Melbourne to Cabo Day Two

 This morning and I got off on the wrong foot. A 5 am alarm is never a good way to start the day, especially after a long night. I shove my stuff into my bag and head off to the airport. The hotel’s shuttle is packed full of weary travelers who all, like me, have some need to be at LAX before sunrise. Owie. The van smells like ass, someone hasn’t washed themselves well and the driver has remembered to crack the radio but not the ventilation. Good morning.

I check in, toss my bag on the belt, and begin my security ritual. Mainly this means moving the roll of film I was gifted in Uzbekistan into my pocket as a reminder to request a hand check. It’s not in my carry on. I see my duffel roll down the belt and I’m filled with a sense of frustration dulled by sleeplessness. This thing I’ve managed to keep safe for over a month is now getting blasted with X Rays. It might come out okay, it might not. I’ll have no way of knowing until I shoot the roll, pay to have it developed, and see my memories fogged with grey. Fun.

Security is a breeze and there’s a breakfast spot open. I feel tired, hungover, and maybe still a bit drunk. Liminal state of mind to go with all the liminal space I’ve been overdosing on. I get my first good news of the day, they have a breakfast burrito on the menu. It’s the little things, like knowing I can confidently order this thing again in an airport, that are keeping me sane. The burrito is part breakfast, part late night bite, part hungover salve. I’m eating it before the sun rises as travelers around me down light beer and mimosas. We must look like an Angelino version of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks.

My parents and I are on the same flight from LA to Cabo, and they're flying in to LAX. A quick check of their flight info and they’re coming in soon one terminal over. I figure this is as good an opportunity as any to serve them with a good old fashioned meet you at the gate hello. In good time, their flight lands and I get to see my parents again. It’s been a long time since I’ve given them hugs. We catch up and walk to our next gate.

One more flight. One more flight. Only two hours. How bad could it be? I board, settle in, and at altitude I go to recline my seat. It doesn’t recline. IT DOESNT RECLINE. No matter, I’m so tired that I fall asleep anyway. This final insult to my comfort being no match for my current state of consciousness.

We land and I clear passport control with a stamp.  A cool souvenir I’ve never had before from Mexico courtesy of the electronic gates not liking my passport. We pile into a van for a transfer. Last step. Last step. Last step. Every mile is draining on me. I’ve been moving for so long. We arrive and I find out that the room won’t be ready for a few more hours. The shock from this disappointment killed one of my grandfathers. Myself being slightly more youthful, I stop for lunch and pass out in someone else’s cabana.

I’m nudged awake with the news that the room is now ready. I drag my sleep deprived carcass in the direction I’ve been pointed, soon enough I arrive at our room. Big, comfortable, de-luxe. I’m finding a great deal of joy in putting my clothes in the closet, I’ll be here long enough to make that all worth my while.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. My brain was barely working as it was and all I recall is wandering the ground with my mom and deliriously trying to catch carp with my hands in a pond. This did not make her happy. We dipped out for dinner at some point, which was delicious. Back in the room. Sleep. Sleep.