Cooties in the Carribean

The Steptoe's just can't go anywhere without drama tagging along for the ride.

We leave for a trip (business for Ron, relaxation for me) to the island of Dominica on Friday morning and it seems like this is going to an uneventful trip. However, about an hour into the flight to Puerto Rico, I started experiencing a little GI disturbance. Of course, the woman sitting next to me was like a bag lady for San Juan. She didn't put any of her gear in the overhead compartment, so she was in her seat with a heavy coat on her lap, a backpack under her feet, a purse under MY chair, a soda and cup in her hands. GET UP NOW! I thought I was going to die waiting for her to get situated again so I could be ill in the privacy of an airplane bathroom. Just when I thought Ron would send the flight attendant to rescue me, I emerged feeling queasy and looking like Casper. Although I'm not Catholic, I spent the rest of the time rocking back and forth saying a few rosaries and Hail Mary's - it worked for my girlfriend Terri when I tortured her at a Spin Class.

We landed in Puerto Rico and I felt like death warmed over. Having some foresight, I took a couple of airsick bags with me off the plane - just in case. I just didn't feel right. I stumbled off the plan and trailed behind Ron who was making haste for the Admirals Club in hopes of getting some help for me. Just outside the Admirals club, I started breaking out in a perfuse sweat - the know precursor to hurling - and loose my cookies. It was DEFINITELY NOT a Diva Moment. I did the best I could to maintain Diva Dignity with not a drop missing the airsick bag or getting on anything else. I did all of this wearing 3" heels and a dress. Ron was kind enough - or understood that this was not a proud Diva Moment - to shield e from the eyes of other travelers as I lean against the wall and hurl into a white bag. Spare me, Oh Lord. Once the main event had passed, he hustled me into the Admirals Club, where everyone was very kind and helpful. The bar tender assured me that the "tummy tody" he would make me would make me right as rain. What the hell did he know. It was kinda gross tasting but I did feel a little better. It was not to last. They even brought me a wheel chair to take me to our connecting gate. Turns out that chair was a blessing in disguise as it was a damn long way to gate 1. Whew!

We boarded the plan to Dominica and I resumed my praying. Hail Mary, Mother of God...I don't know the rest so I just reverted back to...Lord Jesus hear my prayers. I was hoping the direct line to God would work. God was busy at the time with more pressing matters - world hunger, war, Darfur - stuff like that - He'd get back to me real soon, so two hours and two more airsick bags later, we finally landed. KILL ME NOW! Well, it's over, RIGHT? What more could happen to us/me. Why haven't I learned NOT to ask that question.

We get the rental car an due to my barely settled stomach, decide to take the scenic (long) route to the hotel vs. going overland thru/over mountains on unpaved roads. Thus we make our way around the entire island, driving like a bat out of hell when all of sudden we gt a flat tire. You've got to be kidding. Lisa, your not in Kansas anymore.

We get our flat tire out in the middle of nowhere, with just 2 cynderblock shacks up on the hill, blasting explicit rap music. It was surreal. Some guy come out of the jungle (you can't really call it woods) and offer to help. Ron jumps at the chance for help cause he didn't want to get dirty and asks our host, Ellerton how much we should give him. $50? Ellerton tells Ron he's crazy and for $10, Ellerton would do it himself. The rasta guy gets the donut on and Ron gives him $20. Anything was worth it to Ron as long as he didn't have to do any manual labor. While I am waiting for the tire to be changed and our replacement care to arrive, I watch a couple of the locals come out of the cynderblock houses.

One guy scooped up a dead cat and threw it into the jungle. Okay. Then two others went out to mess with a dog they had chained up in the yard. The dog was just trying to eat and they were antagonizing it. I was like "HEY, STOP IT." They ignored me and continue hitting at the dog. Finally, I said to the dog "BITE EM." Ron looks at me like I'm crazy and tells me to leave the natives alone before I end up like the cat - thrown in the jungle. Wow. We get the tire changed and just hang on the side of the road waiting for another car, when a taxi van pulls up. Out jumps this guy that had to be 3 sheet to the wind drunk and carrying a beer in his hands. He taunted us about needing a ride and that "it don't look like you got much choice" Hell no! I'd rather sit here with the dog and cat torturers then get in the cab with a drunk guy on these roads. Ten minutes later, the car arrives and we are back on our way. It was allegedly a very beautiful ride and awesome sunset. I missed it all - I passed out in a sick stupor and woke up only when we pulled up to the hotel.

We arrive at the hotel at 7pm. A total agonizing travel time of 14 hours. We got settled in the hotel which is very nice, ordered some soup from room service and passed out, praying that tomorrow would be a better day.

Woke up feeling like myself again and now we are off and running to a breakfast business meeting and a tour of the island and land site where the resort will be built. Stay tuned for more adventures - DRAMA IN DOMINICA.