Midnight Flights, Betrayal by Luggage, and the Gospel of Mofongo

Spent a fabulous Thursday with my Snipah™ Melissa—an elite day that included:

• dogs to the Spa

• the Farmers Market

• a “sneak” visit to the Wheelwright Zen Center (sign said Closed for Retreat, so naturally we came…and then retreated)

• lunch at the Pelican Inn, and

• extensive catching-up and gossip.

. . . between, of course, a Wednesday and Friday (yes, Friday was supposed to be vacation) of the classic pre-trip ritual: “unable to get up from my desk” work frenzy.

NOTE on the weather: It’s been a cold and foggy 48F or so…even though Melissa was coming from a frigid 8F in Buffalo, puffers and cashmere have been required! When we drove up above it on Mt. Tam, however, it was in the 70s! *Crazy!*

Dinner on Friday, pre-trip, was perfection:

bacon-wrapped filets (🎶 Grocery Outlet… Bargain Market… 🎶), maple-and-unicorn-dust-drizzled Farmers Market butternut squash hunks, and a kale–applepear (are they apples?? pears??)–red pepper salad, the last two generously zhuzhed by Melissa. Sustained and smug, it was time for the midnight run from SFO → Charlotte → San Juan.

The Pre-Flight Chaos (a Tradition)

Travel always makes me reorganize my closet while throwing all possible trip clothing on the floor, followed by “travel stuff” drawer excavation and a mandatory “this or that” fashion show for the person watching the dogs. This time, everything fit into a backpack and carry-on—important, because our Charlotte transfer was tight and I did not want my luggage enjoying a solo vacation.

Headed down stairs, plenty of time . . .

Which is when my carry-on—faithful companion to H and me for 20 years and at least two trips a year—broke.

The handle bent. And snapped.

Yes. Really.

Moment of silence.

Melissa, heroine of the hour, gallantly offered her brand-new Away carry-on, and we did a full luggage transplant on the spot. Only one “pair” of sandals didn’t fit, so those went into the backpack. (Why pair is in quotes becomes relevant later.)

Dogs were hugged, Snipah properly thanked, and off we went.

Midnight Is THE Time to Fly

Let me tell you: midnight is peak airport efficiency.

No lounges open. No Starbucks. No humans.

BUT!

We had Clear, TSA Pre, and Regular TSA all aggressively trying to recruit us into their completely empty lines. Four TSA agents vying for our driver’s licenses. Zero passengers. We were through security in roughly the time it takes to blink.

The plane, however? 100% full.

Sharon had aisle, I had window; when the middle passenger arrived, Sharon heroically slid into the middle so we could sit together.

Enter: The Sleep Arsenal.

I had packed two (one for each of us) Gravel travel blankets —absolute MUST-HAVES. They snap behind your neck, have a front muff-hand-warmer-pocket-thing (with a place to put your ticket, probably if you’re sleeping on a train), foot pockets . . . It rolls into a stuff sack that clips onto your backpack, and—when stuffed—doubles as a pillow or lumbar support. Honestly, wizardry.

All three of us in our row also had FlyHugz neck supports. Add a Tylenol PM, Japanese steam mask, blackout sleep mask with headphones, and I achieved…some sleep. (P.S.: I don’t get $ from any of these links, I’m too lazy to set that up. For other links, such as my travel knapsack carryon, just look at the post immediately before this one.)

Side note: I recently read that American Airlines reduced seat padding to lower plane weight because people themselves are heavier now. I regret to inform you this is 100% true. Even in Premium Economy, those seats were brutal. I now have (truth) what can only be described as an erging-style rub injury, and I am investigating seat pads for future travel.

Charlotte: Cold, Caffeinated, and Fortuitous

Charlotte was 32°F. We persevered. Snipah had suggested I wear a cashmere hoodie under my jeans jacket. Bonus points.

Originally, our San Juan flight had plenty of empty seats—including the middle between us—but a prior de-icing issue created a 14-person standby list, so: Chaos. Fortunately, our connecting gates were directly across from each other, and our first flight arrived early. This left time for:

• chai latte (Sharon)

• protein iced coffee (me)

• Starbucks egg white bites (both)

The San Juan flight is about four hours. By arrival, we’d traveling for ~12 hours and flying for ~8. We worked very hard not to be surly.

Rental Car Adventures (a.k.a. “Nope.”)

We’d booked a car with U-Save because it was a huge discount over the “usual” rental companies. Their ad said “at the airport.”

Narrator voice: They were not at the airport.

As we were contemplating our fate, a U-Save van drove by. Herbert always had impeccable timing with these things, so we thanked him for sending it. Before heading out, I pulled the “pair of sandals” out of my knapsack… One black Croc “beach sandal,” one black walking sandal. Whoops… (Never fear, a “matching pair” was in the carryon, just had to dig.)

We Google-mapped our way to the Hyatt via Walmart—breakfast supplies, forgotten items—and finally arrived.

Arrival: Paradise, But Make It Freezing

The Hyatt Vacation Club is about 50 minutes from the airport, next to the Ritz-Carlton, on the side of the island still visibly rebuilding after Hurricane Maria 9 years ago. Check-in was smooth—and arctic.

Outside: muggy, ~80°F

Inside: approximately meat locker

We were issued wristbands (private beach—makes sense), and discovered our room setup: a one-bedroom plus lock-off, which, here, means you enter one door and face two locked doors like a Choose Your Own Adventure.

Sharon got the left: kitchenette, king bedroom, ocean-and-pool-view veranda.

I got the right: big kitchen, dining/sitting area, balcony, king bedroom, and a bathroom roughly the size of a studio apartment, with a shower that could host a yoga class.

Thermostats were immediately cranked.

Dinner: The Gospel of Mofongo

So down to the on-site restaurant we went.

Drinks:

• Piña colada (Sharon)

• Sangria (me)

 

Food:

• steak mofongo

• BIG house salad with fresh mixed greens, candied pecans, grilled prawns, and manchego cheese

For the uninitiated, mofongo is mashed fried plantains mixed with garlic, formed into a glorious mountain and topped with meat. It is dense. It is serious. It is not here to play.

Our waiter delicately warned us: Mofongo is BIG.

We listened.

We shared.

We were still stuffed.

(Granted, we’d only eaten two egg white bites in the previous 12 hours, so we absolutely decimated that mofongo.)

Add a mojito (Sharon), another sangria (me), a look-in to the very nice gym and game room, and we were DONE.

Lights Out

Puerto Rico is one hour ahead of the East Coast—four hours ahead of home—so we let the necessary people know we’d arrived safely, and promptly collapsed.

Today’s plan:

• tide pools

• or pool

• or beach

• or literally nothing

Because after all of this…

WE ARE FINALLY ON VACATION. 🎉

YAY.

(And I’m sure I forgot something—but that’s Day 1.)