Had a cocktail before bed at the Renaissance in the (new to me) hotel area just a short train ride away from Atlanta’s airport. Last time I was at this lodging chain the logo was loopy and the vibe was nondescript. Now it’s all concrete ceilings and black and white art… but there was something a little… cheugy with some of the details.
No mind, we had mere hours to catch some zzzz’s.
Got through Atlanta airport screening five hours later and was confronted with a packed-like-sardines tram between concourses. Already sweaty, a bit out of breath from security, the N95 and generally freaked out by extreme density, I asked an airport agent if it was possible to walk instead.
It was possible! So I doubled-timed it and met up with Casey right when we were due to board.
We were home in about an hour and yay.
Photos of hotel below, and snapshot of graphics behind the nearly empty tram station in Cincinnati above. (Delta needs to spread out their hubs again.)
Got to the Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport at 5am and to our gate with plenty of time to spare for the flight. Boarded and settled in only to have the captain come out and say there was a part being replaced and we’d shove off after everything checked out plus some paperwork.
Fast forward an hour and we’re ready to taxi when the captain reports that nope, we’re heading back to the gate to deplane. The part was faulty.
Every few hours the airline would shift departure by a few hours… the entire day. We camped in a remote corner of the terminal next to electrical outlets and would routinely weigh the options: wait it out and be available, or shift to a flight the following day.
Just as we were about to throw in the towel, we received notification for boarding at 7pm.
We didn’t make it home that night, but we at least got to Atlanta and grabbed a hotel for 5 hours before the final leg.
Today was all about doing as little as possible before an early flight. Books consumed. Sounds of waves. Floating in water. Ocean breezes. Dinner delivered.
And just as we were about to go to sleep, new neighbors at the hotel had a huge fight that lasted for many hours off and on while security kept coming up to mitigate. Pretty sure the door banging and name calling ended at 2am.
The beach was dense, denser than the snapshot above. Competing sound systems blasted reggaeton music from every direction. We were there to try and meet up with a woman that found my phone after I dropped it in a frenzy to exit a cab.
(Insert a period of hours, returning to hotel, putting phone in lost mode, and getting a call back to return to the area.)
We got there and somehow she heard the cellphone ring over the cacophony. Even with our broken Spanish she gleaned we were by the bar at the top of the beach.
Two women emerged through the crowds, waving a phone above their head. We rushed together and I pantomimed all the gratitude I could as Casey gave them a hug. I gave them the cash in my wallet as thanks and we parted ways. Mucho gracias on repeat.
(Mental note: Next time traveling, put a message in the local language on the lock screen in case of loss. Apple’s tools to communicate are limited and the requirement of two factor authentication makes using another device really tricky when trying to track it down.)
Aside from this hiccup and happy ending, we really enjoyed the meal that brought us to this local enclave of San Juan. El Nuevo Acuario had excellent cocktails and seafood and the wait staff helped out tremendously letting us use their phone as a wifi hotspot.