Head in the clouds, brain full of sand

Today, waking up from too many cervezas and not enough hours sleep, I felt ghastly. I took several hours of dithering before being able to pack my suitcase, then gradually felt worse and worse until I got to the airport at Liberia.

There at least, I staved off nausea for a while, buying a faintly disgusting sandwich at Quizno’s and drinking an overpriced bottle of water. The guy who checked me in, Lenin, had been kind enough to put me in a bulkhead seat, up near the front of the plane, so as the assembled Mormons boarded the plane with their Brigham Young University luggage and their bible study guides, I could at least relax and stretch out.

Perhaps I could have ruminated on the events of the last few days. What had I learned? Was this all-inclusive resort, the preserve of grumpy families, aggressive Canadians and the odd strange group of excitedly religious karaoke enthusiasts some glimpse of my future? Is that what I’ve signed up for? Like Tony Montana said, first you get the kid, then you get the overcooked mahi mahi and the paid-for-up-front tour of the coffee plantation. Something like that, right?

I didn’t think of that. Days of travel and constant changes, lack of sleep make my thoughts flicker and trickle through my mind. There’s odd glimpses of something, like the surprise in the cashier’s face when I asked to get my change in colones, not dollars, just so I could have some funny money as a souvenir of this trip. There’s the general confusion of life and reality when you’ve read four or five books in close succession. And there’s the desperate desire for peanuts, for highly salted snack food, for something to eat to take the edge off the boredom as we slowly move from Costa Rica to Texas.

I read the in flight magazine. They talk about people doing a stand-up comedy class at the Gotham club in New York. The piece stops just before the punch line is meant to land. I wonder where I am going. Or have we already gone too far?

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