That evening, the weather forecast on CNN remained indeterminate. The tropical depression over Jamaica still looked far off.
Despite that, over a bottle of wine at dinner, we discussed our options.
We quizzed our waiter about management's contingency plans in the case of a storm. He told us during Hurricane Emily, in July, the hotel ferried its guests across to Cancun and another resort. He also reminded us this brand new hotel was substantially built. No worries.
We knew it was unlikely we'd be reimbursed if we left early. People save for years for a vacation like this. Were we alarmists to consider bolting?
Do you think there's a tiny part of us that would like to experience the drama of a hurricane? I asked William.
Possibly.
That isn't a good reason to stay, is it?
No.
An employee at the front desk informed us that in the event of a natural disaster, the hotel would look after its guests. We would be granted "refugee status" and be "cared for."
Mildly assured, we went to the bar and ordered Brandy Alexanders. William wondered if the tourists dragging their wheelie suitcases down New Orleans' flooded Canal Street after Hurricane Katrina were also told they would be "cared for."
By our second drink we asked ourselves what we'd be staying for. We couldn't snorkel as long as those black flags continued to billow. We'd pretty much done the "all-inclusive" eat-what-you-want thing and enjoyed Jacuzzis every day in our room.
The only item left was a brackish trip on the glass-bottom boat.
Sometimes I wonder if it isn't better, in the case of a natural catastrophe, to have it just happen. In Los Angeles an earthquake shows up whenever it wants, full of surprise and gotcha!
With a warning, decisions have to be made. I knew I was being childish, but I wanted the vacation to last. I wanted it to be everything I read and everything I saw in those photos. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted....
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