Coca Cola Ligera

Your  first day of vacation is never  your first day of vacation, that's what your second day's purpose is.

Yesterday was spent fretting about  van kidnapping and countryside donkeys, about who molested my bottle of Woolite, about surviving life in the wilderness.  (Translation: without a bidet.  Jim called the experience"torture")

But today's a new day, and it looks like a great one.  Jim's working out, I'm working in (by exercising my brain as I try to think of something to blog about.)

Our room is gorgeous, and the closest room to the beach.  (Also:  the closest to the disco, but the pulsations we heard throughout the night were actually kind of soothing)

That's an exaggeration--there is no disco or theater anymore, all victims of the virus. But comfy chairs are set up behind a makeshift dance area in front of the bar, and it's really nice being entertained outdoors, with only one or two smokers that I almost had to go full Karen on.

Jim desperately wanted to dance and I desperately wanted to sleep, so we compromised..I moved my arms and he moved his body..Man, this guy has moves!!

I know I'm in the same boat as everyone else, trying to get used to this "new normal" and I just used quotation marks for emphasis!  How dare I call myself any kind of writer??

But it's so different..we went to the very safe buffet, (we are triple vaxxed and were ambushed into taking Covid tests yesterday, and will have to again upon departure) but you can tell that this is not your cool older cousin's Club Med experience.

You had to mask up to choose what you wanted, then return to your seat, and then mask up for seconds.

I did not have seconds.

I barely had firsts, which, considering all I consumed all day was a half a piece of cheese the size of a Trivial Pursuit wedge, and two Goldfish crackers.  I didn't want anything!..Not the lamb, nor the fancy seafood dishes..nothing!  I wanted to  soft drink, and even 'though I've been off of Diet Coke for years now, the iced tea tasted like someone mashed up a bunch of wet twigs, put them through a strainer, and expected me to drink it.  

Nobody speaks English, so Jim vounteered to fetch me a Diet Coke, but claimed there was only regular Coke, two of them, until we found a translator who told us what the Spanish word for "lite" is, (which I'm forgetting now) but that's Diet Coke, and we now know how to get some.

There was a freezer with a rotating gizmo in it that served ice cream, but only the exotic, yucky flavors were labelled, so that was my dinner:  A glass of twig juice, a bite of a mini pepperoni pizza, a spoonful of pasta with meat sauce, and a serving of what we believed to be coffee ice cream.

I'll live.

The show was actually quite good, the Latin salute with incredibly nimble dancers and salsa music; with toned men lifting toned women high in the air.  I told Jim to take notes, that he'd most likely have to do the same to me when we returned to the room, but it turned out to be  fabulous bed.

Unlike Snoop Dogg, the name I've given to our much too high mattress at home, this one was very easy to crawl into, and we both had the best sleep in years, although I was waiting to hear growling noises from a poodle humping my leg or the sheets.

I heard only the crash of gentle waves, the nicest sound in the universe.

Today's plans:  Room service corn flakes to be consumed on the patio overlooking the sea; pool exercises, trivia games, and beach time..hours and hours of some long overdue beach time.

I am so grateful to Christine Cherry Hommel for this swan song..

It really looks like it's going to be an amazing week, and I thank you for all you did to make it a reality