Off to a good start!

Well, the trip is undeniably off to a good start. After enjoying a final wonderful (albeit wet) coastal weekend replete with weddings, birthday parties, and terribly-overdue reunions with long-time friends, I finished packing my things and bidding adieus. I got my first indication of a good omen at Martin Hemens’ 60th birthday celebration, when I responded to his inquiries about post-colligate plans with “Oh, I’m moving to Guatemala. Uh, Tuesday.” His enthusiastic response to the date, complete with a short run-down of how his journey from Europe to America started on a Tuesday, ended with an animated exclamation reassuring me that everything would work out legendarily; Tuesdays, after all, are the best days for starting an adventure.
Sure enough, his predictions have thus far held true. Despite the inordinate number of inter- and intra- continental plane trips I’ve taken in just the past few years, never before have I been privilege to the first-class experience. I have no idea how or why, but today I seem to have hit the jackpot. My seat on the flight from Houston to Guatemala City, where I now sit writing this passage, is 1F. That’s right – window seat, front row of the aircraft. Oh, excuse me; I must interrupt my typing to accept a fresh glass of Argentine Shiraz from the flight attendant. Don’t think I’m kidding.
Anyhow, where was I? Ah, yes, I was about to describe the First Class lifestyle thus far (something which I could easily, by the way, get used to. If those darn flight attendants would stop interrupting me, that is – I just was stopped at my work again in order to be offered some blueberry (with a peach confit topping) cheesecake. Seriously people, how am I supposed to get anything done while bathing in this luxury?)
Although airplane food has long been the fodder for unjust criticism, I’ll set the record straight by describing the evening’s meal. It began, of course, with a fresh, warm cloth towelette presented with silver tongs. After carefully cleaning my hands (uh, thanks guy sitting next to me, for helping me to understand that this was, in fact, the proper thing to do), I was offered the menu complete with four entrée options. “Ah, yes, the salmon with rice sounds lovely, thank you.”
Presented on a tray with a pretty pink tablecloth, we began with a lovely salad of tender garden greens complimented by sundried tomatoes, fresh mozzarella balls, traditional Cesar dressing and a cute ceramic bowl full of cashews. Following the presentation of a six-piece flatware set (silver, of course, with three forks, two knifes and an oddly shaped spoon, chilled and wrapped in a cloth napkin), we were offered warm (fresh baked?) (ok, maybe I’m being a bit overly romantic) dinner rolls. Once I’d neatly polished off the first course, the main attraction arrived. A piping hot plate, nearly overflowing with salmon steak, sautéed prawns, carrots and zucchini spears, and a cute little pile of rice and beans replaced my empty salad plate. It took me a minute to realize that the pretty yellow mesh package, smartly tied with a lime-green bow, was actually half a lemon ready for squeezing over my pink Atlantic catch. (Yeah. Atlantic. Lame, I know. But we can only ask for so much.)
And here I sit. Stuffed full, stretching my legs out in front of me and snuggling into my cushy, overstuffed leather seat. I think I’ll recline my seat back, enjoying the extended range of motion, and await my next glass of tasty red. How could I possible be nervous about this upcoming year of Guatemalan life, if this is what it’s all going to be about?

Disclaimer: Don’t worry. I know where I’m going – to the land of washboards for clothes cleaning and waterfalls for bathing. But I may as well enjoy this last taste of overly-prissy, suffocatingly extravagant lifestyle while I’ve got one last shot!