Two weeks ago my husband and I returned from a delectable cruise along the western coast of Latin America, an area our extensive travel choices hadn’t touched. For twelve days, with added nights of hotel stays in each country, we cruised between Costa Rica and Panama. Tramps through the rainforest to take in the flora, fauna, and wild critters were highlights of Costa Rica, with side notes of volcanoes and coffee plantations—great choices by the Tauck tour planner.
The pride of Panama was, of course, the Panama Canal. Transit through the three locks and the man-made lake took all day and was scintillating beyond words.
But we were ready to come home-sweet-home, because, as we all know, there’s no place like it.
Then the curse of the tour company’s bad choice for our route home exacted its wear and tear on our bodies. Incredulously, our path home took us from Panama City to the airport in Newark, New Jersey (!) where we had a four-hour layover. At least this afforded us time to devour a meal (no longer offered on airlines) and transit from Terminal C to A, which about killed our life-ravaged knees.
But wait – that was only the midpoint of our overlong trip home. We boarded our flight and traveled nearly six hours more into the airport near our Orange County, CA home. Though we’d paid for a bit of extra legroom, our bodies arrived achey and near-incapacitated for a slog to the curb where our transit home awaited. Holy crap! Did I mention that it was 10:00 p.m. and our journey had begun at 6:00 a.m? (trace our route on this world map…)
Despite Advil and massages in the two weeks since we returned, my body hasn’t regained homeostasis.
Another bad travel choice was made recently, but not by my husband and me. I’d intended to include those less-than-stellar deets in this blog post, but I’m exhausted by this brief recounting.
My choice now is to rest in my bed with my perfect pillow. Discomfort begone, so I can travel again.