The eagle has landed...

DAY 0:
January 8th 2019 loomed as Contra-Flow Caravan D-day for almost a year. And I'll be damned if it didn't finally arrive! All the planning, the spending, the worrying, the wait-what-are-we-doing, did I mention worrying, came down to one day. But really, it's not fair to that day. Even if time is just a human invention, how can one day possibly carry all that responsibility? Especially when loaded down with air travel and pets? 

So as any pair of self-respecting, co-dependent, stop-telling-us-to-chill-we're New Yorkers would do, we called up our reserves of pessimism and braced for a day of freak snow-storms, escaped cats, cancelled flights, lost luggage, denied visas, and, yes, political retribution at the border. No way was this going to be easy, right? Well guess what? It wasn't! But for all the non-worried-about reasons. Ooo fate is a nasty mistress.

We woke at 4:30am, no snow-storm, drugged the cats and hustled them into their carriers, said goodbye to our naked Nuro house at 5:30am, got to LGA at 6:00am where we proceeded to perform the repack-three-bags-becasue-one-is-only-12 pounds-overweight ballet, got on the flight with the eerily quiet carry-on cats, arrived in Houston three and a half hours later into the same concourse as our connecting flight to Queretaro so had time for an early oyster po-boy at Landry's Seafood, got on the flight to QRO with now groggy and thirsty carry-on cats for the final two hours and touched-down in Viva Mexico! where all our bags were waiting for us on the carousel.

What?! No cancelled flights?! No loose and/or embarrassingly defecating cats? No lost luggage? We're here? We've made it! Ha! Damn you fate! Now it's just getting through passport control, customs and an hour drive to out three week rental in SMA. And it's sunny and 75 degrees.

Even passport control is fine as we navigate our visa for residency with little trouble. But then came customs and the cats! Now you have to understand that Jackie has spent weeks and hundreds of dollars getting shots and topical applications for these diffident companions not to mention official forms and vet paperwork. She's prepared for the less than urgent customs agents who take the cats and the paperwork into the dreaded back room. Then time, that human invention, slows down to Mexico rhythm. We're still waiting as the rest of our plane and then another pass through the hall. Have we celebrated too soon? Will Charlie and Girlscout get turned back at the border as a grand gesture of we-will-not-pay-for-the-wall defiance by the newly elected AMLO administration?

But no! The agents finally emerge from the back room with more paperwork for Jackie to sign and then our now completely pissed-off and hung-over cats and we are sprung into the Mexican sunshine. Thankfully our Bajio-Go driver is still there and we all head off for an hours drive to San Miguel in his luggage-filled Jetta, passing many Pemex stations with 70's like gas lines because of distribution issues the new gov't has evidently caused by trying to stop wholesale petrol theft. But we have plenty of fuel to make it to SMA, just not great tires it seems as, yes, just outside of town we get a blow-out. We unload our luggage and I give the young guy a hand in putting on a spare. But it's getting late and both we and our strung-out cats are getting testy and hungry by the time finally find our rental about 4:00PM central time.

It's an absolutely beautiful home, however, filled with amazing art in a very cool part of San Miguel we hadn't explored in our previous visits, San Antonio. We meet the owner's property agent, Jessica who quickly runs us through the mechanics of the amazing place and leaves us the keys. We need to get the cats some litter before the pet store closes and ourselves some vittles before we do.

Then fate, or stupidity if you want to be cruel or truthful, finally decided to step in like Dean Winters in a serape.

I try the key in the front door before we head-out. I manage to get the bolt thrown but then can't get it back or the key out of the lock. I try all my patented fix-it tricks sans WD40. Nothing works. This goes on for about an hour. Now we're worried. There is no other egress. The bars on the first floor windows are secure and the second story balcony is a bit too high for my parkour talents. We're stranded. Jessica is not answering her phone or texts. We call the owner in the states who suggest we call for take-out and have it shoved through the bars. Oh, and it's about this time that Jackie realizes that she hasn't seen either of her credit cards the last few days. There it is! All that worry and pessimism justified but aimed in the wrong direction.

So, yes, the bad stuff will come no matter how you prepare. It's how you react when it arrives that matters. Good platitude if I do say so. I didn't react well. Yes, Jackie, I've got to work on that and my Spanish. 

Jessica did finally respond and got a locksmith to release us about 8pm and we immediately headed out to a wonderfully cozy Italian restaurant called Antiga where Puttanesca, Carbonora and some Chianti brought us back from the brink. Goodbye January 8th, 2019. You didn't disappoint us, you bastard.  Hello the next 2 and half months. Don't you dare!

Next installment: The House and The Storage Unit