Oh, am I still here? Apparently so. Well, let’s do something about that. But first, a recap of Friday:

Breakfast / beach / lunch / Poseidon / afternoon misc / coffee / drinks in the Village / Aqua bar

You know, the usual. Except there were crucial variations: I worked out BEFORE lunch, for wifely scheduling considerations, and did not go to the lobby for coffee. So there. I am open to all sorts of new experiences.

Tired, though. Made it through a curtailed workout, which had a very strange character - until I realized that the music system was not thumping away. Huh. Made the place seem a bit downbeat and unhappy.

But the man showed up.

Our last night of entertainment: Pirate Night. There was a piratical dance show set to Hans Zimmer music, so lots of thumping and swelling and crafty jigs and such. I like it - how can you not? - but I think pirate admiration is idiocy. At least they wrapped it all around the Captain Jack Sparrow tale, so we had that lovable resourceful drunken strange-o guy who wags his finger and arches his eyebrows instead of slavering admiration over some amoral criminals.

They really did make too many of those movies, but they always do.

The choreography was better, inasmuch as it wasn’t the usual incessant flailing-of-limbs or other peculiar simulacra of passion and joy. The pas de deus went on for a long time, and you didn’t know if she was dying or falling in love, but in the end everyone was happy and the theme played.

PLAY ENJOYED BY ALL.

Our last meal was at the Japanese restaurant, where we were treated to hibachi. Much theatrical chopping and clanging of implements.

Drinks at the Aqua, then back to the room to pack. No regrets; it wasn’t a day too short or a day too long. Just enough so you’re actually glad to be going home, because it’s nice to get back to the old familiar ways, and you tell yourself that all the way up until you step into the jetway at MSP and you’re hit with a ten-degree breeze.

I am getting ahead of the non-existent story. There remains the ride to the airport. The driver took a different route.

It’s not an old town. I mean, officially. It was a town before - well, this:

		Was that a common belief in 1974? Computers screwed up your charge accounts? Did people think it was a programming error, or a user error?

Anyway, to think that people would come to this new untested incomplete resorts, when they could go to . . .

On the way to the airport, a text: flight delayed.

This happened before. The first time. Delayed meant that the crew timed out, although that was because they had to land in Atlanta while the whole “gunfire at the airport” situation sorted itself out. Remember that? What fun. This time I figured it was weather, since it was snowing in Minneapolis. So it’s all doubly bad: flight late, and snow upon arrival.

But! There was an earlier flight with seats still available, and since our flight was late, we could switch for free. And so we did. I was curious if we’d be stopped at the passport check, since there was no indication we had paid the VISITAX.

You MUST PAY the VISITAX. The signs at the airport arrival area say so. Here’s the QR code, please pay up. The money goes to the Environment! Well. It’s been in place since 2020. Never heard of it before, and consequently, never paid it.

There’s just something about “use your credit card on this site on public unsecured Mexican wifi” that makes a bit hesitant.

There was an EcoTax at the hotel in the same amount, a double-sawbuck per person. Maybe that’s the VisiTax. Except that the hotel clerk said they weren’t.

Had an hour or so to kill in the airport, which means you get the opportunity to dine and drink at the most ridiculously expensive place on earth. My. Gawd. There’s but one good place to eat, and we ate there, then wife had her traditional Leaving Cancun Airport Margarita. Ended up talking with a solo traveling Aussie of a certain age, who reminded me of a very low-key Joanna Lumley-as-Patsy in AbFab, if a low-key version is possible. I bought my usual new bottle of Mexican hot sauce, and to complete my self-advertised reputation as a plan-ahead guy, I consulted a picture I'd taken before I left, showing all the bottles I'd bought previously.

In the end, though, it's all just hot sauce.

On the plane. Three hours. The world was glazed with fresh ice when we returned, just to drive home the fact that we were - well, driving home, I guess. It was miserable, but all was well when we got home. Birch was ecstatic. Almost snapped his spine wagging his back so hard. Total dog joy, tinged with anger: barking! Stern barking! Because you did that thing where you vanished! I had no idea! I worried all the time! I’ve been ALONE!

(The Housesitter had left 30 minutes earlier)

And that was that. That was good! And it’s already a distant memory.

We’ll be back. I wonder what the devil I’ll end up writing then.

Possibly how much I just love waking to this.

Thanks for enduring another visit. Monday: you won't believe it. You just won't.

Go ahead, predict. See you on the other side of the weekend!