Destination: Heaven

So after being up 'til 3AM last night (Dave had to madly finish work due to deadline confusion, oops), I was up at 5:15, as giddy as a schoolgirl, ready to hit the airport for our annual Barbados trip.

The getting ready was fast, we were all packed, and we went downstairs to await our cab. After ten minutes, I called -- and it was a good thing. They'd written 6PM instead of AM. Suffice it to say, there's no traffic on a Sunday morning anyway, and we made it there just fine -- despite a rusty cab and the very jerky driving of some poor man who seemed like he'd been awake for far too long in one day.

The lineups were a total mess, the staff seemed ever-so-dejected, and we (amongst many, many others) had to get pulled into a "fast lane", which seemed to take just as long as the regular lane. (I find it utterly baffling how Air Canada still has so many operational issues -- it's basic queue theory. Anyway.) We made it through the gate with time to spare, grabbed some water bottles, a banana and a honey cruller, and hit the skies.

During the flight, I spent my usual half-the-time feeling like my back was freezing -- 'til I discovered the joy of putting a pillow behind you. All iciness issues resolved, I listened to some music, tried to get some sleep, and watched The Prestige. (Speaking of which: GOD, those airline headphones are a nightmare -- I swear until right now I thought we'd watched The Illusionist and only discovered my mistake when I tried to IMDB it. I only heard every third word... though, to be fair, I was relatively focused on the dreaminess level of my boyfriend Christian Bale. Back to the headphones: why do these get thrown out after one use? I could have sworn they used to take them away, and I assumed they replaced the foam and reused, but this time they went right in the trash with food leftovers and the like. Quelle waste. Though I guess that does speak to the quality issue.)

After five or six hours (I invariably lose track of time when I change zones), we arrived. We took a bus from the plane to customs (here is where I saw our beloved and frantically waving accountant, Hot Diane), then spent two hours entering the country and collecting our bags. My favourite part of this experience was when a grumpy staffer asked us and two older couples on either side of us to "please don't slow down the line" -- in all honesty, we had all been discussing the joys of lollygagging to extend the airport experience, and she really got us. Crafty!

And then we were outside in the sun and all the annoyance of a day jam-packed with travel irritation was completely gone. Our driver found us, we jumped in, and enjoyed the scenic drive to Port St. Charles (from Bridgetown to just-by-Speightstown, above). Left-hand-lane driving always makes me the tiniest bit anxious, as I secretly suspect other non-local drivers to forget and attack us in a head-on -- particularly in those freaky round-abouts -- but we made it here safe and sound, Banks Beer and Herr's barbecued chips safely in hand.

We were in hot-weather-gear in about fifteen seconds, and spent the evening (a) lounging on the patio, drinks in hand, (b) enjoying a heavenly burger at the bar, or (b) sleeping on the sofa while trying to watch the SuperBowl.

I won't ever be coming home. Do you think it's too early to declare squatter's rights?