Conferences
can be exciting adventures, from both academic and personal
perspectives. We got to experience this first-hand when my
name went on a paper submitted to the Triennial Symposium on
Transportation Analysis (Tristan V), held at Guadeloupe between the
12th and 18th of June, 2004.
The drama started with a flurry of late-night packing
activity and a delayed departure. I thought that lost taxi
drivers were illegal in the US, especially in Boston. But
life is always full of surprises, and the cab assigned to
pick us up at 5:00 in the morning finally arrived at 5:35!
Maybe I should be honored that a Boston cabbie actually
called me for directions to
get to my home!
To give him credit, the driver got us to the airport by
5:50, and we breathed a sigh of relief that was soon
interrupted when we perceived the gigantic, serpentine queue
that awaited us at the American Airlines check-in counter.
There was no way we were going to get through this line and post-9/11 security check in time
for our 7:05 departure to San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Out attempts to sneak into the seemingly under-utilized
self-check-in kiosks were thwarted by an agent in a red uniform, who
said that self-check-in was not allowed for international
destinations and bumped us back to the end of the original line.
After a lot of fretting and fuming, an angel (actually, an American
Airlines employee, but at that point, he was an angel to us)
directed all San Juan passengers to a separate line. We ran to this
without hesitation, and breathed normally for the first time in over
an hour: there were only about 10 groups ahead of us!
Security check was fairly quick inspite of our position in
the queue, and we boarded the flight on time. The Airbus
A300-600 made a fairly smooth take-off (contradicted by my
stomach, but that does not matter now!) and we were on our
way. Four hours later, the fight attendant announced our
arrival at John F. Kennedy airport in New York City, and
asked us to turn to page 96 of our in-flight magazine for a
diagram of the terminal building. I did this in silence,
totally shocked that a flight to Puerto Rico could, after four
hours, have made its way only until New York! After an apologetic
correction from the airline staff, we emerged into the San Juan
airport.
The first big discovery of the day was that our AT&T
cell phones had service in Puerto Rico, and excellent
service at that. The signal strength was maximum, which does
not even happen in our home in Boston! We soon boarded a
much smaller turbo-prop plane for the less-than-two-hour
flight to Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe.
Small planes usually translate into a rather bumpy flying
experience, and this was validated immediately. The meal consumed on
the Airbus (the mind was against it, but the stomach finally won)
threatened to occupy a less constrained space, but narrowly lost due
to a well-timed landing at Guadeloupe.
About
Guadeloupe
Guadeloupe is a French Overseas Department, meaning that
we were officially in France! This also meant that we had to
procure Shengen visas at the consulate in Boston. The island
has the shape of a butterfly, and is located in the French
West Indies. Some of the neighboring islands (see maps in
the photo album) include Puerto Rico, Haiti, the Dominican
Republic and the Netherland Antilles (including the popular
tourist destination of Aruba). The closest American outpost
in this region is Spanish-speaking Puerto Rico, which is
related to the US much as Guadeloupe is to mainland France. More
details on the island and its people were gathered from a local tour
guide, and are presented in a later section.
June
12: Arriving in Le Gosier
The ATR72 turboprop taxied close to the terminal at
Pointe-a-Pitre airport, and disgorged us onto the tarmac. An
airport official met us as we collected the bags we had
checked in plane-side at San Juan, and led us to the
immigration check. The formalities were quick, and the
retrieval of checked baggage even quicker. There were no
customs forms to fill, but the officer attempted to talk to us
first in French and then in Creole. While he was clearly
disappointed that we spoke only English, he let us through without
any trouble.
Next stop: foreign exchange. We needed Euros, but there
were three problems: (a) we had very little cash in the form
of US dollars, (b) we had no idea how much it would take to
hire a taxi to the hotel, and (c) the girl at the forex
counter did not speak a word of English! She understood
``Euro", though, and we soon had 23.80 of them. The Euro is
now stronger than the US dollar, meaning that we gave up
more than $23.80.
As we meandered out of the terminal building, the heat hit
us. This was feeling just like Madras! The place was
actually a lot more like Madras than just the heat, but we
will get to that eventually. A couple of people squatting
nearby turned out to be taxi drivers, and one of them
offered a ride to the La Creole Beach Hotel for 20 Euros. He
spoke Creole, and not much English, as do most of the local
people.
The ride was shockingly like a tour of Madras! In the
short time that it took to get to the hotel (a distance of
about 6 km, according to their website), we saw numerous
cows grazing on the road side, some with ropes around their
necks. There were posters of political persona all over the
place. Heaps of worn-out tires lined the roads. And there
were big advertisement hoardings vouching for a variety of
merchandize and services. There was even one with an ad for
Bata footwear, though the words were in French.
We were welcomed at the reception desk at the La Creole
Beach Hotel in Gosier, and quickly checked in. It was
difficult grabbing the porter's attention, and we decided to
find our room by ourselves, and succeeded after trundling
around a bit with our bags. The room door was opened with a
swipe card, and we entered the welcoming, air-conditioned space
within.
Our room was well-furnished and had a fantastic view! The
wide balcony looked on a nice garden and the sea, but was
secluded enough to be nice and quiet. We rested a little,
and headed downstairs to find something to eat. It was
nearing 4:00 PM, and we had had little to eat all day. The
ill effects of the plane rides were wearing off, leaving us
increasingly hungrier.
We had only a few coins of the Euro currency, and visited
the front desk to exchange the remaining few US dollars.
This gave us about 7 Euro, enough maybe to buy some food at
the Pizzeria, a small shop right on the beach that serves
pizza and a few other snacks and drinks. We obtained a
Marguerita pizza for 6.1 Euros, and found our way back to
our room to eat. The nearest Automated Teller Machine (ATM)
was apparently in a casino nearby, so we decided to wait a day
before venturing there.
The day had been tiring, and we retired early. The
adventures could wait until tomorrow!
June
13: The hotel, and the casino
A new day has dawned, and it is a Sunday! A whole ``free"
day before the conference officially starts. The buffet
breakfast consisted of bread, croissants, fruit, cereal,
juices and hot chocolate. We then looked for a way to check
our e-mail. It has been a whole day since the last login
(life has become tough nowadays: even a trip to a Caribbean
island is not enough to shake off this invisible rope that
attaches us to our daily work!).
The receptionist showed us to a computer connected to the
web, and we were grateful to her for this chance to touch
base with happenings miles away. I just had to find out what the
results of the latest Lakers-Pistons NBA (National
Basketball Association) game was. It was a little embarrassing to
learn that the next game had not even been played yet!
The most frustrating problem now was negotiating the
strange keyboard attached to the computer. This was not the
standard QWERTY arrangement. The letters were all mixed up,
the numbers needed the shift key, as did the full stop, and
the @ required a new key I had not even seen before
(actually, I am sure one of our ``regular" keyboards would
have felt equally strange to anyone from Guadeloupe!). The
keyboard made our eyes swim and our heads ache just a little
bit. Nevertheless, we could not tear ourselves away from
that machine! We were eventually saved when demand for the
machine increased by exactly one!
After catching up on our e-mail, we decided to attack the
casino and get our hands on some cash. The conference
registration did not begin until a whole hour later.
We left for the casino, and saw a real, live hummingbird
flitting from flower to flower just outside the hotel! The
casino was only a short walk away. We got there at 9:45 and
found the place deserted. Not for these people the nice,
refreshing early-morning excitement of losing money! An
elderly gentleman standing across the street told us that
there was a whopping 15 minutes before the place even
started showing signs of life (a good deal of sign language was used
here, but two hands with all ten fingers outstretched told us what
we wanted to know). Further, the sign outside the casino informed us
that shorts were not allowed inside.
We had to get inside to withdraw the cash, and I was
attired in shorts. So it was decided that a trip back
to the hotel was in order. We lazed on a couple of beach
chairs for some time, watching people swimming and boating
in the sea. After conference formalities were completed, a
second casino venture was attempted. We had never been
inside a casino, so this might as well serve as the first!
Our collective inexperience with gambling dens was brought
to the fore when the guy at the entrance wanted to throw us
out for not wearing shoes. He did not speak English, and was
not interested in making an effort to understand our
position. When all attempts had failed, I used the C-word
(or words, rather): ``Credit card" got us as far as the ATM
right inside the entrance, and as far as we would need to go
to get Euros.
The small balance in my checking account thumped into my
hands as 20 Euros, but this would not last too long! Another
trip would have to be made, but only after I had transferred
more money into my checking account. We would need the
internet for that! It was back to the hotel for now, and
half the money vaporized instantly as I bought myself a cap
(the days are really hot!).
The immediate concern now was lunch. We made our way to
the Le Zawag restaurant, and perused the menus pasted
outside. A quick look was enough to understand that
obtaining vegetarian fare was going to be a real issue,
especially since we did not speak the local language very
well (our vocabulary was limited to bon
jour, merci
and a few other combinations. Not exactly enough to ask if
item \#2 had any meat in it).
We had to be patient while our waitress described the dish
of the day. I am sure the word ``chicken" was part of it.
But we managed to order pasta with tomato sauce and cheese.
This turned out to be very good, and we were relieved that
lunch, at the very worst, would be pasta for a week. The
restaurant was almost overhanging the sea, and the view
through the window was very nice. A gentle sea breeze was
making its way right through the restaurant.
Dessert was a far easier proposition. We got guava and
passion-fruit shorbet, and ice cream (vanilla, coconut and
chocolate). The waitress might have been giving us a choice
of flavors, but we were confused, and the result was a
little sample of each flavor in one cup. We were thankful
that we did not understand or speak the local languages,
since all flavors were really excellent!
The menu held important clues to the French language. Anana, while sounding so
like banana, turned out to be
pineapple. Other references looked more straight-forward,
such as the term poulet
for poultry/chicken. We learnt that poisson
was fish, and wondered why people would be crazy about
poisoning themselves. The receipt arrived in a small wicker
basket that also contained mint candy.
The conference reception that evening was a nice place to
meet friends and professors from other universities. I even
made a few new friends in the process! People who would
share our quest for vegetarian food over the next week. The
shock of the day came from a professor whom I knew well. He
came to us with a look of incredulity on his face. The plate
in his hand held exactly one item: a bulging, squishy thing
that apparently had a liquid inside it. We later learned
that it was a blood sausage. We saw more of it in the days
to come, but there was no motivation to learn what it actually
contained.
Dinner at the Epice restaurant was a buffet affair, with
seemingly no vegetarian choices. We would learn the ropes
over time, but this was too early in the game! We had a
combination of salads and dessert before hitting the hay.
June
14-15: The conference begins
The opening session of the conference began early at 8:30
AM. After the ceremonial Tristan torch (or candle, really)
was lit and extinguished, the co-chairs outlined the various
sessions and their locations. It was amazing to see so many
people dressed casually for this event, and my formal attire
began to look like overkill (shorts would have been very
nice for this weather). There were some interesting talks
scheduled for day 1.
Lunch was a high-point of the conference, and a whole
restaurant had been reserved just for the participants. We
had coupons to this event, and we decided to check out the
fare. The food, however, revolved primarily around meat. The
presence of a huge ox skull in one corner of the kitchen
made it even more unappetizing. We attacked the dessert
table immediately.
A subsequent trip to the Pizza Beach saved the day. This
time, we managed to indicate that we did not want any
mushrooms (champignon)
on our pizza. The resulting cheese pizza was excellent!
I tried to work a bit on my slides, and fell asleep
instead. After all, my talk is not until the 18th,
which is still miles over the horizon! We risked dinner at
Epice again, thanks mainly to the dangerous-looking menu at
Le Zawag. While lunch at Le Zawag the day before had been
very good, a quick scan of their dinner menu showed nothing
remotely vegetarian. We resigned ourselves to a salad dinner
at Epice.
A key difference between Le Zawag and Epice is the
interface between the customer and the cooks. The former is
the more traditional setting in which a hungry stomach
interacts with the food through a menu card and a waitress,
with a good chance of getting inside information about
various choices. The waitresses so far had been very
friendly, and willing to accommodate a bunch of
non-French-speaking weirdos on a regular basis.
The Epice caters to stomachs that like to see their food
being cooked. It boasts of a series of mini-kitchens
representing different cuisines (we were told there were
five of them: Chinese, Italian, Creole. roasting spit and
grill). We dashed to the Italian section immediately after
the salad course, and spied two types of plain pasta. A huge
bowl of tomato sauce nearby looked like a good complement to
the noodles, and we indicated that we wanted the noodles.
Now, the cook manning the Italian kitchen registered shock
at our advanced plates, and pushed them back to us. We were
confused as to the next course of action. We badly wanted
that pasta, and we had no idea why our plates were not
welcome here! The incident resolved itself in a minute, when
the cook indicated that he had to first steam the pasta so
as to serve it to us piping hot. He did this by immersing a
strainer full of pasta into boiling hot water for a couple
of seconds, and then tipped the contents onto our plates.
Success! We had our pasta with tomato sauce and parmesan
cheese, and rounded off the dinner operation with fruit
salad (salade de fruit frais) and ice cream (glaces).
Tuesday was an academically satisfying day with several
good talks. I managed to connect my laptop to the internet
service provided by the conference, and caught up with a lot
of pressing e-mails. I even checked the latest NBA scores,
and was overjoyed to see that the Pistons had beaten the
Lakers to make it 3-1 in the best-of-seven finals. Yay! But
lets move on to lunch.
I decided to skip the conference lunch with its inedible
(for me, at any rate) five cuisines. We went instead to Le
Zawag, sure in the knowledge that a Pasta lunch awaited us.
Our eyes were drawn to a clean white piece of paper stuck
outside on the otherwise weather-beaten menu card: The Plat de Jour, or dish of the
day, was Indian fare!!! Tandoori Chicken, with Basmati rice and
Indian vegetables. We managed to order the dish of the day minus the
chicken, and were pleasantly surprised at what arrived at our tables
a short while later: Basmati rice steamed with vegetables and
pineapple. Mango chutney
with a tarty aamchur taste.
Tomato chutney like the one
mom makes for idlis.
Cabbage curry with Indian
spices. The waitress even replaced the chicken with extra
rice for us! By the time we had finished our desserts of
fruit salad and ice cream, we were feeling very contented
and at peace with the rest of the world.
This day will also go down as the day I first plunged into
the hotel swimming pool. My new swimming shorts were resting
in peace at the bottom of a suitcase until I managed to
latch onto a couple of others to go to the pool with me. We
spent half an hour in the water, and then headed out of the
hotel for dinner in a group.
The destination was La Belle Creole, which was touted as a
good place for local Creole cooking. Language was again a
serious problem, but the waitress patiently accommodated our
gesticulations. We eventually got a salad plate with corn,
lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and boiled beans. But the large
dessert portions partly compensated for the somewhat bland
main course.
We went to bed in anticipation of the conference tour the
next day.
June 16: A day
off, and a grand tour
It is Wednesday, and a day away from academic pursuits. The
conference has made arrangements for two scenic tours, giving the
participants a choice between a short trip through a rainforest, and
a walk through a botanical garden. We chose the latter option, and
boarded a bus early in the morning.
The tour guide spoke good English, and we got a quick
overview of the islands, their history and the local
economy. A lot of dates, facts and anecdotes poured forth,
and I was envious of his memory
skills.
We passed through Pointe-a-Pitre and its
industrial center situated on the island called Grande-Terre (or
highland), and crossed a salt river (it is actually a narrow part of
the ocean between two tightly sandwiched islands) into Basse-Terre (or
lowland). The names are total misnomers, as Grande-Terre is flat
country and Basse-Terre is volcanic and mountainous. The bus wound its
way past scenic beaches and quaint fishing villages. We even saw a
local fisherman selling his catch right off his boat.
There were a lot of cars on the road for such a small
island. The population of about 400,000 people apparently
owns close to 200,000 cars! The roads have been improved
significantly in recent years, thanks mainly to help from
the French government, and this has resulted in a surge in
automobile traffic. The local bus system is unreliable, and
does not even maintain a timetable. Car ownership therefore
is essential rather than a luxury.
A northerly drive along the coast brought us to the
botanical gardens situated near Deshaies. The entrance
through a reception area led directly to a rectangular lake (L'etang aux nenuphars) stocked
with colorful fish and lilies. Mango trees were everywhere, with the
green fruit hanging in large bunches. Several familiar trees from
India were recognizable, prominent being the Gulmohor or Flame of the
Forest with its bright red flowers, Hibiscus of various colors,
and Bougainvilla. There was even a cluster of the small orange
flowers used in garlands and during pujas
in India.
There was sudden turmoil as somebody threw in a handful of
food into the lake. The fish all thrashed madly to get what
they could. We moved on to take in the other sights.
Beautiful flowers were in full bloom in every direction and
corner, and we took several pictures.
Close to the entrance was a parakeet enclosure (La grande voliere). One has to pass through
a couple of doors and curtains designed to keep the parrots
inside the area. A park employee handed out small cups of
bird food. We took one, and held it up. In no time, a bright
green parrot landed on the hand and began pecking away at
the food. Transferring the cup to a different hand did not
startle the feathered creature: it just jumped nimbly onto the one
that now held its source of food. The birds were literal
feather-weights: we could hardly feel their weight on our hands!
We walked around, taking in the sights and smells of
wooden land. There were nice waterfalls and pools (La cascade), with
streams running away and into the forested areas. In one pool stood
a flock of pink flamingoes (Les
flamants), all perched steadily on one long leg while
dipping and straining the water with their oddly-shaped
bills. Hen-like birds also scratched around under the thick
vegetation on the ground.
In slightly more than an hour, we had wound our way to the
exit. The park had displayed so many magnificent species of
plant life in such a short time! There were tall cacti and
even a huge banyan tree. A small, green lizard sunning
itself on a rock was also spotted and photographed.
The group piled into the bus again after a short rest at a
refreshment stand. The destination now was a local family that had
agreed to cook lunch for more than 100 starving transportation
engineers (the rainforest group would be joining us for lunch).
A majority of the population are of the Catholic Christian
faith. However, a large section of the population are
Hindus! Much of the history of Guadeloupe has been in the
shadow of slavery, ever since the first French colonists
brought Africans to the islands to work the plantations.
When slavery was finally abolished, and former slaves given
their freedom, they all opted out of the plantation
business. The French government therefore brought in people from
their colonies in India to be employed on the farms. A majority of
the Indians converted to the Catholic religion out of convenience,
and eventually adopted the local Creole language. Their original
faith lives on, however, through several temples. We did not see any
today.
Our host family lived in an area populated by several
people of Indian origin. Not surprisingly, there was Indian
blood in this family as well. While the house belonged to an
African woman, her husband was Indian. Our request for
vegetarian food was therefore easily satisfied with some
spicy tomato-spinach dish combined with vegetable rice.
Fruit, of course, was a big attraction. We were treated to
bananas (of the Rasthali
variety), melons and pineapples. Amazingly, ripe mangoes
simply lay by the roadside everywhere. If this were India,
there would have been no mangoes visible anywhere but on the
highest reaches of the trees. Even the fruit slightly out of
reach would have been brought down with stones and sticks!
The French, however, do not seem to fancy the fruit, and the
almost non-existent demand has led to local indifference to the
King of Fruits.
We met the owners of the house personally after the meal,
and thanked them for their hospitality. They seemed happy to
see somebody from India after a long time.
The next (and final) stop was at a local rum factory. Rhum
Longueteau is apparently the best brand on the island. While other
Caribbean rum is obtained from the strawy residue of crushed
sugarcane, the Guadeloupe rum comes directly from the sugarcane
juice. It is then flavored in myriad ways, and one can even obtain
banana rum! Banana plantations are a big source of employment here,
and are sustained through hefty subsidies from the French
government. Reductions in financial assistance in recent times has
however seen a significant economic shift towards tourism.
The machinery used to extract the sugarcane juice and
convert it to rum looked ancient and rusted. The finished
product, however, stood in rows of clear bottles filled with
intoxicating fluids. The high point for many was the rum
tasting at the end of the tour. While the effect of even a
small amount of rum was soon evident in some, it was
definitely a good day of sales for the owners of the distillery.
A tired bunch of troopers boarded the bus for the final
dash back to the hotel. Our guide left us to our own
devices, but broke in a few times to give us some tidbits of
local information. The day usually begins early, at 4:00 AM
for many families. Fishermen leave even earlier (at 2:00 AM)
to ply their nets in the ocean. The women work hard to
prepare lunch and pack the kids off to an early 7:00 AM
school. The men return at about 8:00, and finish lunch at 10:00.
Surprisingly, about 70\% of the population is below the age of 25
years!
We hit the pool after the tiring day, and prepared for the
last two days of the conference.
June 17-18:
Back to work
A day before my scheduled presentation, and I still have
not finished my slides. The tropical environment seems to
instill a general out-of-this-world feeling, otherwise known
as laziness. Friday's presentations had to be on the
conference laptops by 8:00 PM today, and this was motivation
enough to get up early and finish my slides. I attended a
few talks in the morning, and used the afternoon to rehearse
my own talk a few times. As I pored over my slides on a
laptop, the power failed. Sessions were in progress, and
there was a moment or two of confusion. Some speakers continued
without their slides, while others chose to rest until the
electricity supply returned (we had no idea how long this could be).
The proceedings returned to normal in about half an hour, and I
thanked laptop battery technology for allowing me to continue
working through the interruption (except for an inability to check
my e-mail!).
Incidentally, the Pistons have beaten the Lakers 4-1 to
become the 2004 NBA champions!
The afternoon was also a fitting time for a relaxing swim
in the hotel pool. Some friends wanted to try out the sea
for a while, but returned as soon as they ran into a person
who had been bitten badly by jellyfish.
The schedule for the evening was a gala dinner to round
off the conference. A big conical tent had been put up in
the hotel garden, right next to the beach. Grilles were
breathing fire all around us, and a huge loud-speaker was
blaring Caribbean and Creole tunes. There was even a
disco-style light source throwing ghostly shadows and laser
lights across the lawn. The biggest item on the dinner
agenda, however, was the selection of the location for the next
Tristan conference to be held in 2007.
The appetizers for the dinner consisted of something very
similar to a very spicy vadai,
and guava juice (with added rum, if you felt like it). We
were amazed at the widespread consumption of the local
alcohol. It was added to juice, over ice cream, on puddings,
in cakes, and often just consumed plain. After a lot of
noisy confusion, the participants settled down at the various tables
and began attacking the wine. People were moving purposefully from
table to table, campaigning for their choice of location for the
next conference. The first course was eventually served, and it was
reminiscent of the vegetable pufs
they stock in most Indian bakeries. There was some creamy
sauce on top of it, though. The main course was... lobster!
I had earlier made a request for something vegetarian, and
this arrived (after more gesticulations, and moving from one
server to another until one spoke English). But first, I had
to get the large, red, mutilated lobster shipped from my place
at the table.
The vegetarian option turned out to be a patty of grilled
grains, with a sauce similar to that on the puf. The small quantity
of food vanished quickly, and I was left looking at the people
around me fighting to reach the innards of their respective
lobsters. The dinner was punctuated repeatedly by heated arguments
about President Bush and his war in Iraq.
After the lobster remains had been cleared away, the main
campaigners made slide presentations on their choice for the next
Tristan meeting. One even modeled his talk on the lines of a
scientific research presentation! Several flashy slides later, the
voting procedure was outlined: a first round where we would indicate
our top two choices would be followed by a second round fight
between the two most popular alternatives. The five options were in
Sri Lanka, Mexico, Chile, Tunisia and Norway. An overwhelming
majority favored Sri Lanka and Norway, and we had a fight on our
hands: Sri Lanka might translate into a nice trip home to India in
three years' time!
The dessert interrupted the proceedings, and we all
consumed ice cream while the voices for Sri Lanka and Norway
made a renewed attempt to woo voters in round two. The clock
was ticking fast towards midnight, and I retired for the
night after voting. Just in time, too, as the disco section
came alive and people poured out of their chairs to dance.
To bed, then, with the suspense of the election result
unquenched...
The next day revealed that Sri Lanka had beaten Norway for
the crown! A quick breakfast later, a final look at the
slides, then off to the conference room to check that the
presentation file opened without issues. An hour later, the
conference was a thing of the past, as we fought to check
out of the hotel and reach Pointe-a-Pitre airport in time
for the flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico and subsequently on
to Boston and home.
Flying home...
and a little adventure
A little drama, however, delayed our check-out. We had been
instructed to leave our packed bags in our rooms, and allow a porter
to lug them downstairs after we had signed all the final papers. We
decided to speed things up a little, and pulled the suitcases out of
our room after us. The exercise was beginning to feel arduous thanks
to the heat, and we decided to hunt for the elevators instead of
struggling down the stairs.
Unfortunately for us, the hotel had been built on an
uneven hill. The second floor at one point of the resort
would become the ground floor just a few rooms down the
corridor. To make things worse, the corridor itself snaked
through many buildings. We took an elevator to the ground
floor, got out, followed signs to the reception, and found
ourselves one floor higher than ground level. We went down the
stairs, and actually found ourselves outside
the hotel! There were even a few parked cars to bear witness
to this spectacle! We tried to retrace our steps, the clock
winding down inexorably towards our departure time.
More by luck than through any mental acuity, we
miraculously found ourselves on the right path. The
check-out was relatively smooth, and we got ourselves a cab
ride to the airport. As we prepared to leave, the door of
the cab opened, and another gentleman (who spoke French) got
in alongside us. The cab driver was obviously planning on
killing two fares for the cost of one. We couldn't care less, as
long as he could get us to the airport in time.
He did, but only after a brief skirmish with a long line
of cars waiting to get through a road construction zone that
included a couple of bulldozers. The American Eagle check-in
counter was manned by two easy-going gents who seemed to
have the characteristic tropical-island laziness, but we got
past security check with half an hour to spare. Snacks at
exorbitant rates were purchased in the gate area, and we
soon began a trek across the tarmac to get to the turbo-prop.
Immigration and customs check would be in San Juan. We
filled out the required forms in a steaming plane.
Thankfully, the air conditioner was switched on when the
aircraft started moving towards the runway. The rest of the
trip was rather dull (except for the inevitable scare at the
baggage claim carousel at Boston), and we found ourselves
back home rather late that night. It would now definitely
take a while to readjust to normal life in the fast lane.
