We have been on a rather tortured and intermittent journey in an attempt to escape the path of the Hurricane that goes by the name of Dean. Ellen and I have escaped and are now comfortably and safely hidden in the depth of the Meat Packing District of New York City.
On Monday morning, we awoke at 6:30 a.m. in order to insure our timely arrival at the airport, knowing that the lines and general pandemonium would be truly incredible. While we were quite right in our predictions of the insanity present within the airport, we were unfortunately somewhat too hopeful as to the helpfulness of our early start, as Spirit Airlines seems to feel differently about getting a jump on the day.
And so, while the early bird (us) did get the proverbial worm (the flight home, and thus away from the path of destruction), the worm salesman did not arrive on the scene until hours after this bird (again, us) did.
The scene at the airport was crazy, though rather calm in a way. The lines were long (some as long as the terminal, in fact), and hundreds, if not thousands of people, seemed to be there on stand-by hopes and dreams alone, and yet the people themselves were calm. Perhaps the knowledge that in this case of airport insanity the culprit was a dangerous and frightening storm, and not the cause of some institutionalized aviation industry ineptitude, calmed travelers in a tranquil quiescence.
Whatever the case, there seemed to be few cases of screaming, or loud complaining, or threats, or anything of the like. On the contrary, all seemed resigned to their fate, fatigued and slightly overwhelmed, yet merely hoping that all would work out for the best.
As it turns out, or as it seems it will turn out, the hurricane has moved slightly to the south, and the true center of Dean seems poised to make landfall at Chetumal (near the border with Belize) in just a few hours. Nonetheless, as the satellite photos being shown on most news channels make clear, Cancun, Cozumel, Tulum, and all of my other recent haunts will be severely affected.
It is awe-inspiring and sobering to consider my own great luck, as Ellen and I obviously did not plan our departure based on this hurricane. We merely had the great luck to have bought a ticket that left Mexico on the 20th of August, as opposed to the 21st or later. It is equally sobering to consider the fate of the citizens of the places that I have only recently vacated. While in most cases I am sure of their safety and well-being, I worry greatly for their economic situation, as most places along the so-called Mayan Riviera are still reeling from the effects of Hurricane Wilma.
My thoughts and hopes go out to all that are there, whether they be fellow travelers or locals of the area.
Tomorrow I begin to head South once again, working my way through West Virginia, to the home of my Aunt, before returning to Asheville. I will only be in Asheville a short time, approximately a day, before heading to New Orleans to attend the bachelor party of my good friend.
More soon, from somewhere.
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