Our Trip to Alaska (rough draft)

An "unedited" piece I wrote for a college class.


While running my last marathon, I told myself I would never do this again. The temperature in Duluth, Minnesota that day reached seventy-seven degrees and ninety-one percent humidity. I was just coming off a quadriceps injury and experienced pain and dehydration the entire way. I had to stop and walk numerous times along the course. I finished in four hours and twelve minutes, a time that was an embarrassment after qualifying for Boston the year before in three hours and thirty-seven minutes. One thing, about running marathons, though, is that about a week after the race, your muscles have recovered, your mind has blocked out most of the grueling parts, and you start to think about how you can improve in your next one.
This happened to me, and a year after Grandma’s Marathon I signed up for a race on Prince of Whales Island, Alaska. It worked out perfectly. The race was a week after I graduated from college and my parents said they would pay for my plane ticket as part of a graduation gift. Our family also has relatives that lived in Ketchikan, Alaska. We’d spend a few days with them and then take a three hour ferry to the island on the Friday before my race. There was no way I could turn down this opportunity to spend five days in Alaska and run a marathon there, so I signed up for the race and bought the plane tickets a month in advance on Expedia.com.
My sister, Christy, a freshman in college, came with me as my support. Christy had been to both of my previous marathons and so she had a slight idea of the pain I went through each time. I usually had her give me a massage after each marathon while I scream out “Ouch, not so hard!” or “Oh boy, yeah, right there. I didn’t even know I used that muscle to run.” Its not that Christy loved her role as designated massage therapist post my marathons, but she did like the idea of going to Alaska for five days.
We left home for the Madison airport at 12 PM Tuesday. My mom drove us because she wanted to be sure to take lots of pictures of her two little girls going on their first vacation without the parents. Security check went smoothly compared to the length of time it took my mom to hug and kiss us goodbye. We still ended up having and hour and a half of extra time to sit at our gate after we got all checked in. Finally, it was time to board and Christy and I gathered our three pieces of red matching luggage. The plane taxied out to the runway right on time and awaited permission for take off when this message came across the cabin’s intercom:
“Good afternoon ladies and gentleman. This is your pilot Jim Bradford speaking. Listen, its just going to be a slight delay here. We just got word from flight control in Chicago that they have strong winds at this hour and they are not letting planes land. We were told just to hold tight for about another fifteen minutes and they’ll let us know what’s going on. Sorry for the inconvenience, but there’s nothing we can really do right now. They don’t call Chicago the windy city for nothing.”
I glanced at my blue sports watch. It was 1:30. We still had plenty of time to catch our connecting flight. Our plane from O’Hare to Seattle didn’t depart until 3:20. I reached for the Sky Mall magazine in the seat pocket in front of me and began skimming through the pages of back scratchers, coat hangers, and nose trimmers.
Pretty soon the pilot came back on the intercom.
“Well, ladies and gentleman, I have some good news. The winds in Chicago have died down and they are permitting planes to land again. The bad news is that they have set our arrival time back one hour. We’ll just have to hold tight until then and make friends with our neighbors until we are permitted to take off. Sorry for the inconveniences this may cause you, but there’s nothing I can really do. The flight attendants will be passing through the cabin shortly with beverages.”
I checked my watch again. An hour from now it would be 2:45, which meant our plane would land in Chicago around 3:15. There was no way we were going to make our connecting flight. I watch Christy twist her boarding pass over and over again until it ripped into two long thin pieces. Inside I felt the same, but I was trying to be the calm one.
“Ok, so we’re not going to make our flight if it leaves on time,” I informed her.
“I know,” she responded.
“Well, we’ll just get off and sprint to our gate, maybe it got delayed because of the wind too.”
She nodded vigorously and smiled. I was glad I made her feel better, but I doubted my own hopeful idea. I wasn’t sure what we should be doing at this point, so I called my mom and told her what was going on.
“Well the airlines have to make it right with you. They will have to find you another flight to Seattle. Go to the information desk as soon as you get to O’Hare and tell them what happened. They’ll find something for you. Don’t worry about it. Everything will work out. In the meantime, I will call your uncle and let him know what’s going on.”
My mom was always the rational one during a crisis. When I was seven, my pet rabbit ran away and I cried for days. She told me that rabbits only lived with people for a little bit before they had to go back to their real families in the woods. Then when they have a baby, it can come to live with us again. Sure enough two days later a baby brown bunny appeared in my rabbit cage.
At 2:45 PM on the dot we took off from Madison. While in flight, the flight attendants announced all of the different connecting airlines’ gate numbers for any people who were going to have to jump off this plane once it landed and catch another one. As soon as our plane touched down in O’Hare and the pilot turned the seatbelt sign off Christy and I scrambled to get our bags and get to the head of the plane. We sprinted through terminal after terminal and up and down escalators hauling our luggage over our shoulders. Soaked with perspiration and huffing and puffing, we reached gate B17 at exactly 3:23. Our plane had just taken off. Christy and I hung our heads and slowly sulked over to the United Airlines information desk near gate B8.
We stood in line for about twenty minutes before someone was available to help us. The lady behind the desk flicked her finger for us to come forward and flashed a full-teeth grin. We responded with frowns.
“How can I help you ladies today?” she asked.
“Our plane out of Madison was wind delayed and now we missed our flight from here to Seattle,” I explained to her. “We still have to catch a flight from Seattle to Ketchikan, Alaska at 7:50 PM Pacific time as well.”
“Hmmmm,” she responded as she began typing away at the small off-white 90’s style computer in front of her. “Let’s see what I can do for you.”
I watched her shake her head no and curl her lips. Her curly blond hair was tied up in a tight bun that stretched the wrinkles on the sides of her tan face into parallel lines. Every once and awhile she would play with on of her gold hoop earrings and mumbled negative things to herself, like “nope, not that one” or “gee that won’t work.” I thought I was about to go into a brief state of depression when she finally told us she could find anything for today or tomorrow to Seattle.
“Let’s see, here’s one for Thursday. Let me now check and see if I can connect that up with a flight to Alaska.”
Another eternity passed, followed by more head shakes and negative mumbling. I wanted to crumble to the floor.
“Well, I can get you to Alaska on Sunday at 10:30AM. How does that work?”
“No!” I yelled as tears began to stream down my face. “My race is Saturday! I have to be there Saturday!”
Christy rationally explained to the woman that I was going to Alaska to run a marathon, as I incompetently couldn’t tell her because I was balled my eyes out in front of the entire information desk. The woman returned to her computer, more determined than ever now to help us get to Alaska. She even tried to get us on a connecting flight to Vancouver. There was nothing available.
“Well, your only option is to go on standby for the 5:30 flight to Seattle. Unfortunately that plane has been overbooked. If you can’t get on, there is another one leaving at 7:30 which has been overbooked as well. I’m really sorry I can’t do more for you ladies. I hope you make it to your race.”
“Gee, thanks lady,’ I mumbled under my breath.
We gathered our things and slowly drug them over to gate B10 to wait for the 5:30 flight. I called my mom to tell her what was going on. She responded with the response she always had when she knew things may not work out.
“I’ll say a prayer for you.”
When it was 5 PM, they began boarding the plane. Christy and I waited patiently hoping that most of the people in the rows that they were calling didn’t show up. A lot of people were lining up to get on, though, and the situation felt hopeless. Finally they began to read the standby list. Everyone in the world seemed to be on that list. Name after name was called.
“Rachel and Christy Matheson.”
Christy spun her head at me and looked at me like I was Christmas morning. I must have looked at her the same way because she gave me a huge hug that lifted me off the ground.
“We’re going to Alaska,” she shouted.
“No,” I said, “we are going to Seattle.”
We gathered our luggage and handed the woman our boarding passes. I kept listening to the announcements and realized that our names were the last to be called on the standby list. Once we were all settled in, I called my mom back.
“We got on,” I told her.
“Praise the Lord!”
5:30 came and went. The pilot came across the intercom at 5:45.
“Well, ladies and gentleman. As you can see, we’re not going to get out of here on schedule today. What happened is that the radar is malfunctioning and we are waiting for the flight mechanics to bring us a new part. I would say lets just go, but as I’m sure you all know, we do need out radar while in flight, ha ha. Anyway, hopefully the piece they bring us fits. The last one didn’t. Just sit tight and we will be underway soon.”
“Oh-my-gosh, seriously?” I mumbled to Christy. “Whhhhy?”
“Hey, at least we made it onto this plane,” responded my young optimistic sister.
Another twenty minutes passed before the pilot had an update.
“Well, it looks like the part they brought us didn’t fit after all. I’m afraid that we are going to have to switch all of you to a different airplane. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
I threw my head back against my chair and closed my eyes. This was a nightmare. There had been a slight, small ounce of hope that if this plane would have left on time, we could have made our connecting flight in Seattle. Now all bets were off. Christy nudged me and I open my eyes.
“Hey, you alright?”
“No. Don’t talk to me.”
Eventually we all unloaded off the plane, walked down to gate B5, and boarded another one. That plane took off right away and we were finally on our way to Seattle. I sat at a window seat and along the route, and I was able to catch glimpses of snowcapped mountains and river passes before the golden sunset. I wish I could say it made me feel all warm and happy inside, but nature’s beauty couldn’t contend with the frustration this trip had caused me to feel thus far. All of this so that I could go and put my body through three and a half hours of running hell.
We landed in Seattle around 9:30 PM Pacific time. Immediately after we got off the plane, Christy and I went up to the desk attendant right outside our gate and told her our dilemma. She began typing away at her computer and her black curls bounced from side to side as she shook her head. Before she said anything, she printed off three tickets and handed them to us.
“One of these is for your hotel and the other two are for dinner and breakfast. Hang onto these, they are like cash.”
She resumed typing and Christy and I stared at each other quizzically.
“Ok,” she said. “I’m going to call down to Alaskan Airlines and tell them your circumstance. I can’t do anything for you up here since it looks like all flights to Alaska have stopped for today. They will be able to help you find something down there. Just go down two floors and to your right. First, though, go to luggage claim and see if your luggage came through from the flight you just got off of.”
Sighing heavily, I picked up my two bags which seemed to be much heavier than before and headed towards baggage claim with Christy trailing behind me. Baggage claim was a zoo and we had to push our way to the front to catch of glimpse of what was coming through. Slowly the crowd began to diminish, and finally it was just Christy and I left. Our luggage never came out.
“You stay here and keep an eye out. I’m going to go over and talk to the baggage helpdesk,” I said to Christy.
I stood in line for over fifteen minutes with other travelers who were upset over the whereabouts of their luggage. I finally motioned Christy to come over and stand by me. Christy didn’t want to give up, though. She continued to stand next to the moving luggage belt, watching the same blue suitcase go around and around. Finally I had to yell at her.
“Christy! Just come over here, forget it, they weren’t on the plane with us.”
For the first time on the whole trip, my optimistic little sister broke down in tears. I think the reality of the nightmare we had gone through, the possibility that our luggage was lost, and the fact that it was 10 PM at night, 12 AM our time, hit her. I put my arm around her and hugged her in close. I realized at this point I needed to watch my temper and be more sensitive around her.
“It’s gonna be alright, Christy,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “We are going to find our luggage. It will get to Alaska with us. We have enough stuff to get by until then.”
I was glad that I had planned ahead for a situation like this and packed all of my marathon clothes and running shoes in my carry-on. Christy had enough clothes and personal items in her carry-on to get by for a couple of days as well. We reached the front of the line and told the woman what our problem was. She looked at our claim tickets and typed the information into her computer. She told us our luggage had arrived and was set aside to be put on the first plane out tomorrow from Seattle to Ketchikan. They would then hold it there for us until we got there. I was relived to hear that our luggage had made this incredibly crazy journey with us. I was concerned, though, to know how we were going to get to Ketchikan. I thanked the woman, then Christy and I went to find the Alaskan Airlines desk.
Down the escalator and to the right we found what we were looking for. The woman behind the Alaskan Airlines counter was in her mid to late fifties and very kind. She walked with us over to the United desk to first see if they could help us out, since they were the ones that messed us up in the first place. The man at the United Airlines desk wasn’t able to find any flights in his computer going from Seattle to Ketchikan, or Seattle to anywhere in Alaska for that matter. I began to get teary eyed again as they explained they could get us there by Sunday evening. The woman from Alaskan Airlines was an earth-angel though. I literally thought I saw a halo above her head as she stayed with us until she found us a flight to Ketchikan that left the next day.
“Here we go. This one leaves at 8 AM tomorrow and will take you to Anchorage, then Juneau, then Petersburg, then Wrangell, and finally Ketchikan. You’ll arrive at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. How does that work for you ladies?”
“Great!” I cried.
I gave Christy a huge hug as the woman printed off our tickets as well as a set for the flight back home on Sunday. We gathered up our things one last time for the night and went outside to find a shuttle to take us to our hotel. Once we arrived the receptionist accepted our ticket that the Untied flight attendant had printed off for us and we made our way up to our room.
“What time do we need to wake up tomorrow morning,” Christy asked as she took down her long brown hair and climbed into bed.
“I requested our wakeup call for 5:30 AM.”
“K,” she said as she began programming her cell phone.
We set both our cell phones, both of our stop watches, the hotel alarm clock, and asked for a wake up call. There was no way we were going to miss this plane.
“Wait,” I said after we finished synchronizing everything, “lets get up at 5:15, just to be safe. Then if we don’t get up, we’ll still have the wakeup call for backup.”
“Sure, sounds good,” she said adjusting her watch to that time.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to get to the airport a little earlier. Let’s get up at 5 AM and then leave at 5:30.”
Christy looked up from her watch and raised one eyebrow at me.
“If you keep this up we just won’t have to go to sleep at all. We can just stay up and head over there right now.”
“Ha, ha. 5 AM. Program it. Goodnight.”
I woke up in the dark and looked at the hotel clock. It was 4:45 AM. I was to anxious to fall back asleep so I got up and began getting ready. Christy heard me moving around and groggily opened her eyes.
“Is it time to go?”
“No, I just can’t fall back asleep. I wanna make sure I’m all ready to go by 5:30. You can sleep longer if you want.”
“Not if you’re making all that noise I can’t.”
She got out of bed and went into the bathroom. By 5:15 we were both ready to go. We went downstairs just as the shuttle was arriving and it got us to the airport by 5:30. Passing through security at that time in the morning was a breeze and once we found our gate number we laid out on the open benches and went back to sleep. By 7 AM the airport was buzzing. I nudged Christy to wake up.
“You hungry?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Let’s use one of those tickets to get some breakfast then.”
We found a small bagel shop that was serving ham, egg, and cheese bagels. The smell made my mouth water. The last meal we had was at O’Hare while waiting for our names to be called the standby list.
As Christy was paying for her food, I looked down and saw a five dollar bill lying on the ground near the register. I picked it up and handed it to Christy.
“Did you drop this?”
“No.”
“Shhh! Yes, you did drop this. Here,” I said forcing it into her hand. I decided that finding five bucks lying on the ground was a sign that this trip was going to start to go right.
Christy and I departed for Anchorage at exactly 8 AM, not a minute later. We did what they call the “milk run” and had to make stops along the way to Ketchikan for people to get off and board. It got dreadfully tedious, but we were able to see a lot of the Alaskan scenery that would have never seen if we flew straight into Ketchikan. I took hundreds of pictures of the mountains, rivers, and glaciers each time we took off and landed. At 4:30 our plane landed in our final destination and we went to luggage claim. I asked the helpdesk if they had some luggage put aside for Rachel and Christy Matheson and handed them our claim tickets.
“Yes, it arrived this morning at 8:00,” said the man.
He went into a small room full of lost luggage and grabbed our two suitcases. A flood of cool relief washed over me. We grabbed our things and found my uncle standing near the exit. He greeted us with a warm Alaskan smile.
“Your mom has been updating me about your journey. What a trip, huh?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “All of this to run a marathon.”
He chuckled and helped us carry our bags to an awaiting ferry giving ten minute rides to Ketchikan.

Spring Break with Ma and Pa (rough draft)

An "unedited" travel essay written for a creative writing class.


Spring break 2005…Cancun, Mexico…with my parents…
Ok, so maybe not every college sophomore’s ideal spring break trip. I was just happy to go some place warm, though. I needed to bronze my white Wisconsin skin. I finally convinced my parents to take me with them on their vacation. The year before, UW Madison and Poynette High school’s spring break did not match up. So my parents, brother, and sister went on vacation without me. I didn’t get to go anywhere but home during my spring break that year, thanks to my lack of money and coordination with friends.
In 2005, though, our two schools’ spring breaks matched up. My parents booked an all inclusive vacation to Cancun. I was excited for the fact I was going someplace “cool”, someplace warm, and someplace for free. “With my parents” though, held other implications. No drinking, no going out, basically no fun.
We flew out of Rockford, IL straight down to Cancun. As soon as I stepped off the plane and walked down the tunnel, I could feel the humid tropical air through my sweatshirt. It felt warm and inviting. We made our way through customs and found the bus that would take us to our hotel, the Oasis Viva.
At about 9 pm that night we boarded the bus. Our guide invited us to buy and drink Coronas as he gave us a brief tour along the way. Despite only being 20 at the time, in Cancun, the drinking age is 18. As we drove along, I imagined what would happen if I raised my hand and beckoned the tour guide with Coronas to the back of the bus. My father’s (the man who has never had a drop of alcohol in his life) jaw would drop. My mother (who occasionally had a can of beer on a hot summer’s day) would flash me the evil eye and tell the man, “no, my daughter doesn’t drink; she’s underage” and I’d be humiliated in front of the entire coach bus of college liberals.
Cancun was lit up like Christmas. There were young people everywhere and long lines wrapped outside every club. We could hear the music blasting through the bus windows. I thought about how if I would have planned it better I could have been amongst those people right now and not sitting between my mom and little brother.
After dropping off almost everyone else on the bus, we finally reached our hotel. We were all starving and could not wait to check in and eat some Mexican food. It didn’t even have to be Mexican for all I cared; I just couldn’t wait to eat.
After dinner, my family decided they wanted to check out some of the malls and excitement that we passed by on the way to our hotel. Great, I thought, this is going to look real cool, ten-thousand drunken clubbers crowding the streets and my mom asking them to snap pictures of us. We changed out of our Wisconsin weather sweatshirts and jeans and into something a little bit more climate friendly. Then we took a stroll downtown to look at the markets, malls, and clubs on the main strip of Cancun.
We walked to an open air mall called Forum by the Sea that had performances in the center by both people and animals. That night a seal performed. A large seal hobbled its way down the mall to the center ring and did tricks for us before taking pictures. There were also human statues. People painted themselves a glittery silver or gold from head to toe and stood on a small platform in the mall as still as statues, occasionally changing positions. I really began resenting being there with my family. My mom kept taking our picture with each step we took. Can we look anymore like tourists, I thought. I almost leaped for joy when my dad suggested heading back to the hotel.
If there was one thing I was going to do while in Cancun to keep myself from looking extremely lame, it was maintain my bathing suit figure. On our first full day in Cancun, my sister and I woke at 7 am and ran for about an hour. Not on purpose, though. We were going to do a 40 minute out and back loop, but we got a little lost on the “back” part. Christy, my sister, got really dehydrated and we had no water so we stopped at a fountain in front of a restaurant and I told Christy to dip her head into it and splash water on her face. A man yelled at us for playing in the water, so we had to cut the cool-off short and keep going. Christy constantly needed to stop and walk. She was not acclimated to the humid weather at all and really struggled to keep up. I tried my best to take care of her, but I had left a note for my mom saying we’d be back no later than 50 minutes after we left so I had to keep pushing her to move so we didn’t have a search party out looking for us. After taking every wrong turn and back tracking over and over, we finally found the road our hotel was on. When we got to the hotel, we went straight to the bar and ordered two tall ice waters. All of our runs after that were much shorter and we hydrated better before heading out on them. One good thing that came out of the run was that we covered a lot of the city that surrounded our hotel and by the end of the trip, I knew Cancun like the back of my hand.
Later on that day, my parents decided to do some shopping at an outdoor market. I just rolled my eyes as my mom packed her oversized blue-jean purse with baby wipes, water, snacks, Kleenex, playing cards, as if we were never going to return. She then handed the bag over to my dad saying it was too heavy for her to carry all of our stuff and we each had to take turns carrying her purse.
I was not looking forward to going to the market. Not because it meant spending the whole day with my family and not on the beach, but because I’ve never been a huge fan of market places. The atmosphere makes me uncomfortable. I’m not very good at making deals or ok with men yelling things like “Hey pretty lady, I have just what you’ve been looking for! Come here beautiful!” at me. In the market, my sister and I stopped at a leather goods shop and we each picked out a small purse to have our names burned into. The vendor only spoke Spanish, so I had to recall my knowledge of the language and threw out a few cuanto questas and a gracias to make it look like I knew what I was talking about. My dad tested my limited knowledge in the Spanish language even further when he asked me to help interpret what the taxi driver was saying and get us a good deal on our ride back to the hotel. I let him down, though, partly because of my shyness but mostly because it had been over a year since I had taken Spanish 102 and it was only an elementary level class.
On Tuesday I got screwed out of another day of tanning. My dad planned a ferry ride out to the Isla Mujeres and rented golf carts to tour the five mile long, half mile wide island. I felt like an idiot on the back of the golf cart driving around a little island with my mom leaning out taking pictures of every single tree and building we drove by. It was stop-and-go the whole way and I began to feel nauseous. I was so happy when we decided to stop at a lighthouse that sits on the coast of the island to walk around. The lighthouse is a historical landmark of the island, but I’m pretty sure my mom got more pictures of all the iguanas that were cooling themselves on the rocks around the lighthouse than of the lighthouse itself.
That night after dinner, I still felt sick and went to bed early. My family attended a show put on by the hotel staff that consisted of native dancing and colorful costumes traditional to Mexican culture. As I laid in the hotel room curled up in a ball, all I could think about was how I’d rather be here than with them. The show sounded lame. The next morning though, I didn’t hear the end of it. My family still raves to this day about the performance they saw. I guess I’ll never know what I missed.
There was one traditional Mexican event that I didn’t miss out on, but now that I look back on it, I almost wish I would have. Every Wednesday there is a bull fight at the Plaza de Toros in Cancun. My parents insisted on us attending this historical event, and so I didn’t object. We got seats in the front row that allowed us to peer over the balcony right down into the bull ring. My uncle had seen a bull fight in Spain a few years before we went to Cancun. Even though he does most of the veterinary work on our dairy farm and has even butchered cows, he had returned from that trip telling us that the bull fight was one of the worst things he had ever witnessed. Needless to say, if he couldn’t handle it, I expected the worst. After watching a cock fight and some volunteers from the audience try to play soccer in the ring with a bull chasing them around, it was finally time for the bull fight. The matador strutted his stuff and seemed, in my opinion, pretty arrogant, so I rooted for the bull the entire time. Everything started innocent, but got bloody fast.
To weaken the bull, men on blinded and padded covered horses would run by the bull every once in awhile and throw large darts in its back to draw blood. The matador would keep taunting the bull to make it run and blood would flow out of its back and down its sides, dripping onto the dirt below. At one point, the matador got a little too confident and the glistening red bull caught him off guard, knocking him into the air and down to the ground. Men ran out to rescue him before the bull came back for more, but the damage had been done and they had to help carry him out of the ring. The crowd erupted in cheers for the bull.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the matador recovered enough to come back and finish his job. He taunted the bull and as it charged at him, he quickly moved out of the way and stabbed it in the back of the neck with his sword as it ran by. Blood spewed out and the bull roared in pain. It began moving slower and weaved back and forth as if it was drunk. He continued to taunt it and make it run around. The men on horses returned to finish the bull off, stabbing it with more darts. Finally, it collapsed, right in front of where we were sitting. I peered over the ledge just in time to watch one of the men slit the bull’s throat. Never again will I go to another bull fight (but I can relive it whenever I want with all the pictures my mom took).
The day after the bull fight, we decided to take a break from all the site-seeing and finally hit the beach. It really wasn’t as great as it sounds though. The week after spring break, I had a Chemistry and Calculus exam. Also, my mom only brought spf 30 sun block. Despite my mom’s skin cancer precautions, though, I was able to get a little bit of a tan while reading, memorizing formulas, and doing problems over and over. During my study breaks, of course I had to sip virgin piña coladas.
One evening, my dad decided he wanted to do some exploring and see Cancun’s night life. He invited me to go with him and we walked down to the main strip of Cancun where all the clubs are located. College kids filled the streets, loud music blared, and long lines stood outside of every bar. Wondering what was so great inside these bars, my dad waltzed right into one as I embarrassedly lagged behind. Luckily the bar he chose was not on of the most popular ones and was pretty deserted. I still felt like all eyes were on us, though. My dad doesn’t drink, so it was awkward for me to see him in a bar. He sort of walked around, looked at the interior design, and then said the place didn’t impress him much, so we left.
On one of the last days, my dad paid to take two mini speedboats on the “jungle tour,” which pretty much amounted to driving boats through a narrow path between two small islands where we “might” see alligators. I rode with my brother and let him drive. Being only 16, my brother enjoyed the privilege a bit too much and we were literally airborne for most of the trip. When we reached our destination, a man helped us anchor our boat and we put on snorkeling equipment and jumped into the water.
Back in the third and fourth grade I had considered being a marine biologist. I have always been fascinated with the ocean and I love snorkeling and collecting shells on the beach. Yet ever since I tried to take a fish I caught off of a hook and rubbed the scales the wrong way, I’ve been terrified of touching fish. When we jumped into the water in Cancun, I had to face my fear…times a thousand. The water where we jumped in literally looked like a black cloud of fish. I couldn’t move without touching a fish. I freaked out and was screaming at my brother, “Oh my gosh, don’t let them touch me! It’s going to hurt! I don’t want to touch them!”
After I got over the dramatics, and out of the cloud of fish, I calmed down and really began enjoying myself. I let my body sink down under the blue glass and into a whole other world. Multi-colored coral and fish of all kinds filled the ocean floor. Everything seemed to be closer than it actually was underwater. Huge fish would swim right in front of my face, but actually be a few feet away, which I was just fine with. I took pictures with my underwater camera as they swam by and got some great close-ups of the marine life in Cancun. I was sad to leave the water and return to land. Our trip was coming to an end and I knew I’d miss the jungle tour the most.
We boarded our plane around noon on Saturday. It was a long trip home and I studied most of the time, but I couldn’t help dozing off once in awhile and imagine myself driving around Isla Mujeres, watching the bull get his revenge on the matador, and snorkeling in the Caribbean. I realized then that I’m always have a picture of Cancun in my mind that many college kids never get to see. When I returned in 2006, though, I left my family behind.