here now.  It’s up to you.’  I wanted to punch him in the face.  Instead, I played nice and again left the house so these strangers could do a walk through.  The showing process was truly a pain in the butt.

Fortunately, the fourth and final price drop actually caught a buyer.  I’d had a couple of other offers but neither of them felt right.  One was from a realtor who wanted me to replace the roof (a roughly $10,000 expense) so she could rent the place out.  The other offer was from an investor who wanted to do the same.  Connor didn’t like these offers any more than I did.  I explained to him that I did not want to sell to an investor, someone looking to pay me as little as possible while gouging the next owner/renter just to make a profit.  There’s a housing crisis on, housing prices are through the roof while wages are stagnating.  I wanted someone in the house who wanted to be there.  This offer seemed to fit the bill perfectly.  This is his first home purchase and will be his primary residence and not just a way to make money. 

I went to an unfamiliar part of town, not far from the house, to meet with a lawyer, a bunch of real estate agents, and the new owner, Michael.  I initially thought I was late because everyone else, except Connor, had already arrived.  Connor did appear soon after and then it was about signing a ton of paperwork.  As we both signed, I explained to Michael some of the benefits I’d found in living at 150 Swanee Lane (a nice quiet neighborhood that was walking distance to a grocery store, post office, and various restaurants) as well as some of the issues (noisy water heater, lousy parking).  He was not the most genial man I’d ever met but I wished him the best.

As we were walking out, I expressed my genuine gratitude to Connor.  He was very personable, quick to respond to my emails and seemed to understand my wishes. Unlike my last realtor.  I attributed my inability to sell the house in 2007 due to the rising housing crash, but now I think I also just had a bad realtor.  I simply did not like that woman.

Leaving the lawyer’s office, I took the cable boxes and modem to the local Comcast office.  I was expecting a hassle.  The company has been robbing me blind for years.  Their internet connection was good and reliable, but I was paying way too much for cable that was less appealing to me every year.  I’ve heard horror stories about Comcast customer service – one of the reasons I rarely contacted them for anything. Instead of a hassle, though, the Comcast guy took my bag of equipment, barely glancing at it as he pulled up my account then asked me ‘Why are you paying so much?’  You tell me, pal!  He said I had an older plan and should have come into the office to renegotiate.  NOW he tells me.  I told him I would happily take that money back if he’s offering.  Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t do that.  He instead told me I didn’t owe any more and closed the account.  I do love it when the hassle I’m expecting never arrives.

With the rest of the day free, I decided to do something that I’ve wanted to do since I moved to Woodstock in 2003 – visit the historic downtown section.  I’d driven down Main Street numerous times over the years, but never bothered to stop and get out of the car.  Since it was a gloriously sunny and warm day, I finally parked the car to walk up and down the short strip of restaurants and shops.  There are some funky little places down there and I’m glad I got a chance to see them.  I had a ginormous calzone for lunch at this hole-in-the-wall pizza place with enough left over for dinner. I checked out the bookstore and the visitor’s center.  Seemed a good way to end my time in fair Woodstock. I will miss it.

Moving sucks.

There’s just no other way to put it.  And it’s not just the move itself (oh, we’ll get to that).  It’s all the things to arrange, organize, disconnect, etc.  You don’t realize just how many things are hooked into your job, your address, your phone number.  Doesn’t help that I don’t have another address or phone number (or job) to hook into.  All new territory for me.

I arranged for a PO box for the year.  I opened another bank account featuring a debit card that had no foreign transaction fees.  I had to inform all my banks that I would be travelling (hoping for no issues on that front).  I had to purge all my work info off any websites.  I balked at using the COBRA benefits set up by my former employer, but since they offered to cover a big chunk of the cost for the first six months, I figured, why not.  It meant I had coverage for my last two months in Georgia and will be covered if I need to return before June.  After that the cost goes up to $600 a month.  Since I also had to get travel insurance (much cheaper but only applies to travel out of the US) I might not continue with COBRA after June.

I knew I wouldn’t take my slow, 8-year-old laptop to Europe, so I bought a new smaller computer last year while I still had my employee discount.  I also purchased a Google Pixel 6a phone specifically for this trip and now I’m forcing myself to use it.  Anyone who’s known me for a minute knows that I am not a cell phone person.  I didn’t want to become addicted to it like so many are these days. God, I’m turning into an old black lady – though even that’s not accurate.  My 70-year-old stepmom knows more about this stuff than I do (Hi Cynthia!). I’m just way behind the curve.  She’s the one who suggested What’s App for travel messaging.  I hooked up with Venmo at the suggestion of one of the movers. I accidently stiffed them of a decent tip as I only had $60 on me -- not nearly enough on a $1000 move job.  And soon I’ll have to seriously rely on the phone to navigate the Portuguese transit system to get to my AirBNB in Lisbon.  Scary, but I’m determined to figure it out.

I made the decision to move months ago, so I had plenty of time to purge and pack.  And still there was just so much stuff.  Stuff on top of stuff.  I had the VVA come to pick up for charity at least 5 times – and yet there was more stuff.  I thought a lot had been done by the time moving day arrived – and yet there was more stuff. 

With closing on the house set for Tuesday, 2/28/23, I arranged for the movers and a junk removal company to arrive on Monday morning.  I woke up at 5:00 with my mind racing – good thing too since I needed all that time.  I was doing laundry, washing dishes, and packing everything at the same time. Had to make yet another run to Home Depot because I ran out of boxes (again) and both tape runners had died.  I got the mattress and box spring downstairs thinking that the junkers would show up first, but it was the movers who were actually on time.  They moved the mattresses and the smaller pieces of furniture away from the front door and got right to work. I was still packing things up, cleaning, and throwing things out while still waiting for the junkers to show up.  The whole thing felt surreal – I went from task to task while still not believing that I was actually moving out of my beloved house.

The movers finished, earmarking a few pieces of furniture for themselves once I’d labeled them as junk, and still the actual junkers had not arrived.  They had been scheduled for the same 8-10 window as the movers and yet … I had to call them repeatedly while the movers just sat outside on my dime.  Eventually, they asked for the info to the storage facility so they could get started.  They aren’t supposed to do that, but better than sitting and waiting indefinitely.  I sent them on and again called the junkers.

By this point, I was dog tired, anxious to join the movers, and highly annoyed.  After being put on hold by yet another representative who called the crew, I just rescheduled the meet to a 4-6 window and rushed to the storage facility.

As I suspected, the crew was waiting inside but they weren’t allowed to unload the truck unless I was present.  Only then do they charge you.  After that, I was just there to watch.  I had serious doubts that my recliner, huge bookshelf, and monstrous desk would even fit into the 10x10 space I’d rented.  But, somehow, the three-person crew managed to Tetris everything inside.  I’m still amazed they were able to do it – that and I can’t believe that all this stuff is what I whittled down from way more stuff.  So much stuff!

Completely wiped, I checked into the hotel before getting something to eat.  Then I headed back to not-my-house to continue cleaning and wait for the junkers.  They finally arrived, apologizing profusely and offering me discounts.  Most of the junk was piled in front of the house, so the two guys handled that first then headed for the big items like the sofa and second recliner.  We chatted about my plans as they worked, the guys telling me they had never been outside of the south, let alone gone to Europe.  I encouraged them to travel, as I do everyone.  I paid them and waited while they helped my former neighbor move some mattresses out of his garage.  Then I left the keys and the garage door opener on the counter and left my home of the last nineteen years for the last time.  I was proud of myself for not crying – though honestly, I think I was just too tired.

An interesting note: I moved to Atlanta in 1995 right before the Olympics the following year.  My favorite radio station quickly became 99X, the local alternative station.  Over the years the channel disappeared, reappeared on satellite radio, then disappeared again.  A few weeks ago, I was flipping channels and was shocked to find the station back again.  Determined to listen to it as much as I could before I left, I had my portable radio set up in the dining area while I moved.  I listened as the original host of the morning show announced his new cohost – the cohost he had back in 1995.  I thought it was this weird circle closing with everything resetting to how it was almost 30 years ago.  A happy surprise and the universe seeming to echo my thoughts lately that things were much better in the 90’s.  An unexpected send-off as I seek a new life.

Because of the fatigue, the rest of moving day was a blur.  I got back to the hotel and all I wanted to do was lay down.  I had to force myself to eat my Wendy’s salad before crashing.  The hard part was over, but there was still work to do.  I had an appointment with some lawyers at noon the next day that I didn’t want to miss. 

A Twix and Between Christmas

What a weird year this has been. Things started out fairly normal.  January saw me still working from home, same job, same house. Now here I am in December, 50 pounds lighter, jobless, and preparing to completely change my life by selling the house and travelling Europe for a year.  Wow.  Didn’t see any of that coming.

I also didn’t see the ‘once in a century’ storm we’d have for Christmas this year.  Saturday, Christmas Eve, Atlanta saw record low temperatures of 6 degrees F.  I’m just glad that it’s been sunny and dry the last two days.  I can’t imagine living through the blackouts and whiteouts they’re having up north this year.

Watching the weather reports only added to the sub-zero amount of Christmas spirit I have this year.  I just packed the decorations into my storage unit last week.  The last two months have been all about getting rid of a lot of stuff in preparation for the move, so no new presents for me (the only Christmas present I want is for someone to back up a truck full of money in front of my house and get it off my hands).   I sent out a few cards as I do every year, but got zero response.  Seems like I’m not the only one lacking in spirit.

Now I’m just waiting.  And it stinks.  I can have all the plans in the world to go out and explore, I can make all the travel arrangements I want, but getting someone to first see my house and then decide to buy it is completely out of my hands.  The realtor I’m working with is a nice guy and doing his best, but I think it’s just a matter of bad timing.  End of year, economy heating up, lots of people getting laid off. So.  The holding pattern continues. 

I do hope everyone has a good holiday.

Well … I got laid off last week.

 And I just ‘celebrated’ my twenty-year anniversary at my current employer in March.  How quickly things change.

I knew this was coming.  There had been a lot of changes imposed on my group in a very short time to cut costs.  I’d heard the rumblings of a recession for months now.   So, when the boom was lowered, it wasn’t a shock.  But still there are … feelings.

Admittedly, I was getting burned out.  I’d been in my position for ten years and was ready to move on.  The changes within the position in the last year did not help anything.  I knew it was time (waaaay past time) to get out, but I kept dragging my feet.  It was only when I started to get the layoff vibes in September that I started making plans.

My first move was to declutter the house with a plan to sell it.  Please note:  I love my house.  This is my first home, I’ve been in it for 19 years come December, and I have been very happy here.  But, since I had no interest in immediately jumping into a new job, there was no way I could maintain this house for very long.  The declutter part has been a bittersweet experience.

I have seriously been considering going expat or a while now.  I’d originally wanted to sell the house years ago and move to Australia.  But considering that I made this decision right before the 2008 housing crisis … and those plans kinda fizzled out.  Cut to 12 years later and that impulse to leave America is even stronger than before.

I changed my mind about Australia for various reasons then switched to New Zealand.  That idea died when I saw a report on Kiwi TV that said expats were leaving the country in droves because of the expense and the hard path to citizenship.  Then I began to focus on Portugal.  I have heard good things about the climate and the quality of life that has already attracted a large portion of black Americans to move there. 

Acquiring a visa takes some time though, and I was thinking I would have more of it before the layoff.  This job officially ends on 12/31/22 which has me scrambling to establish a workable timetable.  I canceled my planned scouting trip to Portugal for November and instead sent my passport to get renewed.  It expires in July 2023 and I wanted to make sure it got back to me before I put the house on the market.  I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to apply for the D7 visa before the first of the year, so I hatched a new plan.

I’ve also been researching the idea of a grownup gap year (my brain is just swimming with ideas).  I’ve found that there is a whole community of black women who took several months off to just travel and get their heads right.  I didn’t realize until the last month or so that I could really use a break, a time to rest and relax before finding another job.   Now, I’m trying to figure out an itinerary, looking for employment opportunities, packing up the house, searching for my medications overseas, picking up some Portuguese (Madeira would be my first stop), doubting myself every step of the way, feeling overwhelmed, excited, sad ….

Like I said.  There are feelings.

How I lost 40 pounds in 4 months (or how I spent my summer 2022)

 

Simple answer for this one:  WW online.

Before I say any more, this disclaimer:  I am not sponsored by Weight Watchers.  I’m not a dietician or personal trainer or anything like that.  I’m just a middle-aged chick who wanted to lose weight to improve my health.  Hope that makes things clear.

How this process got started:  I’ve been into healthy eating and regular exercise for years now.  There is a gym in the basement of my office building and I’d gotten into the habit of hitting it every morning before getting to my desk.  I’ve always been a bigger woman so my focus was not usually on weight loss as I’ve gained and lost the same 20 pounds over the years.  I firmly believe that exercise and a reasonably good diet are important to everyone. 

Things were going just fine until March 2020.  The transition to working from home indefinitely did nothing for my physical health.  Being jarred out of my routine and barred from the gym at the job (coupled with anxiety about Covid) left me basically immobile for two months.  It was only after realizing that I wasn’t doing myself any favors with all the additional butt time, I slowly adapted to a new routine.  The diet remained the same, but I started to move more.  I felt like I was getting back on track.

Cut to two years later and quarantine had not been kind.  It’s not like I was pigging out on the regular but by the beginning of 2022 I had reached the age of 50 and was post-menopausal.  I had no idea the damage to my body until I went for a routine doctor’s visit in May.  My blood sugar was at 106 and my weight had ballooned to 257 pounds.  What.  The.  Hell.

The WW program had been suggested to me multiple times in the past, but I always insisted that I could do this on my own.  Joining the online program, though, pointed out various tweaks I could make to my routine put me in a calorie deficit.  Cutting down on butter, cutting out my once-a-week fast food habit, and getting rid of all added sugar were a good start.  Additionally, I set up my own weight-lifting station in my living room and scoured YouTube for work at home routines.  Through these videos, I also learned how hormones can affect the body with age and how they need to be regulated to maintain a healthy body weight.  I added a probiotic to my supplement regimen along with apple cider vinegar and turmeric.  I was already a big fan of a multi-vitamin, fish oil and green tea so what’s a few more pills?

It is now routine for me to have two weight-lifting sessions a week and 2-3 cardio sessions where I power walk around the neighborhood.  I prepare bento boxes for lunch every week, using a food scale to maintain proper portions.  Water all day every day and logging my food online saw me losing around two pounds a week.  No cheat meals but I do allow myself cheat drinks.  I took up mixology right before starting WW -- two things that don’t really go together but at least WW assigns points for my 3 beverages a week.  I’m still shocked that this has gone so well.

What I’ve learned: 

1.       Consistency is key. 

2.       Plateaus will happen but don’t be discouraged. 

3.       Don’t be afraid to indulge every once in a while. 

4.       Rest when you need it.

5.       Weight loss is not a sprint, it’s a marathon.

6.       The best meal in the world is nothing compared to putting on a pair of pants that fit last year and watching them fall off while I laugh maniacally.  Good times.

Breaking out of my bubble

 

Wow.  It has been a wild 2 ½ years!  Who’da thunk that a few months after my very first cruise in December 2019, the world would come to a complete stop because of a pandemic.  That one of the first incidents to mark the strange year to come was that the very ship I was on, the Grand Princess, was the same ship that got held up off the coast of California because of the rising Covid cases onboard.  That what was originally supposed to be a few months of quarantine turned into a few years with no real end in sight. 

I still vividly remember the email sent out by my employer on that Tuesday, March 10, 2020.  To paraphrase: ‘Management has officially determined that ^&*(: has hit the fan.  Take your laptops home and don’t come back to work until we say it’s safe.’   Um.  Okay.  I worked from home for the next few days terrified of even leaving the house for groceries and trying to soak up as much info as I could find.  At the time, it was expected that we’d return to the office by the end of the month.  Then it was the end of May.  Then it was July.  Then it was …

I got used to the ‘new normal’ as the world descended into hell.  My work station had already been set up for my regular work from home Thursdays.  Online meetings with my teammates kept me connected to the outside world and the work load continued as usual.  The fact that I’m a loner with no social life made the adjustment much easier.

As uncertain as those first few weeks were, I certainly did not miss being in Atlanta traffic.  I had already started my year off with an accident in January that totaled my car – the second car of mine to be destroyed by someone else’s stupidity.  I’d purchased my first ever new vehicle that same month which was great, but there was always that nagging fear that this car, too, would get hit.  Quarantine took care of that fear nicely.  Instead of spending 2-3 hours a day, 4 days a week driving the 25 miles to and from work, I now spend less than an hour a week in the car.  I went from spending around $100 a month on gas to filling up the car maybe once every 3 months. My local grocery store is only a mile away and an easy walk on sunny days.  As much as I like my new car, I don’t mind that I’ve barely put 5,000 miles on it in 2 ½ years.

In some ways, I was designed for quarantine.  I’ve never required human company and now that I see everyone as teeming with virus, I got no problem staying away from them.  I busied myself with crafts and remained grateful every day that I still had a job, a roof over my head, and had avoided getting sick.

But now … I’m feeling a little restless.  2022 is coming to an end and I’m ready to break out of my bubble.  Other than a couple of trips to Hilton Head (still love that place) in 2021 and 2022, travel has been placed on the back burner.  I’ve barely written anything in the last 3 years.  I turned 49 during quarantine, then 50, and now at 51 I’ve had more than enough time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life.  It’s time to get back to my passions, beginning with updating this blog more regularly.  I’m planning my first post-Covid international trip to Portugal in November.  Wish me luck.

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Mexican Riviera -- A Word About Travel

     

     There’s a reason I have a blog for travel, even if I don’t update it very often.  I love being able to see a place I haven’t seen before, having new experiences, and sharing those experiences with others.  And, as always, any trip I take just makes me eager for the next one. 

     The cruise was a nice combo of hotel, transport, and adventure and I highly recommend it.  As does the cruise line.  Princess really wants that money.  Both during the trip and with emails afterwards, they have bombarded me with brochures and discounts for future travel.  They had an offer where if you put down a $100 deposit, they’d give you shipboard credits and a grace period of two years to decide on your next cruise.  I thought about it but didn’t commit.  I want to see what other cruise lines have to offer. 

     There is a growing issue that does make the idea of more travel a bit tiresome.  The planes.  I flew out on Delta this trip.  I’ve flown them before with few issues, but this trip deserved some mention.  I’ve noticed that the last few flights I’ve taken have been more stressful than usual.  The boarding process at the airports seemed more chaotic than it used to be.  The airlines don’t feed you anything more than chips and drinks unless you pay.  And then there is the legroom.

     I have very long legs. Being compressed into an area smaller than the driver’s seat of a car for several hours is not fun.  The flight out of Atlanta to San Francisco is only about 5 hours and even that was intolerable.  I always chose the window seat when I fly.  That used to mean having a nice view while only having to share a single armrest.  Now, it feels more like being trapped in a corner, desperately trying not to kick the seat in front of me or elbow the person in the middle seat.  All this while trying to sleep, eat, or, you know, move to keep myself from cramping up. Yes, the planes are equipped with Wi-Fi, power jacks, and several recent movies to watch on your individual screens, but none of that makes the experience any less unpleasant. 

     A guy sitting behind me on the way back to Atlanta expressed my same sentiments.  He was an avid traveler for work, but once the airlines went from 35 inches of seat space to 28, travel became much more of a hassle.  The only alternative was to pay for first class or stop traveling.  He was seriously considering the latter.

     One other issue I had with this most recent trip.  While standing in line for security at SFO, I saw a sign saying that travelers whose driver’s licenses had a star in the corner (and yes that includes Georgia) will no longer be able to use them for flights as they won’t be considered a ‘real ID’ anymore.  Starting in August (I think), the only ID that will be excepted are passports.  Even for domestic flights.  That’s ridiculous.  While I encourage everyone to get a passport, people shouldn’t be forced to get one just to board a flight within the states.  I’m sure there’ll be a lot of people turned away from airports after this law goes into effect simply because they no longer have proper ID.

     I wanted to end this entry with these general feelings on travel not to discourage anyone (including myself) but as a reminder that no trip is perfect; everyone encounters issues.  The mishaps of this trip only serve as hints of what I need to change for next time.  Research is key; my packing was pretty spot-on thanks to YouTube videos on cruising (I recommend a travel clock as most ships don’t have them).  But losing my glasses has confirmed that I need to pack a spare whenever I travel (it is a miracle that this hasn’t happened before!).  And I’m already planning to get a pair of sunglasses as well.  Fewer group outings for me – too annoying.  And, as much as I hate to admit it, I might have to shell out the cash for plane upgrades for longer flights.  I don’t want to get to the point of choosing not to travel because I don’t want to deal the actual travelling part of the trip.  Vacation is worth the inconvenience and the hiccups.  Doesn’t mean you can’t minimize them whenever you can.

Mexican Riviera -- Manzanillo and Puerta Vallarta

12/23/19

     The agenda for this day was a shopping and beach trip in Manzanillo.  No water taxies this time; the ship pulled up right to the dock.  Our group still had to wait in the theater again until we got permission to leave the ship.  Sigh.

     After some shuffling, our group gathered on a bus only to travel a few feet away to arrive at another section of the pier.  Our guide brought us to the city square of the town and filled us in on some of the history of the place.  Nice to know but not exactly why I signed up for this excursion.  He spoke for about ten minutes then gave us about ½ an hour to wander the square on what would be the first shopping stop.

     The woman who sat next to me on the bus introduced herself as Sally.  Turns out she was also a solo black traveler.  She offered to take my picture if I asked.  I declined but kept her in mind.

Back on the bus, we traveled through the town, out in the middle of nowhere, all while the tour guide rambled on.  After climbing through steep, narrow, cobblestone streets, we ended up at a photo op overlooking the Las Hadas By Brisas hotel.  It’s a pretty white stone building right by the sea, most famous for being the location of the movie ‘10’ from the ’70’s.  We stopped for pics, then winded our way back down the hill.

     While the area was nice, and I never would have seen it without this tour, I was getting a little restless.  I wasn’t the only one.  This tour was for beach and shopping, not a long-winded history lesson or endless driving.  Once we got back on the road, a guy interrupted the guide and asked, “when are we getting to the beach?”  The tour guide assured us that we were on our way …

     To another over-crowded shopping complex.  This one was at least on the beach.  We had a bathroom break, did some more shopping (not me – no cash), and got back on the bus.  We traveled just down the road to a restaurant fronting the beach part of our tour.  The guide gave us vouchers for drinks and left us on the beach to fend for ourselves for an hour or so.

     I skipped the restaurant, put down my stuff and made a beeline for the water.  Finally!  I was in the cool water, happy that it was a few days until Christmas, and I was in the ocean.  Couldn’t ask for a better present …

     Until a powerful wave hit me and snatched the glasses off my face.

     Are you freaking kidding me?  I’ve been to Hawaii and Hilton Head multiple times, been in the ocean with my glasses on and never had an issue.  My one and only trip to Mexico, at Christmastime, and the glasses were gone, never to be seen again. 

     I stumbled back to the beach umbrella I shared with Sally and told her what happened.  Her response?  “Oh, they’ll turn up.”  What.  I lost my glasses in the ocean, not a library.  She was more concerned that the order she’d placed with the restaurant hadn’t arrived yet.  I’m practically blind and this woman is complaining about her food being late.  Lady, I got no sympathy for you.  Just lead me back to the boat and have a happy trip.

     That is indeed what happened.  By the time we got back to the ship, it was dark.  My main concern was to not break my ankle getting back on the boat.  I followed Sally back, discussing how much she loves to travel even if she can’t get anyone to come with her.  Her 21-year-old son decided he was too old to travel with her anymore, even if she was paying.  I told her he was an idiot.  Unless someone is taking you to the ninth circle of hell, if they are willing to pay for your travel, you go.  She agreed, saying she got tired of listening to other people’s excuses, so she just planned her trips on her own.  We had something in common there.  But, considering how much she complained about the restaurant and the tour on the bus, I wasn’t interested in making friends.  When she got stuck in customs because of her purchases, I reached the nearest stairway and squinted my way back to my room.

     THANK GOD I PACKED MY SPARE GLASSES.  I thought I was just overpacking and being paranoid when I put them in my suitcase.  But no.  The lenses are scratched, the prescription very old, and the frames are discolored, but after groping my way to my room, they were most beautiful things I’d ever seen!

     After getting some dinner, I ended the evening with this big, beautiful strawberry Margarita and a nice foot soak in a hot tub.  I’d chosen this tub because I’d stumbled on it the night before, completely deserted – my kind of situation.  That didn’t last for long, though, as a woman soon appeared with her daughter.  Normally, I would have high-tailed it, but I had to give the woman some credit.  As they approached the pool, she pointed me out to her kid, telling her not to disturb me as she entered the water.  This highlights one of the issues I have with most parents.  They usually don’t know or acknowledge that not everyone wants to deal with their children.  I have nothing but respect for a parent who realizes that, hey, other people do exist.  Thank you, ma’am.  And a Merry Christmas to you too!

     We were soon joined by the woman’s husband and another couple.  Everyone began to share stories of their day in Manzanillo and get acquainted.  The second man was from South Africa.  He lived in Cali with his American wife and they were telling us how their town was subject to the forced blackout recently.  I’d read about the wildfires all over the state and how the government would deliberately shut off the power for days at a time to try to prevent further fire damage from sparking power lines.  The couple told tales of rotted food and having to shower in cold water.  Have I mentioned that Cali is a nice place to visit but I would never want to live there?  Yeah.  Like the earthquakes weren’t bad enough.

     I told them my tales of wave swept glasses and sphincter-clenching canyons as the crowd of people in the tub grew.  Once there were at least ten people there, including two kids who were trying to swim in the tiny space, I knew it was time to call it a night.

     The third and final excursion I’d scheduled was on the next day, Christmas Eve; a walking tour of Puerta Vallarta.  I decided to skip it.  I’d lost my way in Cabo and lost my glasses in Manzanillo.  I figured if I left the boat a third time, I’d lose my head.  No thanks.  I watched Puerta Vallarta from the safety of the ship.  That night, I found my way to the same hot tub which was again deserted.  No drink this time but there was a fireworks display from the shore as we left port. That was a nice way to end our time in Mexico.  Despite the mishaps, I wouldn’t mind returning in the future

Mexican Riviera -- Los Cabos and Mazatlan

12/21/19

     It was sunny and beautiful by the time we got to our first stop of Los Cabos.  I was very grateful for the heat.  It was too cold for too long to be wandering around the boat while at sea.  I’d planned a UTV tour of a canyon for this stop so I got breakfast early and got ready to leave.

     I pre-paid for this excursion and was looking forward to the adventure.  But can I just say how much I hate group activities?  I hate being herded together, hate the waiting, and I’ve already mentioned that I hate having to adhere to schedules.  I was reminded of all these things as I was herded into the theater to wait for the other members of my group to get there.  After a dull wait, we played follow the leader onto one of the lifeboats that also served as a water taxi (that’s how I woke up that morning; with men outside my window getting that boat ready to launch). 

     After a 15-minute trip to the dock, we were herded by other people into an area for photos.  This picture was taken before I even knew what was going on.  When would I get the picture?  Did I have to pay for this?  How much do these people in heavy costumes make to stand around waiting to touch a bunch of strangers for a photo op?  I only realized later that the cruise line had multiple photo ops planned throughout the trip.  There were people stationed at every port and at the gatherings on board, like a visit from Santa and formal shots for Christmas.  The pictures would be posted outside of one of the bars for the passengers to pick up or ignore as they wished.

     But I didn’t know all that as we waited on the pier for the tour runners to appear.  Then we waited some more since we’d arrived a bit early for our scheduled tour.  Don’t get me wrong; what I’d seen of Los Cabos from the pier was very pretty, but it was still too much waiting.  Eventually, after signing waivers and showing ID, we were led through the mini-mall just off shore to a couple of waiting buses.

     The bus drove us far from the pier at what seemed like 90 miles an hour through the city of Los Cabos until we ran out of pavement.  Then it was up a windy, hilly, dusty road to the Wild Canyon facility.  After even more waiting, we were fitted for our gear and given brief instructions on how to work the dune buggies.  Taking pictures wasn’t allowed during the tour, even by passengers, for good reason.  The course was way too bumpy for holding a camera and if the thing flew out of your hand, it was as good as toast.  The place had their own photographers traveling on a separate car.

Each car seated only two people, but I was alone in lucky number seven as we again played follow the leader.  The UTV was loud and rocky even while idle.  When making turns or going over uneven terrain, it felt like the thing would shake itself apart.  Still, once I’d gotten the hang of it, it was a pretty cool experience.

     We stopped by a cliff overlooking the beach for a photo op and water break.  I scraped my leg scrambling down the rocks to the water, idly wondering if there was any nasty microbe in the rocks that might cause an infection.  We had a few minutes at the beach before climbing back into the UTVs.

     I was directly behind the leader by this point and followed him to another point where he stopped all the cars.  Then he got out of his car and waved one set of cars through before me.  Then it was my turn.  I noticed the photographer and others gathered at the top of a small incline.  As soon as I climbed it and looked down – let’s just say there was some foul language.  Spread before me was a wooden bridge suspended over a whole lot of nothing.  The cars were slowly going over it in single file to the other side of the canyon.  As I sat there staring at the route, it suddenly occurred to me that the tour guides had never shown us a map.  We had no idea beforehand where the course would take us.  I certainly didn’t sign up for this.  But, since there was no turning back, I took the plunge.  Very slowly.  Just don’t look down. 

     Once I made it to the other side in one piece, suddenly there was a problem.  I didn’t see any of the other cars.  I made a few turns trying to find someone but with no luck.  Then there was a guy coming up behind me screaming for my attention.  I stopped and he asked where I was going.  How was I supposed to know?  Never been here, remember?  He turned me around – then turned me around again.  See?  Even he didn’t know where to go from where I’d ended up.  Before I knew it, we were going back over that hellish bridge, much faster this time as it was just the two of us, and ended up back at base camp.  I still don’t know how that happened, but I was very glad to get out of that car.

     I swear, I don’t try to be the special one on these tours.  But that keeps happening to me.  Just another reason I hate group activities.   

     The buses weren’t ready to leave just yet (more waiting) so we were left to wander the facility.  In addition to the UTV tours, there were ziplining adventures across the canyon (uh, no.  The car was scary enough), a turtle farm and a hiking trail.  The place also had a bar and a gift shop.

     Please note that you could purchase the pictures that were taken throughout the excursion.  I ordered a package for $35 and was told that I’d receive an email with a link to the files in a couple of days.  It is now two weeks since I bought the package and despite my emails to the company, I have yet to receive a link.  If I ever get the pictures, I’ll add them to the blog at a later date.

     Busing back to the pier, we passed by the Hard Rock Café.  I’m a big fan of their merch; I’d just purchased a t-shirt and bag in S.F.  I wanted to tell the bus to just let me out, but I knew they wouldn’t.  Unfortunately, the café was way too far from the pier to walk and I was wary of being mugged by taxi drivers.  Maybe next time.

     Instead, I did some shopping along the pier.  Can’t say I’m a fan of the Mexican shopping stalls.  There were multiple vendors in a big warehouse, all crammed together and hawking all kinds of stuff.  There were the usual t-shirts and bags, but also bottles of vanilla, knives, jewelry, just so much stuff.  I found one booth full of these gorgeously painted wooden bowls and a very eager man showing them off.  Only problem was, I’d already run through my cash, the few stalls that accepted credit cards only take Visa, and I’d left my Visa on the ship.  That Visa was my check card so there was no way for me to get any more money.  I left the guy’s stall and the shopping complex, saying I’d be back (I wouldn’t).  The vendor followed me down the street to tell me where to get some cash.  Sorry, dude.  I don’t even remember my password for my Mastercard and there was no way I was taxiing to the ship just to get my Visa and come back.  I still liked those bowls though.

 

12/20/19   

     I had heard some bad things about violence in Mazatlán, so I decided to stay on the boat and have a massage.  A unique and relaxing experience.  I was so loose, I even let the Asian lady who gave the massage convince me to book another service on Christmas day.  It was me, Michelle, and Mazatlán during that day and later a killer coq au vin for dinner.  This was, by far, my favorite day of the trip.