Travel Tip

Was gonna blog the entire weekend, complete with pictures, but I forgot to bring the little cable thingy to work. You know, the one that tells the camera to send the data to the computer? Sigh. Hope I can find it.

Anyway, to tide y’all over here’s one of the stories:

It’s about eleven o’clock in the evening, and Nancy’s tired so she goes to bed while Juli, Kathleen and I head for the Jacuzzi. This spot is just too cool the way it’s perched out over the cliff and you can see up the coast to the Rosarito Beach Hotel. (Insert picture here if I had the cable thingy—in the meantime, you’re just gonna have to use your imagination. ‘Course if I had the energy, I could use all my writerly talents to paint word pictures, but alas. I’m a little jet lagged. Well, there was no jet involved, so make that margarita-lagged. Yep, there were plenty margaritas. And Tecate. And Bailey’s. And something called Crème de Grand Marnier…)

Anyway, we trot on down to the Jacuzzi and discover a young couple of the male and female variety, but they’re married and don’t seem to care that we’re spoiling their romantic moment. We hang out with them for awhile, sip our cocktails, ogle the view, get waterlogged, then go back up to the condo (we’re in the seventh floor penthouse).

About ten minutes later, Nancy drags herself out of one of the back bedrooms and asks if we can keep it down. (Damn, she WOULD have to be a light sleeper.) To tell you the truth, I think we were being pretty good. Well, except for when we went to look at something in her bathroom which, well, maybe we were a little loud when we were standing right next to her door.

So, we’re trying to be quiet in the living room, and we’re afraid it’s not working, so we go out on the terrace and shut the sliders.

Flash forward to a half-hour later, and we go to re-enter.

Only, there’s one problem.

Turns out the latch was in the “locked” position when we slid the doors closed. There is no budging them.

Yep. It’s after midnight and we’re trapped outside on the patio. (May I point out the booze is INSIDE?)

Juli takes dibs on the towel hanging over a chair. I claim the bar-b-que cover for my blanket. Meanwhile, two of us try to pry the door open, while the third keeps an eye on the pool down below in case a security guard does a walk-through.

Nada.

Finally, we decide to risk aggravating Nancy further. We pound on the sliding glass doors.

Thank God, she’s a light sleeper after all! Apparently, after listening to this strange noise for five solid minutes, she decides it might be us, so she drags herself out to the living room again.

And sees three desperate faces at the window.

Even lets us in (although I’m sure there was some inner debate involved).

Well, the moral of the story: Never, ever, close the doors of a patio all the way. Particularly when you’re on the wrong side. Of a rental condo. Seven floors up. In Mexico.

Unless you have plenty of margaritas, Tecate, Bailey’s, Crème de Grand Marnier….