COVID chronicle – Four

Move it or lose it
COVID-19’s less virulent cousin is cabin fever. No on-site office work and no school taking place concocted a monotony cocktail for the Rising Family™. Self-quarantine broke us fast. I noted in an earlier post that we lasted about one week under lockdown at home and were soon going out for long drives. At first, it was a guilty pleasure. We would get in the SUV and scuttle out for a night cruise. Full disclosure: we never left the car. We’d simply drive around at night on the local two-lane highways, rolling down the windows when it was warm enough. That was our gateway drug. Soon, our driving routine became daylight rides spent gawking at the magnificent houses in some of the pricier areas of town followed by a trip to the Dairy Queen drive-thru. Next thing we knew, we hit the downward slide to craving, needing to get out and walk around. We soon graduated to become hiking renegades.

State Park Slam
As infection rates rose quickly during the onset of the pandemic at peak times state parks closed, but we found a few city parks that, for whatever reason, remained open. 

Courtesy of Yahoo!News

By late March we were seeking out trails in nearby parks to get some exercise, fresh air, and eyeball greenery to raise morale. While society was buttoned down and social gatherings were a non-starter for most people we knew, we kept our spirits up by hiking. We weren’t unique. Plenty of families were out there too, enjoying the spring skies and walking the trails. 

Most folks used common sense like maintaining six feet of social distance and pausing to let others pass on a trail. 

With so many city and state parks available, we took day trips nearly every weekend for the remainder our time in Nashville. This satisfied the desire for movement and cleared the head.

There were some unwritten rules for these excursions:
- Bring your own drinks and snacks. This reduced interactions with other hikers. And the snack shacks weren’t open, only the trails.
- Exercise due diligence. We exchanged intel with likeminded neighbors about fun parks and researched our destination, then printed out maps of the trails we were doing. Many bathrooms were closed so bio breaks had to be thought out in advance.
- Sanitation regimen. We rigorously enforced of hand washing, use of hand sanitizer, and masks at all times, especially at gas stations and drive-thru restaurant food pickups.
- Socialize wisely. Many fellow hikers were friendly; others clearly wanted to keep their distance. Most other spelunkers at least offered a greeting. Some were more skittish. You began to recognize what type people they were fairly quickly and went along with whatever seemed appropriate. Friendly-but-wary were the watchwords. Social rules were being re-written on the fly.

During one trek, out of the blue we crossed paths with Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban, who are among the famous entertainers who reside in the Nashville area. We respected their wanting to do the same thing we were in peace and lost our cool only after they’d passed by.

Here’s a few choice shots:

Rock Island State Park

Bledsoe Creek State Park

Montgomery Bell State Park

To close, I’d like to emphasize my attitude of gratitude. Getting a bit stir crazy and needing outdoor activity and fresh air is a privilege many people still don’t have. 

From our neighborhood

We’re lucky to have been able to weather the beginning of the COVID storm in Tennessee, with its gorgeous natural beauty and space. And great people.

Merry Christmas 2020

Season's greetings from Yokohama.

We are reflecting on this uniquely awful year for so many people around the world. Thus, I’m grateful to have a nice Christmas at home with my family, all of us safe and healthy. That’s the best gift, after all.

Wishing everyone as much joy as you can grab this holiday season and a much better year ahead.

COVID chronicle – Three

In April-May the world around us went to varying extremes of lunacy and denial as deaths mounted and the economy faltered because of the COVID-19 crisis. 

Meanwhile, the Rising Family™ steamed ahead into a new ecosystem of self-containment and change.

Education
The Rising Daughters™ were overjoyed to not go to school and by the absence of homework. Boards of education and politicians weighed options to determine if school would resume or not. The health and safety of the kids were always top of mind, but with associated fears of lawsuits and concerns about the learning hiatus’s impact on student intellectual development. It was uncharted territory for educators that resulted in limbo for weeks. Like millions of parents, we tried to step in and do what we could to keep our daughters on their learning track. We failed miserably.

I made a creative writing program with a carrot-and-stick motivational model that…failed semi-miserably.

The teachers genuinely tried remote learning via Zoom and sent over projects that we zealously promoted. The kids just weren’t buying it. Scholastically, the Rising Family was soon rudderless. 

And we drifted. Endless hours of TV soon lost its appeal. With no chance to socialize with friends, Lady E. and M. soon turned on each other. The girls are usually sweet as pie but hellraisers when provoked. They clutched each other lovingly one minute and cursed each other the next. To quell these sibling crises I’d banish them to separate rooms. If it was a physical altercation, I’d break it up. Otherwise, after repeated incidents, I let ‘em fight it out. One example: I’d just signed off working when I heard banshee shrieks from one of the daughter’s room. They were clawing each other to get the same electronic game. They screamed at each other, followed by outrage-crying at the nerve of the other. Hitting ensued. Why were they so well-behaved for their grandparents and their teachers during Skype or Zoom calls, but behaved like Veruca Salt with us?

To stave off these boredom brawls, we played games such as The Game of Life, Uno, Jenga, and Aggravation. We also turned to creativity as an outlet. One afternoon, Marina gave us “The Everything Show.” She charged admission. It was a hilarious display of her eight toy dogs and three balls nicknamed Bluey, Greenie and Pinky who had magically transformed into dogs. M. gave a funny opening monologue, then provided drinks and finger food for the audience. She put a lot of effort into it. We have her due respect during the 40-minute show and a standing ovation at the end.

 
Government
The federal government ducked and weaved, but mostly stuck its head in the sand. Debates raged about safer-in-place versus shelter-in-place ordinances. Governors of different political stripes showed their real colors in obscure wording. It boiled down to the liberty/small government idea versus 'do-this-more for the greater good'/top-down decrees. Could we go out into society again? What personal countermeasures were necessary--facemasks or not, anyone? There was always the cultural component balanced against mounting infection rates and casualty figures locally, nationally and globally. But everything still felt remote because we hunkered in our bunker.
 
I stayed at home to Work@Home. Yet we slowly started to venture out into society under the new rules of hygiene, masking, and social distancing.
 
Coping mechanisms - work
Endless screens and Zoom meetings. My colleagues and bosses all worked hard to adapt to the new normal of our industry and do our part to keep the company’s business going.

Coping mechanisms - life & play

- Found time and the inclination to hold online reunions with old buddies who live all over the world.

- Furtively resumed dentist visits (braces).
- Warmer weather = BBQs in the backyard.
- Motorcycle day trips were the ultimate COVID-friendly escape.
- Dogsitting the neighbor’s dog, Bubba. We love Bubba.
- The unstated agreement among exhausted parents to let only the kids on our street play together (but with eagle-eyed attention to any symptoms).

- Haircut from my daughter!

- Online music festivals to raise morale

In short, we all adjusted.

COVID chronicle – Two

Our lockdown began the day after we arrived home from Mexico. 

I, along with every other employee at my company, could no longer go to the workplace. My Homer Simpson daydreams had become reality! Lady E. and M’s Bart Simpson-like head trips materialized when schools shut…indefinitely! America was going batshit crazy. The Long Wait began. 

To be fair, there was near-terror that March-April. The psychological immunity many people felt had evaporated. The DMZ between major population centers and the few infection hotspots in the U.S. was no more. Folks withdrew into their homes and stockpiled whatever supplies they deemed necessary for their lifestyle. The authorities implored citizens to stay indoors and avoid contact with others unless absolutely necessary. In response, people went shopping online and in-person. Some were protected by masks and gloves. Others shielded themselves with defiant “Don’t Tread On Me” T-shirts. 

We had enough toilet paper. Instead, I hoarded Starbucks Dark Roast ice coffee, my fuel of choice for the home office. I went alone to the supermarket for basic foodstuffs. Once there, I witnessed the most un-American scene I had ever encountered: empty store shelves. 

The Rising Family® kept indoors for several days, relying on Nickelodeon and Disney to keep the kids sedated. We adults sipped news reports, and scoured local Facebook groups and Nextdoor social media apps to divine what was happening around us. 

After less than a week of staying in the house our lockdown ended. We needed to get out, and began departing on night drives in our trusty Rogue SUV to marvel at the quiet downtown and gawk at the lack of any social normal activity. We rolled down the car windows along country roads in the crisp March evenings. That air became an elixir of stress relief and a tranquilizer.

Work@Home
I started my new work routine headquartered in our spare room. I soon rearranged the space for better optics and audio, i.e. nesting. 

Using Zoom for serial remote e-meetings with my coworkers brought back dim childhood memories of the Hollywood Squares C-list celebrity game show circa the late 1970s. 

The more I worked from home, the more I grew to miss the 30-minute drive into the office, with the better angels of NPR reporting the day’s morning news bulletins on the car radio. I had cherished my alone time during the evening trips homeward when I would I flip between classic rock and podcasts of my choice. I missed these commuting rituals!

After some time passed working at home I came to feel that no coping mechanisms were enough. For me, online happy hours, side-chats, and Skype calls simply could not recreate an atmosphere for ideal collaboration, teamwork and friendship among coworkers. We all did – are doing— our best. But true social interaction can’t be replicated online. An emoticon does not -- will never – be the same as a knowing wink of disdain, or a raised eyebrow signaling “is he/she for real?”, or a telling nod that telegraphed support from a colleague.

Like people googling themselves during the early days of that search engine, I daresay many people fiddled endlessly with their Zoom settings to find the most flattering lighting. I am sure many have learned to shut off the microphone when slipping away for quick “bio break” executed within earshot of the computer speakers or smartphone during yet-another sonorous conference call. New digital skills have emerged.  

I have always favored strict division between my work and my private life--Facebook kudos excepted. COVID-19 obliterated that. I am still utterly grateful to be working when millions of others aren't as fortunate.

COVID chronicle - One

For several months I’ve had a mild case of COVID-19 passivity, a form of mental inertia. My challenge has been to try and chronicle my family’s experience for this blog. Meanwhile, over one million people have died, nearly 50 million are infected, and the world is still reeling? That chilling reality aside, my indifference to writing about COVID-19 delayed placing my fingers on the keyboard. Now, my plan is to recount the pandemic’s effect on the Rising Family™ in a series of posts with equal measures of sincerity and whimsy. Only now do I have the juice and mindset to organize this.

I first encountered the “novel coronavirus” due to work. In late December, I started to get media inquiries at the office about reports of a new virus in Wuhan, China. They asked how it was affecting my employer’s global supply chain. I’d grimace, respond, and move on to the next issue of the day. Something unfortunate was happening again somewhere else in the world, we all thought. I could easily predict the stories based on hypotheticals and fear. Shamefully, my main worry was to not have our Christmas vacation in Florida interrupted by work. 

The progression of the virus over the following weeks ratcheted up collective anxiety, but it still felt unconnected to our lives in Tennessee. In retrospect, the confusion of January and February was the stupor before the storm. Soon, there was a unmistakable sense that something truly awful was underway—this was not just another super flu. My colleagues and I were exchanging wry GIFs to keep things light. 

I posted a sarcastic hand washing reminder on my office glass partition featuring Rare Earth’s 1971 hit “I just want to celebrate (another day of livin’)” and Rage Against The Machine.

The first trauma of 2020 began for me with a tornado that ripped through the Nashville area on the night of March 2-3 and killed five people. That tornado wreaked more damage and death than the city had seen in a long time. At work, we dealt with its impact on our local operations. A few days afterward, many of us volunteered at a local food bank to pack meals for people who had lost their homes or otherwise needed help. Here was Mother Nature foreshadowing what was to come.

The rapid spread of the virus dominated the news: mushrooming infection hot spots in certain places in China and Europe; governmental paralysis over what to do about it; conspiracy theorists concocting incoherent, knee-jerk rejection of the facts Mostly, I remember an atmosphere of incredulity and inaction. I thought of the SARS outbreaks that had been successfully contained in 2003. The conjecture at the watercooler and the kids’ school continued, especially online.

Read the label carefully

Naomi and I debated whether we should go on our spring break trip to Mexico amid all the uncertainty and talk of impending calamity. Ultimately, our wanderlust overcame any unease. We rolled the dice and, all told, we had a wonderful vacation. But as the second week of March began, anxious looks and nervous chatter among the guests at our hotel mounted, even in paradise. Repeated emails from our airline about return flight changes signaled government plans. Immigration uncertainties, looming border shutdowns, and aircraft availability became very real question marks. At the Cancun airport departure point the collective tension among the passengers and airport staff was palpable. Everyone, us included, kept a wary distance. Yet our flight back to Nashville was perfect and we arrived home without incident.

This set the stage for the next phase: lockdown.

COVID became sadly real in April

COVID-19 was infecting people in ever-greater numbers. News reports confirmed it by March/April, and people acknowledged it wasn’t going away by burrowing into their homes or embracing willful disbelief. Social and economic interactions tapered off. Deaths mounted. People followed the trajectory of the epidemic online. Yet, for the privileged and fortunate, like my family, it all felt dangerous but distant. No one I knew was infected, quarantined, or in a hospital. The pattern of daily life had receded but not stopped for us. We were insulated from the reality.

That dull apathy changed for me in early April when I heard that revered folk singer-songwriter John Prine had died of complications from the coronavirus. He passed away at the Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, a hospital complex I had visited more than a few times. I’d always enjoyed his music and persona, but wouldn’t qualify myself as a rabid fan. Later in May, I listened to the local NPR station’s radio wake for John and thought about why this particular entertainer’s passing had affected me.

I’ve rarely paid much attention to “celebs we’ve lost” stories. I don’t think too deeply about the psychology of why we get emotional when celebrities die. People feel connected by them to society? It’s a form of collective mourning together with a larger community? It disguises the fear of something we can’t control? I’m not sure.

John Prine was a peripheral favorite of mine when I wanted to listen to heartwarming songs about common people and down home tales doled out through his masterful words, gravely voice and approachable demeanor. He focused on small-town life and human frailty wrapped in folk, country and a smidgen of gospel music. I’d first heard about him in high school, when a school chum got into a sullen phase listening to Bruce Springsteen’s acoustic “Nebraska” album and pulled me into Prine’s folk tunes almost by accident. John Prine was a polar opposite to 1980s pop music, and I next crossed paths with him in a duet with the Cowboy Junkies’ Margo Timmins, “If You Were the Woman, And I Was the Man” in 1992. I again drifted away to other artists and music, but was reacquainted thanks to his funny and believable song about couples staying together (and why they do) called “In Spite of Ourselves.” It’s best captured in this duet with country/folk singer Iris DeMent from the “Sessions on 54th St.” concert from 2002.

In this way, John Prine ducked in and out of my musical life, but I never lost an appreciation for his tunes regardless of what stage of young adulthood I was in. He made wonderful music. He seemed to be amused and content with his life. By all accounts he remained affable and approachable in Nashville and stayed true to his humble roots all his life.

I suppose that’s why his death finally made the COVID-19 pandemic feel real and scary to me. It robbed us of one of the good ones, a voice that had always been there but suddenly was gone.

Rest in peace, John Prine.

300 posts / 13 years

Today I am publishing this blog's 300th post. I've reached this milestone thirteen years since the birth of Lady E., who was the catalyst for this effort. We doubled down with the addition of Marina. When I began the blog, on a whim, it was titled "Rising Daughter." I had no preconceived notions of what subjects I'd write about or how long I would do it. Yet, here we are.

I've discovered the most important factor in writing 300 posts is to simply keep writing. There is no magic to it. Just dogged persistence, occasional self-indulgence and a bit of skylarking. There's been scant consistency in the content apart from recounting what this family is doing, tales from our various trips, and occasional interviews with the Rising Daughters® to mark their interests and development. I have tried to keep work and politics out of it. I have aimed to capture moments in time so my daughters themselves might find something heartwarming or funny when they read it later in life.

What have I learned from scribbling 300 posts?

- You always want to make retroactive corrections and improvements. That includes ridiculously simple things like spelling errors that aren't caught due to tired eyes, bad style, or clunky diction.

- It’s a blog, not a book. You get one round of writing, then a stab at improving. Then you push it out and live with it.

- Have fun. It's OK to indulge and amuse yourself, too. Case in point: my motorcycle trip retrospectives.

How many people read it?

I don't know. But I don't give a rat's ass about "engagement" (the aggregate metrics of who reads it and if they like it). That's never been the purpose of the Rising Daughters blog. The real impact for me isn't registered immediately. Perhaps in the coming years? I know a few extended family members who enjoy it and get some insight into what we're doing despite our living so far away. Bottom line: it's a labor of love. Regardless if one person or 20 reads the output, the more I write, the more I improve, and that is never-ending. I have set two posts per month as my sweet spot, or about 24 posts per year. That's manageable.

What's in it for you?

What I get out of it is self-reflection about what we've done, what we enjoy doing together, and where the family is heading. The writing itself is fun, but occasionally onerous. Maintaining process discipline has forced me to use some of the tools I've honed in my job such as clarifying and refining my thinking, and editing.

Why is it only the positive, PG-rated posts?

Like I mentioned above—no politics, no work. And, social media is almost always positive:

Let me tell how great things are going.

Thumbs up.

Look how great I am.

The PG-rating is organic because the Rising Family™ is perfect. We never fight. We always look good, do interesting things at full speed, and at peak performance. We are unceasingly polite and warm to each other and every day is magically happy. This all happens because Naomi and I have innovative, superior parenting techniques. The Rising Daughters can do no wrong as brilliant students with world-class social skills.

Yeah, right.

When will the blog end?

Not sure. I'll keep going until the daughters put the kibosh on it or the wind whispers "it's time."

Thanks for reading!

###

Father’s Day 2020

After more than a decade of dad duty, I know that it’s a rewarding gig. Sure, there’s lots of responsibility and angst. For all that, there’s an equal measure of wonder and pride as your kids develop and taste life. That’s the stage when celebrating your own dad becomes extra sweet. As a dad, you know your own papa has earned it.

My brother Steve-O and I recognize our Dad is a special guy. Because he is still rockin’ it.

I’m not talking about his musical taste (well, George Thorogood & The Destroyers is one good choice, ABBA not so much). Nope. I’m talking the whole enchilada: 
- Staying healthy and active; golfing his ass off
- Maintaining a robust foreign travel schedule, excepting COVID-19
- Rambling around the continent in his sports sedan
- Still charming the ladies with his singular brand of New Brunswick-infused machismo
- Forever being a stand-up guy with family, friends and neighbors alike
- Still rooting for the Senators and the Ticats
- And yes, still helping and advising his sons. It never ends!

We could go on, but you get the picture. In short, we love and respect our dad. Happy Father’s Day!

In closing, a couple of notes from the sons:

From Steve-O: This picture is from my most recent birthday. Thanks Dad for everything for the past thirty years.

From me: “Shikoku awaits!”

The Cancun before the storm - Conclusion

Wednesday

In the early morning we boarded a large tour bus that took us to Chichen Itza, an ancient Mayan city complex roughly three hours’ drive west of Cancun. (It’s also one of the new Seven Wonders of the World and a UNESCO World Heritage site.) Three genial tour guides, all fluent in English and other languages, led us. One of them was a Super Fan of explaining ancient Mayan culture in detail. Over the bus’s intercom, she delivered a one-hour lecture about Mayan culture followed by a deep dive explanation of Mayan calendar prophecies that drove many of the passengers to sleep. Others hit the bottle regardless of the early hour. We stopped for mandatory trinket shopping. 

Next stage was a refreshing dip in the deep-water sinkhole, called a cenote in Spanish. Swimming around in the warm aqua colored water while surrounded by imperious rock walls was a unique experience. The tourism foreplay completed, and refreshed by the bathing, we had lunch and proceeded on to the Chichen Itza temple site.

Once there, I enjoyed learning about the history of the place from our guide David in English (and in Spanish). I have enormous respect for those who can switch effortlessly between languages like that. We walked around most of the temple complex in 85ºF “winter” heat. I threatened Marina with human sacrifice if she acted up; it was hot and it had already been a long day.

Next up was a tour of the ball court area of the temple which spawned thoughts of 1970s Battlestar Galactica episodes. We strolled around on our own after that, snapping photos and haggling with the affable stall owners over souvenirs. On the bus ride back to Cancun, it was lights out in the bus with the very dark highway illuminated only by the bus headlights. I told Marina a scary story to keep her awake until we arrived back at the hotel. I didn’t want to throw off her sleeping rhythm.

Thursday

A day dedicated only to aquatic fun was called for with the beautiful ocean and an inviting pool 200 yards from our hotel room. 

The day’s recipe was a mix of pool, then ocean, then back to pool in the morning. Swimming. Frolicking. Napping in the sun. Wave bashing and other aquatic pleasures. 

It tired us out and we retired at a decent time because we knew Friday was going to be great—and our last full day of the vacation.

Friday

Xel-Ha (pronounced shell-hah) is a water sports and nature conservation park in the Riviera Maya. Our full-day visit was in a jungle & ocean paradise. Upon arrival, a short breakfast prevented us from diving right into the nearest inlet. We were soon outfitted with a life preserver, mask and fins to snorkel together in the shallow, translucent seawater. The area was replete with colorful fish. It was our first family snorkeling in the ocean! 

We also took the Discovery Scuba tour, which plunks an airtight hat fed air via lines from the surface (like an old school hardhat diver). Its weight keeps you on the sandy seafloor, no more than 15 feet from the surface. Fish and other sea life swirl around when a diver unfurls plastic bags filled with food. I think I witnessed sheer joy on the faces of the Rising Daughters. It was a successful first experience for them to go underwater. It was also my ploy to get them interested in scuba diving in a few years’ time.

Naomi went off to chase iguanas and see more fish, as did Marina. Elena I vectored off for a bit, and we met up again for the Zip Bike jungle tour. It’s essentially a zip-line suspended about 25 feet above the ground. The route leads through the jungle, rock walls, dark caves and over a cenote. Neat idea.

Xel-Ha is a large park area with the various activities and amenities connected by paths. Despite the ceaseless activity, yes, I snapped a few photos. I managed a shot of the girls by walking a jungle trail above them as they drifted down a river. Elena and I did a zip line splash into the seawater and later took the tower slide—quite an adrenal rush. To finish off the day we went snorkeling together one more time yet still made the bus back at 1800 for our return. Xel-Ha was a relentless sensory assault of jungle greens and oceans blues and a wonderful family day.

To cap the day we went out that evening for Mexican street food. The area had a spring break vibe: not very family-friendly, but it was lively. The sexy dancing girls outside a disco luring the young guys in to be scalped by drink prices captivated Marina. We ate and eyeballed the human frenzy outside the restaurant’s patio.

I checked our return flights. Delta caused me heart palpitations when our flight was canceled because of the snowballing chaos and semi-panic caused by the onset of Coronavirus. It was suddenly real. A Delta agent that I contacted told me that our flight would be OK but to get to the airport three hours early “just in case.”

Saturday - Return to Reality

Our return to Nashville was smoother than I expected. We got up earlier than usual and since we’d mostly packed the night before, and with nothing to do, we all left together for a morning swim. It was to be our last ocean/pool combo. I had noticed that there were fewer and fewer guests around the place over the last few days. Cancun was buttoning down for the virus’s impact, soon to come. We went early to the airport as directed, still wary given the concerns about immigration and the U.S. border shutdown. But it was fine. We waltzed through and waited for about four hours in the terminal with other worried looking, waiting passengers. People were keeping their distance. Facemasks started appearing. I revealed my psychological cards by watching Terminator: DarkFate during the flight back to Nashville.  We landed and…all was well.

It was a great trip filled with enduring memories.

###

The Cancun before the storm

In early March the novel coronavirus morphed into COVID-19, and then transformed from an epidemic into a pandemic. Fear and gloom took hold around the world. I’ve been asking myself, how can I capture our family’s experience? So I have decided to tell our tale chronologically. For the Rising Family™, COVID-19 was preceded by a long planned vacation to Cancun, Mexico. We chose to roll the dice and go ahead with our trip knowing there was a viral tornado on the horizon. Viva el familia en ascenso! It was one of the best family vacations we’ve ever had.

Sunday

It doesn’t matter how we got there. On arrival in Cancun, the tropical air was a tonic that shored up our wilted stamina. As we left the customs area we were politely accosted by touts for various tours or taxis. Then we arrived in the Marriott Resort’s vast lobby. First impression: immaculate, wonderful scent, beautiful people walking around.

Monday

We departed the hotel promptly at 0830 and took the 48 peso city bus that hurtles around the hotel zone regularly and at high velocity. It soon dropped us at the ferry terminal wherein we crossed the gangplank to our ferry to the Isla Mujeres. 

Isla Mujeres (The Island of Women) is a picturesque island only 4.5 miles long and 0.4 miles wide in the Caribbean just eight miles from Cancun. I rented a golf cart for 800 pesos to get around, but I forgot to bring my license. No problem! Left our room key as collateral.

I drove out to the Dolphin Discovery aqua park for the in-water dolphin petting experience, which was was the main thing Marina wanted to do during this trip. 

After that, we traversed the island on the golf cart to the shallow Plaza Norte beach for some salt water and sand time. It’s a relaxing, popular beach. Met a blind gentleman who sold us pistachios for one dollar.

I reveled in driving around this gorgeous island and found a stretch where Elena piloted the cart for a few hundred hair-raising meters. 

She also found her namesake hotel. 

We dropped off the golf cart at 1700, and then hopped on the packed ferry back to the hotel zone.

We cleaned up, caffeined up, and then went back on the bus to Cancun’s downtown to visit the Mercado 23 night market. It's an authentic local market with low prices to match. We had a great time; it’s thoroughly family-friendly. Booked our trip to the Chichen-Itza temple with a tour agent we met who is a former reporter. He chortled when I told him I was a flack. Naomi and I had some refreshing drinks to suppress the fiery, but delicious, local eats we ordered. The girls played it safe with soft tacos. 

We boarded the bus back. We all got used to the driving, which I found to be similar to India’s driving proclivities except there was much less traffic, so the drivers can go that much faster.

Tuesday

We went to the Mercado 28 market to shop. 

Arrived at the advertised 10:00 a.m. opening time but many stalls were not open. We wandered around and eventually found a few items we wanted to buy (e.g. trophy beach towels for me.) Naomi tried fried ice cream. These markets are an endless sales pitch-and-parry game but, if you have an easygoing attitude, it can be entertaining and you can learn a bit about local folks. 

I bought some Corona-ironic tequila shots for people back home. My travel mates derided my poor haggling skills.

Afternoon, and the main course for the day: hit the ocean surf, the pool and the jacuzzi. It was an afternoon of amazing aquatic family fun. I had my first of many swim-up beers at the pool bar. That, my friends, is civilization at work. Did some wave surfing with Elena; Marina took a rain check. The hotel itself is terrific with lots to do. 

I also played Giant Jenga with Marina and Big Checkers with Elena. The board is about four meters by four meters, the checkers the size of dinner plates. It felt a little freaky to play this game in the hotel courtyard. The game took an hour; Lady E. is getting very crafty…

- To be continued -