A last bikeride around Playacar. We packed up (Carol is the world's best packer, next to Jonathan, next to Marty) and had a last breakfast at Ventanas. We conversed this morning in French. Most of the waiters speak Spanish, French, Italian, and English. We took our last rays of sun at the piano bar, as they picked up our bags and took them to the waiting van. In twenty-five minutes, we were at the airport, which has shaped up very nicely since our last flight here. It was clean and well-run. At security, they go through every piece of luggage, but they missed so much in their rummaging through that it was frightening. At the ticket counter, I was able to wangle another pair of first class tickets from Cancun to Charlotte. No such luck in Charlotte, where the flight was sold out, and we had to sit in steerage...I mean tourist class. Another couple, sitting across from us, announced to the rows around us, "That's the doctor who saved the man's life last week on the way down." People complimented me, and I asked why I was sitting in tourist? Eight passengers were ready to storm the cockpit on my behalf, but, in the interests of air safety and homeland security, I calmed them down, assuring them that the matter would be taken up with the CEO of USAirways.

And the Havana cigars? No problema! They are in the freezer now, waiting to be enjoyed.

All in all, this was a vacation that for us, at this time, approached perfection. It's hard to imagine anything nicer. But we'll try. Stay tuned.

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