There and Back and There
and Back and There Again
Based on the wonderful time in the waves, we planned on an early morning to insure a return to the ocean.
We did not plan on the
Tropicana’s cutting edge technology in room darkening shades to destroy any
hope of us awakening anything close to early after a day of extensive travel
and swimming.
We poured some cereal
and granola bars into ourselves and headed over to the outdoor pool to take
advantage of the first time we had ever been in the hotel with the proper
weather to use it.
Except we went into the
tower with the indoor pool, which was not, contrary to our belief, the same
tower as the outdoor pool. We then took
the elevator back down, crossed the casino to the other tower, and rode up to
the outdoor pool.
I’m not naming the
towers because I still don’t remember which is which, guaranteeing more fun
next time we go.
Within thirty seconds we
determined the pool and deck were far too crowded, and decided to go to the
ocean.
Almost.
Half way there, we
decided that we wanted some pool time, and could go to the indoor pool since we
already had noted its emptiness.
What we didn’t notice
was its “kinda icky”ness. Anabelle and I
briefly swam while Rosa briefly did the other activity we can’t do without
medical implications in February- rooftop tanning.
Then it was back to the
room for a swimming location supply change, and down to the Atlantic again.
We left just about everything
valuable in the room, but since we wanted to take pictures, that was kind of
pointless because one of us always had to guard the phones.
During our tradeoffs, I
learned why Anabelle was focused on leaving the first day. Sitting and playing
together as the waves washed over their feet in a dazzling display of cuteness at
the shore line the day before, my wife and daughter hatched a plan of Rosa
using some saved up birthday money (since she NEVER updates her Amazon wish
list…just sayin’) to stay beyond the two nights we’d originally planned, and
have me go home to work Thursday and Friday, then come back to spend the first
night of the weekend together and all return home Saturday.
While pondering the
possibilities of executing this plan, we were congratulating ourselves as the
sun beat down on us that we remembered power bars have a high enough chocolate
content to make them a poor choice for a beach snack.
Then we stopped
congratulating ourselves when we remembered Rosa didn’t eat all the chocolate
in her selections from IT’SUGAR, leaving her with a Ziploc full of brown goo
with the occasional gummi sombrero as an artistic highlight.
With rain due Thursday,
and not wanting to sacrifice most of my last weekday with them configuring,
hauling and storing luggage in the between rooms time, we decided the plan
would work only if we could extend our original room to Thursday, and have them
switch on the scheduled to be soggy day.
This way I could take some of the luggage home, and they could have a
nice lunch together in the hotel with the fewer remaining bags during the
expected foul weather and expected “homeless” period between rooms.
Rosa went in to the
desk, and was told it would be easier to do the changes over the phone.
The future is weird
sometimes.
She called and reached an
awesome and sympathetic Trop employee.
Presenting her case as the marginally truthful, “My husband won’t let us
stay without him unless we can change rooms Thursday,” the delightful desk dame
replied, “Well then we’ll have to find you a room Thursday.”
Arrangements were made
for a switch to the West Tower on that date, and Rosa rejoined us ocean side.
We took turns with
Anabelle in the surf some more, Rosa teaching her to swim and body surf in the
waves, and me teaching her how to get buffeted about randomly while blowing
sand out of my nose as my fingers pruned beyond recognition.
Anabelle had built a
sand castle while Rosa was busy inside destroying my lessons about focusing on
the now. We dawdled around seaside for
an extended period after we intended to leave as the waves mocked us by
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalmost hitting the castle.
Naturally, while we were
using the showers by the boardwalk to rinse the sand the Atlantic had power
washed into most of our bodies, we caught the sliding back of a wave that could
have pulled us into the Atlantic along with the castle.
It was late and we were
past crazy hungry.
I should probably write
a macro to access that sentence for every vacation I write about.
We had tried the place
the very first time we stayed in the Tropicana.
I enjoyed my dish, but Anabelle was far too young for that type of food
and hated everything, and Rosa didn’t enjoy the Cuban version of the Peruvian
dish she ordered.
Or something.
I think she was trying
to order something Anabelle could eat too, instead of what she really wanted,
and was flustered by having to bring Anabelle to the diner like Seaside Café
for “dippin’ yellow” eggs before we even got the check.
Since that check came with
a shot glass filled with whipped cream and a candle for our wedding
anniversary, it was fairly awkward being alone at that table.
In all the confusion, I
took their pen with me when I went to catch up with my family at the Seaside
Café, and Anabelle was horrified by my new life of crime, demanding I bring it
back while she shamed me the next day.
On multiple return
visits I cited changing taste buds and the mass quantities of Latin food we eat
everywhere else, but neither of them wanted to try again. Plus, Anabelle was worried my being branded a
“Pen Thief” would land me in trouble with the law should I deign to darken
their doorway again.
Woo! Daddy’s right about
something on vacation. Mark the calendar!!!!
Full of Cuban delights,
we decided to take advantage of the Boardwalk not being extremity damaging cold
at night, and go for a little stroll.
As with most of our
plans, it collapsed, and the littleness of the stroll expanded, bringing us further
and further from home base.
Wearing their “nice
dinner” shoes instead of their “strolling” shoes, this posed a painful issue
for my wife and daughter. Since my “nice
dinner” shoes and my “strolling” shoes are both DC comics Chuck Taylors, and I
had no treadmill or exercise bike with me, I volunteered to “Cardio Stroll”
back to the room for their sneakers. Learning that we’d need a thirty year
fixed financing plan to afford shore side flip flops added to this decision.
I got good work out
going there, and once I grabbed my headphones with their sneakers, an even
better one on the way back.
It was also an obstacle
ridden work out, and I needed to whistle in a loud, electronic sounding warning
type fashion to get the attention of the doofus who appeared to be trying to
catch a Pokémon on my head.
We rejoined, they
changed shoes, and we continued to the strike filled Taj Mahal and closed
Showboat. By that point it was late
enough to make taking the tram back the proper option.
The tram ride took a
full half hour to pass the length of the Boardwalk, indicating it’s a heck of a
lot further from one end to the other than we always think it is.
After my Power Jaunt, I
noticed, oddly, that the tops of my feet hurt.
I wouldn’t discover why until the next day, since dead tiredness claimed
us all before Rosa and I could begin discussions about whose turn it was to go
down and play a slot machine.
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