Hello Antigua

Our second day of travel goes exponentially smoother than our first.

Upon our arrival in Antigua, pronounced Antiga, the passengers are escorted off the plane via the rear exit door. As well as the front. I love this as it harkens back to a previous time when there was actually some joy in flying. 

It's also much more equitable to the folks (us) in the cheap seats. The ones in Group 13. In rows 52-61. Where one must suffer through through every loud flight attendant and their boring layover stories. 

Plus, no one likes getting on or off a plane into a jetway. Unless it's the middle of January. And it's midnight. And it's 23 degrees. And you've got two toddlers in tow for your mother's funeral. Other than that, I'll take the tarmac twice on Sunday. Or three times if your plane needs to refuel in Tampa (see yesterday's post.)

It's 87 degrees. With 87% humidity. But it's a tropical-we're-on-vacation heat. 

We're greeted immediately by Sharonne, a beautiful young woman wearing a dress. I had arranged for Sharonne and her company's wily ways to speed us through the customs process. Sure it cost me some hard-earned dough, but I've finally reached that enviable point in life where the money mattered less than the inconvenience of waiting on line. 

Note: when I say hard-earned dough, let's not forget I'm a copywriter and sling words together for a living, so it's an admitted stretch.

Sharonne leads us past the hundreds of other eager, and incredibly pale vacationers, to a separate line. She artfully disengages one of those vinyl/elastic bands from the post, leads us through the covert opening, and right up to a special customs booth, reserved for those in the Caribbean know.

As my daughters will readily attest, I hate waiting in line. One time in SF, we queued up in line for unexplainably good sourdough bread at Tartine. The line stretched around the block. I excused myself to go to a local bar. After a slowly consumed pint, I returned, only to find they had progressed 100 feet. Ugh.

Having cleared customs, Sharonne introduced us to David, our cab driver who was more than willing to share his encyclopedic knowledge of the island, including a riveting discussion on reverse osmosis water filtration. David knew every nook and cranny on Antigua. And eschewed the main "highway' for some colorful detours through goat pastures and half-built shacks.

At this point in the posting, I'm gonna turn it over to comedian Chris Rock for additional, perhaps less than politically correct, commentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYvumHwIotw

Finally, after 36 hours of traveling, oft times grueling, Ms. Muse and I arrive at Coco's Hotel, where our 5 star experience begins. Our Sunset Pool Cottage (seen in the picture above) is even bigger and better than we had imagined.

Management is fond of referring to the property as "rustic luxury", which is not only accurate, but also to my particular liking. If you know me, and after 3000+ postings, often venturing into TMI Land, you should. You also know I'm not big on "posh", "fancy", "deluxe" or any other descriptor that necessitates being anyone other than who I am.

The cottage, stacked on wood pillars buried into the hillside some 50 years ago, is literally sagging on the right side and probably a few years away from sinking into the beautiful turquoise water. The sag is evidenced by the bend in the railing (again, see picture above).

It was all so imperfectly perfect. 

Because, as Ms. Muse so astutely says, "we're both a few bubbles off plumb."

I love that phrase.