In many ways, I am no different than a soldier serving his country overseas. Aside from the inconvenience of getting shot at and living in the desert or other remote places, I have a lot of things in common with the military: I am keen to hear about stuff happening back in the west, both in the U.S. and in Europe. Like GI’s, I refer to leave as R&R and, like our men in uniform, I like to tell people what I will do once I get there. It’s a minor detail that the trip rarely goes as planned or that I overhype it in advance and in the end am grateful for the return ticket to wherever it is I am in the world.
From South America, the hub I land in is Miami, Florida. Although I am not fond of Florida as such, I admit I have gotten to know its airport quite well by now. From La Paz, it’s a six and a half hour flight to Florida, and I am grateful to get to an airport with a little more hustle and bustle, more conveniences, and a place that's simply better organized. Miami International is laid out like a horseshoe, so it is not rare that I need to hustle across the horseshoe to catch a flight, should this be required. Luckily, they have a commuter train, which helps. On this day, luckily, a train isn’t required. It will be another two hours before my plane leaves for Charlotte, so I have a little time to kill.
I rarely venture outside of the airport, not because I am afraid of hustlers, but I am acutely aware how the Florida humidity can hit you flush in the face once you get there, especially in July. That’s too big a leap for somebody who now lives in La Paz, a city that has all the humidity of a fresh sheet of paper.
There are places I usually wouldn’t give the time of day when I’m in the U.S., McDonald’s being one of them. But back in La Paz, you do find yourself pining for a Big Mac or the McDonald’s fries once in a while, so this is the first place I visit on my vacation. I order two cheeseburgers and French fries, and they taste absolutely horrible. Either the cooks are having a bad day, they've whacked a few dogs in the alley to make up for their beef shortage, or my distaste for McDonald’s has actually survived since my last stay here. It’s hard to believe that’s what I’d been missing for over a year.
I pick up a paperback for my father in law (Grisham, always a winner), and proceed to my gate. I get to Charlotte, the family is there waiting, and we head to the house on Lake Norman, where somebody clearly needs to shut off the sauna. It’s 95, even at seven o’clock in the evening, and I can’t wait to get the AC going when I get to the house.
Later I turn on the tube and am, quite predictably, treated to the latest campaign advertisements that are already ringing in what promises to be another dirty campaign election. I don’t know what it’s about, nor do I care. All that matters in the end is that I won’t be around here once the election rolls around here, and I am grateful for that. Have the two clowns knock and kick each other silly with their plastic hammers and size 30 shoes, for all I care.
There are various things I have planned for this trip, the first of which is to see the house we just bought in Tryon, North Carolina, a two hour drive from Lake Norman. I am vaguely aware of the area (absolutely gorgeous), but have no idea what the town or neighborhood look like.
I am about to find out very soon.
I am about to find out very soon.
