Dearest Rachel –
So I’ve got my sweatshirt stuffed into my jacket sleeve, as I’m about to leave the airplane. Meanwhile, Daniel is calmly sitting in his seat, tapping away on his phone and wondering what my hurry is, as I’m standing around, waiting to be allowed off the plane.
It’s a typical tableau when it comes to us traveling these days.
One of the reasons – and you’d find this hilarious, now that the shoe is on the other foot – is that I need to find a restroom, after having just made such a stop before getting on the plane in the first place. Meanwhile, Daniel seems to have no such concerns; I think he’s managed that trick of shutting down the taps until he’s in a comfortable place (which neither the airport nor the plane qualify).
It’s weird to be the one with these concerns, nowadays. Not that it’s a big deal or anything; I can wait, too. I’d just prefer not to.
Once sorted regarding our luggage, it was time to make our way to our hotel – and as much as I prefer walking around while traveling, that wouldn’t be feasible from the airport. So we summoned an Uber to get us into town. The wait isn’t bad, but we’re rather overdressed for the heat and humidity which would otherwise be a perfectly comfortable summer day back home; we wind up piling our outer layers atop our luggage, although it all still fits in the sedan that pulls up for us.
Our driver Chandradat has made nearly eight thousand such trips in his… career, if you could call it that. I wondered, how many trips per day that comes to, and for how long? Turns out, only three years; so maybe eight to ten trips a day or so. He’s only been down here for a few years since retiring from managing a U-Haul franchise in New York City. From what I can tell, he seems to think it was the best decision of his life, friends and family back home notwithstanding. As you might guess, the fellow was quite chatty, although not in any intrusive way. He offered suggestions about various restaurants in the area, along with an admonition to stick to the downtown rather than the touristy areas by the beach. Not that the latter isn’t beautiful, but a diner would get more bang for his buck further inland. We note his advice, but we have specific ideas of our own.
But first, we have to get everything dropped off in our room. Unfortunately, our room isn’t ready yet (and in fact, it’s stated that check-in isn’t supposed to be until four in the afternoon; we’re three hours too early).
To be honest, we don’t really know all that much about the sights of Fort Lauderdale, and couldn’t begin to guess what we would be interested in about the area. All I know is that I finished off a skewer of bacon-wrapped quail eggs left over from our visit to Mitsuwa on Thursday night, and the last of the berries from a local grocery for breakfast… and very little else since. So I was getting hungry, and I’d had more to eat than Daniel, so you can imagine how he was (although… maybe not. He’s hard to get a read on about that).
You might remember that, about twenty years ago, when we came down here with Ellen, we stopped at an alligator farm as a shore excursion between the ship and the airport. I barely remember the details of the trip (although it’s possible we still had the camera at the time, but I’d have to look for the footage when we get back home), but both Daniel and I remember the gator sausage, and thought we might try to find some while we were here. Evidently, however, that’s harder to come by than it used to be; only a few places are left that produce it, and so there aren’t many restaurants – if any – that serve it.
However, with ‘Rowan’s help, we found a place offering gator tenderloin, and decided to check it out. What we hadn’t considered was that it was a little more than an hour’s walk north of our hotel; this would render us more than a little footsore. Then again, I do walks like this every week with Lars, and we might need the practice for this and future trips over the next year or so. Besides, why not work up a little more appetite beforehand, and work off a few of the calories afterward? We decided we could do it.
You know the old advertising slogan “I’d walk a mile for a Camel”? Yes, I realize it peaked before either of our time, but we’re aware of it, right? Well, here we were, walking two and a half miles for a gator. More exercise, and surely better for us than a cancer stick, that’s for sure.
To be fair, the trip back wasn’t quite as enjoyable. After all, we’d already eaten, so we didn’t have as much to look forward to as we headed back, other than dropping into bed for a night’s sleep before heading for the ship. Also, it was dark, so there wasn’t as much to see; granted, there might have been plenty of nightlife to check out on Las Olas Boulevard, but we were both too full and too footsore to appreciate that. Maybe I am out of practice, when it comes to covering such distances. All in all, it was like that moment in a restaurant when the bill comes; even though you can cover it, and are happy to do so, it’s the least enjoyable moment of the experience, since you’re paying for something you’ve already enjoyed, and get no further benefit out of it at this point.
Still, it was an experience, and I made a point of filming our reactions, so you can see it for yourself (assuming you haven’t already been keeping an eye on us in real time). I’ve a little more to tell you, but I’ve gone on long enough on this topic, and what I have to add is a whole separate thing, so I’m going to sign off for the moment. Talk to you later.
