| Me and San Juan A Brief History One night at the Conadado plaza is one of the things I look forward to on my annual trips to Dominica. My first time here in 99, I stayed at the Condado Plaza and I liked it. Ron always gave me an option between the Condado and other hotels, but I always figured the devil you know is better than the devil you don't, and the Condado Plaza devil was a tenth floor suite with a balcony view of the harbor, two restaurants and a casino, and free continental breakfast on the eight floor lounge. My over-nighters in San Juan only happen when I arrive in San Juan too late to catch my connector to my final destination, and so I'm often hoping that American Airlines will prove true to form and touch down a good twenty minutes behind schedule. From first class I'd be shouting "Whoa Nellie, slow this rig down!" or "Where's the fire Mr.!" Hoping the pilots can hear me through the bulkhead, and pull the plane subconiosly back to a modest 300 mph. After we land and taxi to the gate, I'll often feign sleeping until the last person has de-planed, and a flight attendant comes to rouse me. This, with an added ambling through the terminal looking lost, or a prolonged visit to the rest room is typically all it takes to miss the last call on American Eagles flight 5362, in which case I would need to make a phone call to the office, and request they make some arrangements for my nights lodging. "Oops, silly me, I guess I missed the last eagle flight again!" I'd say, " Can you believe that, this makes something like, what eight times? How do you guys do it?" Since my second visit to the Condado, the concierge would always say "Welcome Back to the Condado Mr. Gaebel, it's good to see you again" and I start believeing I belong there, and those welcome smiles as they look up the company credit card helps me to maintain the elusion that I am a busy, worldy, traveling business man who deserves the best that money can buy. The champagne in my room and Godiva chocolates on my pillow help me to forget that last nights hotel in Syracuse was a smelly Days Inn, and all I could afford at the time. The trailer I have been living in on the river, next door to my screaching 78 year old father, is a far away place, long forgotten, and I slip on my bathing suite, head to the pool and paddle up to the sunken island bar to order the first of several Vodka Tonics I will be charging to my room.Yes, this is what I have been reduced to, someone who does not live outside of his means, but has found a way to enjoy the quality of someone elses life, a richer more fulfilling life, if only for 16 or so hours. Note to self: when spending someone elses money, go for it. |