Holy shit! It's already February! As predicted in my last blog, the end of the year literally blew by and now we're already underway in 2025. Not sure why that part of the year always feels accelerated, then we get to January and it seems like that month had a full six weeks, but blessedly, February is short.
Some of you are aware I spent a good part of January in St. Lucia, working and playing so no one is feeling particularly bad for me. I certainly get that. It was a beautiful respite from sub-zero weather in Chicago, for sure, and I highly recommend it as a temporary cure for any type of Seasonal sadness.
I had planned this trip months ago, and when I told a friend who is a frequent traveler we were going there, she visibly winced. What? I do plenty of research (it's half the fun) before embarking on a new destination, so I was very confused about her response.
She went on to say while the island itself is breathtaking, the drive from the airport to where most stay on the island is brutal. Now, I have traveled extensively, and have encountered bad roads, potholes, wandering livestock, you name it!
Just ask my two girlfriends who came to Costa Rica with me a few years ago where we literally had to cross a river in our rental car to get where we were going. It's the shortcut we discovered from previous trips, called the Monkey Trail. It saves a good half hour and is certainly more interesting than the main road.
That's me in the red Audi crossing a river while my friend stupidly follows me.
Bottom line: I don't scare easily. And, let's face it: part of the adventures of travel is overcoming the unexpected. And, while I do suffer from motion sickness, it wouldn't prevent me from traveling somewhere. After all, there are plenty of medicines you can take to overcome that.
Let's go!
So armed with a patch (but a holistic, useless one), we landed in St. Lucia and I took my Dramamine and was ready to go.
It always feels so amazing landing in the Caribbean during the winter. Your skin craves the warm, humid sea air as you inhale all the interesting island smells. Certainly beats Chicago in the winter.
We got in our taxi, a small minivan, and got underway. The driver asked if we wanted AC or to have the windows down, and still high on the vacation happiness, I stupidly said, "Windows down!"
Everything went well for a bit. It smells so different in the islands; an odd mix of sea air and burning trash. Below is the stunning view from the rather mountainous ascent from the airport.
About a half hour in, I started feeling unwell. Pretty quickly, I stopped talking. I could feel the inevitable clamminess descending upon me.
My daughter Laura is a true introvert with a well-established resting bitch face so in this situation, I am the designated "small talker" and I love it. I have said before I could engage a wall or other inanimate objects in a conversation if needed. I'm naturally curious about everything so I really shine in these scenarios, but not this time as I was solely focused on watching the road and staving off my impending nausea.
Laura very uncomfortably tried to make up for my now-mute status by attempting to make small talk with the driver, but it's really not her strong suit. The silence was fine, I was in full focus-mode.
After what seemed like hours with my eyes intently glued to the road--all while Laura played Suduko on her phone--our driver asked if we wanted to stop for sandwiches. I honestly could think of nothing worse, but as this would require the minivan to stop, and me getting out, I quickly said yes.
We got out and walked over to a little roadside shack with a stone-carved oven, which in any other circumstances, I would have found charming. They were cranking out little loaves of hot, fresh bread, filled with various things. I asked the owner what the fillings were, but struggled to understand her response so weakly just held up two fingers after Laura ordered hers.
Laura did confirm later that she was concerned after seeing me. I always get a spray tan before going to the Caribbean and am terrible about putting the stupid lunch-lady hairnet on correctly, so she always points out that I have a ring of pale white around my hairline post-spray tan. She said there were little beads of sweat along that line and my pallor was oddly pale, despite the spray tan. Things did not appear to be going well.
"What did you order?" I rather fearfully asked. "Salami," she responded. I had to fight the urge to run into traffic to prevent having to return to the minivan, now filled with new scents of sweaty roadside salami and those odd outside scents that were suddenly turning my stomach.
I didn't say much after that, other than to warn my daughter that if she even thought for one second about opening that sandwich in the car, it would be a big mistake.
I made it for another 15 minutes before asking our driver to pull over while I parted with the remnants of the egg sandwich I had enjoyed many hours prior as well as all the other contents of my stomach, while our driver stood by with a box of handi-wipes and other minivans filled with other tourists sped by, beeping their horns.
I returned to the car, requested the AC be put on, and asked if we were getting close. The response was no. With an empty stomach, however, I felt confident things would improve. Alas, I was wrong. At one point, we were climbing up a very steep hill, and once again, I felt the urge and requested he pull over. Unfortunately, there was literally just a cliff so he could not. I had to open the window, thrust my upper body out of the window, and vomit all over the side of the minivan.
I'm not sure exactly how I survived that drive. We had to stop at the grocery to stock up for the week on the way in and I barely even remember that.
I do recall telling Laura that I was not going to spend the next two weeks thinking about reliving that nightmare. So the very next day, I booked us on a helicopter to take us back to the airport, a 15-minute scenic flight versus another two hours of either vomit-fueled or Drammine-overdosed hell. As cheap as I am, I didn't even blink at paying $200 to fly then drive back to that airport. Best money I've ever spent!
I'm happy to report that the rest of our trip was lovely and largely uneventful. We got to know the taxi drivers quite well during our time in St. Lucia and they all would ask, "When will you come back?' to which I responded:
"Just as soon as you straighten out that damn road from the airport."
Happy New Year
This blog got long so I won't keep you, but I hope everyone is surviving what looks like a long four years ahead. I won't even broach the topic of politics because it makes me cranky and mad. At this age, I'm pretty much in that rage state at all times anyway, thanks to perimenopause, but I'll try and stay focused on the positive. It won't be easy, but I will commit to trying.
I will promise to write more blogs this year. I got a little lazy last year, but I'm committing to being better about it this year. How's that for a New Year's resolution?
Until next time, my friends.
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