Friday morning, Elisa had breakfast and I walked her most of the way to Valley's house. I showered and dressed and Ray packed the car. I grabbed the last few things, like food, and threw them in. We locked the doors and took the dog. It might have been less nerve-wracking for me to drive him to work and then come home and finish the last preparations, like giving the chickens lots of food, but that would not have been the most enviornmental and efficient thing to do.

After getting Ray to work almost on time, I took Cameron to the kennel. He was not happy about it and looked at me accusingly and sadly. I assured him he would have a good time. Then I got some cash. While I was at the credit union, I talked to them about a loan for next semester's tuition.

Then I spent a couple hours at the library, picking books to check out and take with me to work on my final presentation and paper for Psychology of Aging. It's a challenge to read enough of a book to konw it's worth getting, but not get caught up in it and spend too much time on it. I read about geriatric care managers, which is something I would like to do, but is for more wealthy older people, not the ones who need it most. And I would be working for myself. I would like to do something simliar for a non-profit, but don't think it exists. It's basically helping people get connected to resources they need and make the right decisions about their care. It's especially helpful for people who have aging parents in another town.

A little before noon, I left the library and went to meet Joerg, who is our AFS liaison. He works at the Small Animal Clinic at the vet school. I gave him Elisa's suitcase and a bag of cookies, pistachio nuts, and bananas for her to snack on.

Then I went to my Dad's and ate the leftovers I had brought for lunch. Rice with dressing and tomaotes and a few lettuce leaves. Very tasty. I repacked some things I had thrown in the car that morning. Then we drove to UGA and waited outside Ray's building for about 40 minutes. We got there at 1:08 and did not expect him before 1:30, but it was the least stressful thing to do. If he should be able to leave earlier, we would be ready. It was 1:46 when we saw him and got right on our way to the ATL airport. This gave us four hours until our flight, which would be plenty as long as there was no traffic or other delays. As it turns out, there were no problems, although there was an accident on the other side of the highway that caused a major backup for people leaving ATL. We were there more than two hours ahead of time, TG.

Ray left Mudge and me off at the curb with all the luggage and went to find a parking place. My Dad went in to get his wheelchair and I stayed with the things. He came back and we brought it all in. The wheelchair staff helped us get it all in line and check in. Of course, we couldn't check Ray in, so we waited a bit. He came along and swiped his passport and checked our third bag and then we were set. My Dad had his carry-on bag and his briefcase and Ray had a backpack and I had a small purse. And then there was the giant boatbag that my parents gave me years ago with our initials on it. I always take it with me. It had the food in it and the raincoat and spare underwear and books and computers. It was heavy, but sometimes we carry it together, one on each handle.

When your Dad is in a wheelchair, the attendant (pusher) goes to the head of the line for security and we go with them. He knows where the elevators are and the best way to get to the gate, so you don't have to think about it, you just follow him. We were at the gate in no time and had more than an hour to kill, eating, reading, wandering.

The first flight was to Houston. It was on United and was a smaller plane than we usually fly--two seats on each side of the aisle. The aisle was small, the seats were small, there were no snacks, just one beverage (water for us). It was fine. At Houston, we got a ride on a cart to the other side of the terminal where our next flight left from. We wandered around, read, bought more water.

Then Ray noticed they had changed the gate--we had to go back where we came from. We found another cart, but there was no driver. Eventually, someone came with a wheelchair to push my Dad back. He was a little nervous at that point that we might miss the plane. Ray had gone ahead, thinking we would be in the cart and leaving the luggage! So I was carrying the heavy bag by myself and the backpack. We did get there and get on the plane, among the last to board but still in time.

This plane was even smaller--two seats on one side of the aisle and one on the other. They took my Dad's carry on and "gate-checked" it. My giant bag still fit under the seat in front of me, but there was even less leg and elbow room and no snacks, even though the flight was longer. There was a little turbulence. Most of the time I read my book, The Best Possible Care, about palliative care at the end of life. It was not gripping, but apparently not boring enough to put me to sleep.

We arrived on time or a little early, in the dark and the rain. We had to go down the steps to the runway. My Dad asked for a wheelchair, which we had to try to do in Spanish. Eventually, we got one. They took us in to Immigration and Customs. The forms we had been given on the plane were apparently old ones, so we had to recopy the information, which involved Molli's address as well as information about our flight. We got stamped and went on to Customs after getting all our bags. No one asked us any questions or opened any bags, even though we had said, "yes," we were bringing fruits and vegetables into the country (a couple apples we hadn't eaten).

So we were in good time, out in front of the airport with all our bags. It felt warm and humid, tropical, not at all like Thanksgiving. We were surprised not to find Molli and Adrian waiting for us. Other people's rides came and went. There was a police car with flashing lights that pulled up. We were tired and began to worry that something might have happened on their drive from Xalapa. In an emergency, I could have used my cell phone, but it would have been expensive. Could we have had a mis-communication? I didn't know the name of the hotel we were staying at. Molli had lost her phone in the last week, so we couldn't call her from a pay phone if we could find one. Later, she pointed out that we did have Adrian's cell phone number too, but I didn't remember that at the time.

They came about half an hour later. They had checked in at the hotel and had time to relax before coming to get us, but they had gotten lost on the way. It was a ways to the hotel, maybe half an hour, and there was traffic. No GPS or iPhone to check the traffic and find the best way to go. They just followed the signs and discussed in Spanish which way they thought they should turn...

We did get to our hotel. A nice man brought our suitcases up. The elevator was so small, we had to go in two groups. The room had two double beds and a bath--and a small convertible couch in the anteroom that made it a suite.

One of the strangest things about visiting Mexico is they don't put toilet paper in the toilet. It goes in a small trash can next to the toilet. This is hard to remember to do, especially when you're tired, but soon becomes routine. Molli lived here four months before she found out--no one told her until her toilet backed up. Their plumbing can't take it apparently.

I slept soundly, in spite of the bed being really firm and there being a shortage of pillows. Unfortunately, I woke up at 5:45 local time, which was 6:45 in Athens, pretty good for me. I spent time reading my book on end-of-life health care quietly in a chair. After many hours, other people woke up. Some of us were dressed more quickly than others and ambled down the street. There was loud music playing and lots of people. It is a 3-day weekend in Mexico and Veracruz is a big holiday destination for them. We sat at a table outdoors and were brought "lechero," coffee with milk, as well as an extensive menu. Ray and I had huevos rancheros, Mudge had an omelet/frittata ("tortilla") with mushrooms and sausage. Molli and Adrian had beans and turkey and cheese.

Probably fifty people came by our table while we were eating to try to sell us things: embroidered dresses and shirts, wooden toys, perfume, cigars, even cheese and butter! Also, women in white uniforms offering to take our blood pressure. A marimba band set up and played a few songs, but we didn't give them any money either, so they moved on. Adrian demonstrated the technique. You cannot smile while you are saying no thank you. You must appear angry and they will leave you alone. Apparently, they all work for the same person and tell each other who are most likely to buy. I smiled at them all and nodded pleasantly, so that is perhaps why they kept coming even though I never bought anything.

After breakfast (it was nearly noon), we wandered back to the hotel. I took my shower and we packed up everything and went downstairs. Ray got most of it in the trunk and we squeezed back in the car.

Adrian drove around the crowded streets until we came once again to the naval museum we had visited five years before. It is a good museum and it is free, but it was espcially interesting to my Dad. Once again, the men lingered over every room, communicating in Spanish and English about many things. We felt bad about the American attacks on the Mexicans. Molli and I went ahead and sat on a bench talking (about gerontology mainly). It rained outside. We were all back in the car a few hours later. It was "parked" against a yellow curb, partly blocking two different driveways. There was a man there (with bad teeth) who guided us to park there and watched the car, in exchange for a small amount of money Adrian gave him when he got back.

Then we drove some more, down along the waterfront. It is great to look out at the water, even in the rain. There were fishing boats, police boats, and more. We looked for a restaurant for "lunch," and drove all the way to Boca del Rio, the next town. Somehow, Adrian found a Brazilian grilled meat restaurant, something we all enjoyed tremendously (like Fogo de Chao). It was very crowded. Five of us squeezed into a corner table meant for four. There was an extensive salad bar. I got some spicy soup--maybe chicken tortilla, salad with mushrooms, sliced beet, spicy jicama and fruit and other "sides." Molli ordered our favorite flavored water, naranjada.

Then the meat started coming. My favorite was the first one, cordera, that Molli got for me before I knew what was happening. Lamb. There were a dozen kinds of beef, two kinds of ribs, chicken, all grilled and tasty. For some reason, it is great fun to have men bring you meat on a skewer that looks like a sword. I imagined the proliferation of long sharp implements traveling through a crowded restaurant, complicated with wet tile floors near the entrance where the rain was tracked in could have been a dangerous scenario, but I never saw any accidents. There were repeated birthday songs from various groups. We ordered some Chilean merlot (Concha y Toro) and ate until we couldn't hold anything more. Ray went for fruit on the buffet and we admired the desserts, but passed them by. All this cost us less than $20 per person, approximately.

After a wait in the rain, our car appeared again and we stuffed ourselves back in it. The big white bag was under my feet and my Dad's briefcase on Molli's lap. Some of us dozed while Adrian made his way through the holiday traffic to Xalapa. The trip was only a couple hours, but seemed much longer. We even sang some of the old songs.

About seven o'clock, we arrived at Molli and Adian's house. It is really nice, three bedrooms. The table was set with placemats and napkins I recognized. The walls were freshly painted white, with framed pictures hanging. The wooden furniture is solid and there is a big curved leather couch in one corner. There is an actual kitchen, unlike the last place she lived, where it was in a corner of the living/dining room. All the doors and windows are covered with bars and locks. and there is city noise of people going by at all hours, not loudly, but different from the sounds at my house.

The floors are tile, a black and white pattern something like leaves. In the kitchen, a different blue and white pattern, more like snowflakes, covers the sink and the walls. It is about four feet wide by ten feet. A water pipe comes out of the wall over the sink, with a faucet like you might have had outside your house fifty years ago. There is a big bottle of water for drinking, a small gas stove and shelves under the counter, plus one cupboard on the wall. This is a deluxe kitchen for Mexico. The small shiny refrigerator is in the living/dining room.

They have given us their bed and bedroom and my Dad has a single bed in the guest room. They sleep on the floor in the third room, which they use as a study most of the time, on a large inflatable mattress.

Molli and Adrian are going to a wedding reception that started about an hour ago. We are all invited, but the three gringos are too worn out, even though it would be fun and interesting. We settle in and relax and go to bed very early. For company, we have Osa, their small and friendly to the point of obsequiousness, black and brown dog. One of the many challenges of moving to the US will be bringing Osa along, as she is part of the family and cannot be left to her fate here.

I put on my pajamas and snuggle into another firm bed, with the first book of Game of Thrones. It is not soothing bedtime reading, and I manage to get through two or three chapters before it slips from my grasp. I sleep nine or ten hours, waking briefly when Ray comes to bed and again when they come home about midnight.

Strange bird sounds distract me as the day starts.