Arrival at the RIU

A few hurdles to overcome and then I would be at my resort. Immigration. Customs. Not passing gas in the line-up. Finding my bus.

All the passengers of flight TS258 waited in a huge line up, clutching our immigration and customs paperwork, and all began to sweat in the confined space and mild heat. However, due to my fast feet, I was no longer at the end of the line. My rich friend and her family were behind me. I chatted with the kids for a while and then the old fellow arrived, seems it was the grandfather of her son’s girlfriend. I bade them have a good trip and began to inch forward.

Without Margot, though, the lineup was the hard. Not only was it as boring as hell but I couldn’t help think how well we did line ups together, talking about the flight we just had or the adventures to come or who in the line up is a serial killer. She usually thought it was me.

Man, do I miss her.

However, I had no problems getting through immigration even though the pilot had incorrectly told us how to fill out the form (“the reason the lined up, she is taking so long," the official told me, "you do not fill out your forms.”).

I even managed to avoid the dreaded red light at customs (where, if you get a red light, they open your bags and toss everything around then say have a nice day and leave you to clean up the mess). That left only the bus and even then, I think I found it.

Yes, the right bus, you doubting Thomas’.

At least I hoped so.

I did ask.

Twice.

But it did worry me that my rich friends were not on this bus and they too were going to the RIU. Was I on the bus that takes us to a marijuana growing farm where we are herded off the bus like cattle and forced to surrender all our goods and passports to work in the sweltering heat harvesting the green plants while AK47 toting gunman make fun of our soccer team?

No, it was the right bus. Dunno what ever happened to my rich friends. I hope they can get used to slavery on the dope plantation.

The bus ride was bit hard too, the seat beside me empty, the conversation only happening in my head and it seems that I am not that good at talking to myself. I’m sure Margot would have been nice to the driver, saying hola or spoken to the attendant, thanking him for such a great job but I just couldn’t muster the Margot-goodness and just glowered out the window.

The Rui looked great when we arrived en mass. Huge while tower of a building, all lit up and glowing. Against the night sky, it seemed like a beacon of whitie-goodness, filled with free food, free booze and an ocean view room.

We all trampled out like grumpy sheep and, with polite staff directing us to the greeting room, we all went inside, took our first drink, (tequila, I think, but something that made my eyes water and my throat burn). They gave us information, packages and sent us on our way. We were told to leave our bags to the porters (which was fine with me, the burning alcohol had partly blinded me).

Off to my room. 18th floor. Room 36.

Margot would have looked at the map to find out where we should go but I thought how hard can this be to find my room? It’s on floor 18. It’s room 36.

Waited for a while for the elevator to arrive. Then misunderstood what floor it stopped at and got off on the 11th floor by mistake. Waited a while again for a new elevator. This took a while as everyone was using the damn elevator to get to their rooms.a This time got off on the right floor.

I walked from one end of the hotel to the other and finally found my room, right by a set of different elevators. Oh well. I used the key to get into my room and then took 5 min to figure out how the lights worked, made all the harder by the fact I had to do it in the dark. Classic catch 22. To figure out the lights, I needed a light.

Unpacked and raced downstairs to eat. Used a small plate, first, by mistake, then found the man sized plates and really went to town. Tomorrow, I will have to do better but tonight I dined in HELL! Ate a bit of everything. Some good pasta, actually, and some tasty mussels (even if they were a bit chewy). As I ate, I was treated to glass after glass of wine. All in all the food was so so but after 11 glasses of wine, I didn’t care.

That empty chair across from me was hard to look at. Everyone else in the room seemed to have a friend or a companion or a table full of family. The chair across from me screamed. But, after wiping away a few tears, I vowed to not let this defeat me, that I would get out there tomorrow and do Margot proud. I would sit and read and burn my skin to a fine red colour then celebrate by heading into a strange town and watching the marde gras.

Thanked the guys in the restaurant using my massive command of the Spanish language. Gracias amigo, buonos neuches though I fear it sounded like grabsis shamicko, bonos nachos. Damn wine.

Came back to my room, drank a beer, forgot my middle name, lost all feeling in my feet and crashed on the bed. Did my best to type out the blog but, since my fingers were numb and my mind number, I had to call it a night.

Tomorrow I would catch up and try out something that terrified me.