The last six days have been one long series of alarums and excursions.
I got a cold. On Saturday it turned into bronchitis. I'm in the apartment in bed on Sunday night around six when the lights flicker. At eight, the lights go out for real, and in the unexpected silence we hear water dripping from behind our shower. I get up in the night with a flashlight to take my five meds and find the lights are now working again. Yay!
Nah. At eight the next morning we lose power again. Oh, and we have no water pressure, either, due to what turns out to be a lacking solar tank on the roof. The only appliances that work are the gas stove and, yay, the toilets. It is, of course, the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, and all electricians and plumbers are off. We go out to eat breakfast only to find that our landlord came over while we were gone but didn't come in because we didn't answer the door. We tell her to take the rest of the day off, happy holidays, and hope the power comes back on. It does not. Well, except for a three hour stretch between 11pm and 2am. Not helpful. Raine's throat is now "scratchy."
Tuesday morning I carry the coffeemaker down to the first floor courtyard, because our neighbor's power is on just fine. I am starting to feel better due to enforced rest plus enough steroids to power a Florida high school football team. We wait around, no change, and reluctantly decide to bag it and head to a hotel for a few days. Raine books it, we go, and immediately after check-in she mashes her toe into a concealed step and "hears a crunch." Hurts like hell, and top of the foot is blue. We go to the room and collapse. An hour after we get there, the landlord calls and says the power problem was faulty insulation on a newly-installed meter and is fixed; the tank will take a few days. Come back. We look at each other.
This message is being typed from our stupidly luxe hotel room. It has gloriously hot showers. It has pristine, high thread-count sheets over a mattress as thick as the continental shelf. It has excellent breakfasts with platas frutas the size of your head. It has *heat.*
The moral of this long, whiny story, such as it is, is that shit is just going to happen when you travel. You're going to get sick and you're going to get hurt and stuff isn't going to work like it's supposed to. The important part is to be flexible enough to change up your game plan and make the most of your enforced down time. We didn't plan to spend the week this way, that's for sure, but getting pampered while we're under the weather and don't feel like moving is the best gift we could have given ourself.
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