I left off a highlight of our trip to Mexico by mistake. Maybe it doesn’t really qualify as part of our vacation, as it took place on the journey home. As we boarded the plane in Charlotte (CLT) we couldn’t help but notice the screaming baby in the seats across the aisle from us. Couldn’t have been less thrilled with this situation. That is, until the passengers who would be sitting directly in front of us, took their seats. Three Army Rangers and a Catholic Priest ended up in those seats. The priest looked to be on official God business, in his Cassock (thanks Google) but, along with learning the name of the garment, I also learned it doesn’t have any added significance. And I was hoping it meant we had a big wig. Anyway, even being the agnostic fella that I am, I felt pretty good about these four. At least we had all of our bases covered, and I cracked to them, “this is going to be the safest flight ever.”
This brings me to a common topic of conversation during our recent travels. Everyone knows the story about the plane ditching in the Hudson, but my wife just couldn’t get over the fact that it appeared that none of the passengers/survivors seemed to have paid attention on the flight. Where were there floating devices, formerly known as seat cushions? It’s not as if they only occasionally mention that we’re sitting on a cross functional device.
May 08, 2009
May 06, 2009
Hirpcation
Just one week ago today, my wife and I were on our way to Mexico. We heard all the warnings, listened to concerned family and friends, did our research online and discussed our trip with our Doctor before going. We were armed and ready for any little pesky Swine Flu. We had hand-sanitizers and medications. And we were finally on our way, back to the place where we were married, and more than ready to relax on the beach. Cartels and pandemics be damned, the Hirps had plans.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
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