Caribbean Vacation After Action Report

We're back home safe and sound. Our luggage, however, is still on vacation. More on that later.

We enjoyed a leisurely, tranquil series of days down there - until the very last one. It started off with a bang. Literally.

Without venturing into the realm of TMI, let's just say my wife woke up that morning feeling frisky. Since I try to be a good husband, I did my best to accommodate her.

Evidently my best was more than adequate (*modest cough*), because in the midst of her enthusiastic response there was a loud CRASH and the bed collapsed in the middle, ending up in a V-shaped pile.

It was a king-sized bed, supported by a metal frame upon which rest the box springs. The frame looked like two twin bed frames joined together, with a horizontal brace in the middle running from head to foot.

The middle brace was supported by two metal legs inserted into plastic pegs. In this case, the plastic pegs had split, causing the frame to fall a few inches to the ground. This happened at a particularly crucial time during our morning activities, but my wife certainly seemed to appreciate the extra impetus. Anyway…

We contacted the property manager (a woman) to report the damage. She came over to take a look. We didn't explain how it had happened, but she seemed sort of embarrassed nonetheless. She called someone else (a man) to come over and check it out. His reaction was predictably male – he laughed.

Apparently he was the project manager, because he immediately summoned two more people to participate. There was much discussion in rapid Spanish, accompanied by knowing grins and chuckles. One of them even turned and gave me a big smile, along with a wink and a nod. Needless to say, my wife by this time was nowhere around.

If this had happened to our bed at home, I would have just cut a couple of blocks from a 2x4 and slid them under the metal legs. These guys, however, must have been paid by the hour, because they turned it into a full-blown woodworking project.

They decided to use a 1x6 cut to fit under the horizontal brace. This necessitated much measuring and discussion in rapid-fire Spanish. After a couple of false starts (evidently accurate measuring was not their strong suit), they finally got two pieces of wood cut to the right size. They then proceeded to try and screw them to the frame. I say "try" because they had a little trouble getting the screws started into the wood. Their solution was to hold the block of wood against one guy's thigh while the other drilled into it with a power drill. It led to me wonder where the nearest ER was, but they pulled it off without injury.

We finally got the frame repaired and the bed reassembled. Everyone left with more chatter and chuckles, and my wife came out of hiding. By now it was time for lunch.

The rest of the day was uneventful. After another wonderful dinner (pollo guisado dominicano con arroz y frijoles – delicioso!), everyone wandered off to bed. About 15 minutes later we heard blood-curdling screams coming from the bedroom where the two 16-year old girls (our daughter and our friends' daughter) were staying. We rushed into their room, expecting to see some machete-wielding crazed killer chasing them around the room.

Instead, we found them both standing on one bed clinging to each other and jumping up and down yelling OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod over and over again. When we finally got them calmed down enough to speak coherently, they told us there was a crab in their room.

A crab…

The crab that caused all the ruckus.

So four adults got down on their hands and knees to search a bedroom shared by two 16-year old females (clothes scattered everywhere, suitcases strewn about, shoes and other debris all over the floor…). We finally found the culprit – a little thing, about the size of a deck of cards. I scooped it up and carried it outside, where I set it free.

Hysterical females … sigh…

Things finally settled down and we all wandered off to bed – again.

The next morning we loaded up the car to head for the airport, only to discover that it wouldn't start. Dead battery.

Fortunately there was a crew working on the house across the street. After some broken Spanish and sound effects, along with much pantomiming and arm-waving (and a $10 bill) we convinced them to give us a jump (apparently jumper cables are standard issue equipment with Dominican cars). Once the car roared to life we merrily trundled off to the airport.

We got on the first flight without any problems (God Bless the informal boarding procedures down there – the person checking our passports was wearing a Jack Daniels gimme cap).

However, we were a little late arriving in Charlotte to catch our connecting flight – and we had a tight connection to begin with. We cleared immigration and customs in record time (customs was a joke – all they did was take our little form without saying a word – no questions or bag inspections, thankfully) and rechecked our bags with no problem. But then we had to go through TSA security to get on the connecting flight.

When we got to the TSA checkpoint my heart sank. The line looked like one of those amusement park queues that wind back and forth on itself several times.

We had less than 15 minutes to catch our flight. There was no way we were going to get through the line in time. Then we caught a break. TSA opened another line on the other side of the concourse. Since we were at the end of the first line we were in prime position to move to the front of the new line, which we promptly did.

After clearing security we were now down to 10 minutes until flight time. Of course, our gate was at the extreme opposite end of the airport. It was time to recreate that old O. J. Simpson airport dash commercial.



I didn't even stop to retie my shoes. I was carrying my belt in one hand and our boarding passes in the other. I hollered "Follow me!" to my wife and daughter and took off running.

I was merciless. I shoved little old ladies out of the way and knocked small children to the ground. We left a trail of sprawling and cursing bodies in our wake, but we made it to the gate just as they were boarding the last group. We collapsed into our seats, breathless and sweaty, but on board. All was well…

… until we landed in San Antonio and discovered that, while we may have made the flight, our luggage hadn't.

But I would rather that we made the flight without our bags than the other way around.

We got home with no further incident and gratefully spent the night in our own beds. It was a wonderful trip and we had a great time, but it's always good to get back home.

We don't even have to spend today doing laundry, because our bags haven't shown up yet…