I had been to Cozumel on the trip with my sister, so it wasn’t as overwhelming to me this time. The gauntlet of the pier plus dufry’s plus port area plus taxi stand was pretty off-putting to the husband and I’m glad this wasn’t our first stop or I might have lost his good opinion right here. We got a taxi fairly quickly and zipped off to a Cozumel-famous and well-respected beach club. I’m not naming names here in case it appears that I’m blaming them for what happened next. It was a beautiful day, the food and drinks and service and venue were all just fantastic. I even saw a starfish (wow!) and I wasn’t even wearing the snorkel gear. Like, I can’t even tell you how great this day was, it was awesome.
But we got back to the ship and I started to feel weird. I thought I was having a sugar crash from too much sun and alcohol, so I asked my husband to get me another Guys or some kind of protein. Before he even got back, I was losing everything I even thought about eating or drinking and that kept up for at least 24 hours. I mean, I was under the impression that digestion happened a little faster than what I was re-experiencing, please forgive the TMI. So bad, so sick. Hubs had his own version, and we eventually headed to the medical center. They were unimpressed and frankly at that point, I still kind of suspected too much of too many kinds of alcohol in too short a period of time. They gave me some anti-nausea meds and a wheelchair ride back to my room, which is the worst walk-of-shame in my humble opinion. I still don’t know whether to chalk this up to Montezuma or Noro or something else entirely, but it’s a lousy way to avoid cruise weight gain and I don’t ever want to do it again.
So we missed dinner that night and the whole last sea day and night. Camped out in bed, watching movies, sipping water and hot tea and taking turns in the bathroom. Our poor, deeply concerned room steward was not allowed in, but he brought us fresh towels and robes and insisted on changing the sheets while we were visiting the med center. Angel. We dragged ourselves through the ordeal of packing up and opted to check our bags. No strength left to carry anything.
We braved one last coffee from Java Blue (love those gals) and tried to take advantage of priority disembarkation with our FTTF. Just as they called Diamond, Platinum, and suite guests, the power glitched. Like, an audible zzttt sound and the lights went out, came back on, and went out for real. Needless to say, things were hosed at that point. FTTF was out the window and we were all in a holding pattern. We discovered that the Library Bar was a very comfortable place to escape the crush of (very aggravated) humanity, so we snoozed and read in cozy armchairs and were actually able to hear when our deck number was called. It was a major cluster going down the stairs and out through deck 0 to the baggage area, but we made it without incident. Our FTTF luggage tags were for area 3, so we got to them pretty quickly and snagged a porter at the first opportunity. Seriously, do this, especially if you have little kids or members of your party are kinda woozy like we were. They got us right through customs and out the door, even tried to take us all the way to the parking garage, but we stopped him at the railroad tracks, gave him all of our remaining cash and got the heck outta there. Two hours from leaving our stateroom at 8:00 until getting on the road at 10:00, and we were some of the lucky ones. Poor ol’ Galveston.
So we discovered that we still like each other! 23 years, definitely some sickness, a good bit of health, quite a bit poorer, but rich in experience. And he wants to do it again! We’re booked in a spa cabin on the Dream for September 2020, and at his request (!) I’ve booked a Havana aft wrap balcony for September 2021. In fact, it’s the room right next door to ours. I only hope Ron will still be there.