Onward, further north to Esmeraldas on the Pacific. We, again, had lovely traveling and arrived to find a funky resort with a funny little cabin right near the beach. We could hear the surf and were eager to get into it the next morning.
In fact, as we awakened in the morning, it was to a crowing rooster that was about ten feet from our little cabin.
Into the ocean—and the beach. It was not full sunshine, but it was nice anyway. We collected very large sand dollars and other pretty shells and enjoyed just hanging out. There is something so soothing about the ocean. We ate well and only had one little mishap. I was using two cameras and had quickly ducked one of them under the front seat of the car as we were unpacking and getting settled. Well, I neglected to lock the car (mea culpa) and the camera was stolen. Drat!
The grounds were so pretty with their trees of Bella Donna and other flowers. We managed not to get too sunburned on the beach, and after a few days it was time to drive back to Quito, drop off our trusty little VW bug, and catch our flight home.
During the connection in Miami, we discovered we were sitting at the wrong gate—they had changed it and we hadn’t heard the announcement. We rushed over to the correct gate to check in and discovered a very long line, moving very slowly. Finally when it was our turn we could see why. The agent had inch-long fingernails, which she protected by typing one word a minute! We had given her our tickets, which included a leg from Miami to Atlanta, and another for the Atlanta-Minneapolis leg. Just then a disabled person was brought up in a wheelchair and she turned to take care of his check-in. When finished, she finished up with us, but I had a feeling about Jeanne’s ticket—not right! I told her to make sure she had her ticket for the Atlanta-Minneapolis leg and she didn’t! I told the agent that, who got very huffy and said that she had given it back to her. An argument ensued, and I told her that I thought she had mistakenly given it to the disabled man who had already boarded. She denied it, but I insisted that she send someone to ask him. This was done, and yes, she had mistakenly given it to him. She, of course, didn’t apologize, and this upset me way more than it should have— but we boarded the plane. I was still sputtering to Jeanne about being so angry with that agent! Jeanne told me not to worry as that agent would get herpes from her husband, and die!—to which I replied, “Well, you don’t die from herpes.” Jeanne shot back, “OK, then, cancer of the fingernails!”
I laughed all the way home!