10.12. 07

travel |ˈtravəl| verb ( -eled , -eling ; also chiefly Brit. -elled, -elling) 1 [ intrans. ] make a journey, typically of some length or abroad : the vessel had been traveling from Libya to Ireland | we traveled thousands of miles. • [ trans. ] journey along (a road) or through (a region) : he traveled the world with the army. • [usu. as adj. ] ( traveling) go or be moved from place to place : a traveling exhibition. • informal resist motion sickness, damage, or some other impairment on a journey : he usually travels well. • be enjoyed or successful away from the place of origin : accordion music travels well.

I can feel two small beads of sweat slowly following the lines of my back. And just for the record, I rarely sweat. Andy’s body, on the other hand, pushes water out through his pores hourly like a sprinkler on a timer. If we can find one we’re just going to attach a squeegee to his left hip and a dry rag to his right. It is hot, very hot. Also, it is incredibly humid. It is almost impossible to avoid the bizarre Vallarta scent hovering over our damp skin. I do not recall it being quite so hot just six weeks ago. We are hoping that the anticipated rain will invite a much needed temperature relief.

The trip from Washington DC to Puerto Vallarta was a stressful one for a black feline in particular. Even after double the suggested dose of happy drugs Ani, my cat-a-la-paranoia, spent much time trying to dig her way out of the small nylon travel bag I got at Wal-Mart for about $20. As you can imagine, the durability of a small nylon anything from Wal-Mart for $20 is extremely low. In an attempt to prevent the cat’s claws from ripping right through the front of her carrier I foolishly placed my hand in front of it during our take-off from Washington to Charlotte. I wasn’t quite sure at first what exactly was piercing through my finger. At first it felt like a tooth, narrow and sharp, determined to exit out the other side but in an instant the object turned upward towards the palm of my hand; mind you this was all happening beneath my skin on a very crowded plane. My breath instantly escaped the confines of my lungs. The involuntary urge to scream the breath back into my mouth struggled with the desire not to freak out the young woman sitting to the right of me. With my left hand I grabbed the demon paw and squeezed as hard as I could until the talon withdrew. I immediately pushed the wound between my lips and began sucking. It was the kind of blood that is rushing so quickly that it’s blue before it’s red. Eventually the bleeding stopped and I feel asleep.

Upon landing I grabbed my currier bag and swung it over my left shoulder leaving my wounded hand to grab hold of the cat carrier. As I reached the gate to our next flight I could feel something was just not right. After releasing the handle from my grip I realized my ailing finger was now the size of a kosher dill and swelling. I could see the blood pulsing, fighting for a place to reside but nowhere to go because the puncture holes had grown a thin layer of skin over already. I asked some very nice people wearing a bit too much neon writing on their clothing if they could watch my things, including the cat carrier that was now swaying and meowing, and I ran over to get some ice from TGIFuck this hurts a lot.

We both made it to Puerto Vallarta safely although both a little stressed and I am sure overtired. Although I received a green light at the customs checkpoint and yes I mean literally, you push a button and wait for the stoplight to illuminate red or green to determine your fate, I was waved over to the counter check point. By this time Ani was attempting to escape through a small hole she had made and was forcefully throwing her face into it. My finger was throbbing, the cat was wailing and I could not locate my paperwork. There was a lot of Spanish being used to describe the things in my suitcases. After some, “I don’t know what the fuck you are saying,” looks they just shooed my along. A very kind man in all white pushed my cart of bags along side of me.

I saw Notto first making some deal with the man behind the immigration window. Notto is Andy’s friend who courageously signed up to do the drive with Andy from Richmond to PV. He pointed through the crowd of eager time-share vultures. I saw Andy standing in-between a rather heavyset Mexican woman with two children hanging from her wrists and a pile of smaller Mexican men carrying signs with English jargon scrolled across them. He lifted his brows upon recognition, grabbed my hand and stumbled backward.

“Jesus let’s get the fuck out of here!”
Let us not forget the heat and sweat because 3 days ago was not different than today.

“Why are you so sweaty?” I asked, realizing as the words came out of my mouth that there was no need to ask that question. I bit the lower right quadrant of lip and smiled to get myself out of the little hole I just dug for myself.

With an irritable smirk he simply glanced over at me, “Are you kidding me? It’s hot as shit Kirsten!”

I began laughing that uncontrollable “I know I am just making it worse” laugh. By this time Notto had caught up to the car with a small look of concern. I asked Andy to pay the nice man in all white some pesos as he removed his cart from underneath my bags. Just as Andy went to grab the first handle I warned him of the weight of the bag attached.

“What in God’s name do you have in this bag?” he asked using both biceps, triceps and whatever muscles you have in your back.

Attempting to aid in someway I leaned my hand against the trunk edge, “Hey, they only charged me for one overweight bag at the airport because the guy felt bad that I also had to pay for Ani.”

As we headed towards Paso Ancho Andy and Notto filled me in on their drive, the taco stands, this strange hotel that required driving into their own garage and three channels of porn on the TV, how while driving through the Mexican switchbacks poor Myla was jostled from one end of the car to the other and never let out a peep and how they were both now illegally in the country.

“WHAT?!?”

“Ummmmm, yeah. So we never received any papers at the border and we have no hot water at the apartment,” Andy said making a right up the hill.