As much as I love to travel, I must admit it very often sucks. I'm typing in the lobby of some fleabag hotel at the airport in Houston. The TV in our room doesn't work, nor does the alarm clock, and any sexual act my we engaged in during the night will I'm sure end up on the proprieter's website by this afternoon.
Yesterday our flight out of BWI was delayed just long enough (2 hours) for us to miss our flight to Merida, and consequently a day of our vacation has disappeared down the toilet. And it was only a six-day trip to begin with. Continental--who were as helpful as possible after the delay--initially told us we'd have to wait in Houston until a 7:15 pm flight to Merida this evening, but I demanded they check routes through Mexico City and other carriers. So today we're on a flight out of Houston to Mexico City at 7:30, then a flight out of Mexico City to Merida at 12:30, and we should arrive at our hotel around 3pm today instead of 10pm last night.
If there are no more surprises along the way.
Things weren't all bad--out here on airport hotel row was a 24-hour breakfast joint, and on the table was a tabasco and a hot sauce that sent my tastebuds to the Jovian moon Io. Our tired waitress had teardrop and star tats under her eyes. After two disgusting fast food meals in the miserable BWI E terminal it was good to get something more substantial--an egg burrito.
Too bad we arrived in Houston late on a Sunday night and far from anything to do. I've been in this airport three times but have never seen the city.