COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 9)

Most hurricanes blow into an area, devastate it, and blow out within hours. Hurricane Wilma planted herself on Cozumel for two full days. A cruise ship pier was destroyed. Along the San Miguel promenade, restaurants, shops and bars were eviscerated. The national park of Chankanaab experienced catastrophic damage and our five-star resort was blown to bits. Sixty-three people died in the storm and the area suffered $29 billion in loss.

Thousands of tourists crowded Cancun and waited days for planes to get them home. They sweated out the time in stifling shelters set up in schools. Some were given care kits, each containing a sheet of plastic and a bag of potato chips.

From all reports, the Mexican people remained gracious hosts under extraordinarily difficult circumstances. Many of their own homes were in rubble, yet they continued to help stranded foreigners find food and water.

We flew into Mexico City, changed planes and continued on to Los Angeles. At the end of the long day I crawled into bed and fell asleep. William stayed up. The house was quiet until I woke up screaming from a nightmare.

Do you think there's a tiny part of us that would like to experience the drama of a hurricane?

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 8)

Mexicana Airlines had one daily flight out of Cozumel, and it was entirely booked — with a ten-person waiting list. We were told we could get seats for the following day. But we didn't want to return to the hotel and so became numbers eleven and twelve on the waiting list.

The flight was scheduled to leave at 12:45 p.m.

The clock read 10:15 a.m. and we sat. We waited. I prayed.

We waited.

I ate my sandwich. A woman wept at the Continental counter. Lines of tourists wove through the airport. A low-level hum rang with worry.

I read my book, In Cold Blood, and thought how things could have been worse. I could've been a Kansas farm girl in 1959. I wished I hadn't eaten the whole sandwich.

At noon we went back to the Mexicana counter and were told we were way too early. But it's going to leave in 45 minutes, I squeaked.

We sat back down.

At 12:20 we were told, We just don't know.

We sat back down.

The amount of people in the small airport had tripled in two hours.

At 12:35 we crept back to the counter, nervous of another rebuff. The damn flight was scheduled to leave in ten minutes.

You can have the two last seats, the ticket agent said.

Really?

Yes, they won’t be together, but they're yours.

A lucky break.

Things happen in threes.

We held hands and walked across the tarmac. I looked back from the top of the boarding stairs and saw that the sun had disappeared. Dark clouds were rolling toward us.

As the plane lifted off and I watched the coastline in the distance, I thought about Rosa, the dining room hostess, and Enrique, our waiter, and Liuva, Mrs. PR. What about those families playing on the beach? Where would they go and what would happen to their homes?

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 7)

The Florida couple was supposed to know all about hurricanes. I had privately designated them our "go-to" people. Now, not only were they perusing timeshares, but her hair was braided in one of those stupid vacation hairdos with little beads.

Wait a second....

"Mrs. PR" finally showed up and did her best to reach the airline. It was hopeless. The line rang busy, busy, busy because other people had apparently watched CNN.

Next to her, "Mr. PR" struggled to draft a statement about a possible hotel evacuation. He repeatedly checked with her on phrasing.

What's the status here, anyway? William asked him.

Everything is "as usual" until the government makes an official statement.

A sunburned woman came up to William, utterly frantic.

"I'm so afraid of hurricanes. I don’t know what to do. The hotel won’t tell me what to do," she said.

You have to decide what to do, William said. The hotel isn't going to tell you what to do.

It was good advice. We should have taken it ourselves some time ago.

We decided to change our tickets at the airport. William went up to the room to pack and I returned to the dining room to make peanut butter sandwiches. I was convinced these sandwiches would save our lives no matter what happened.

A curious hostess watched as I spread peanut butter and added sliced bananas. She'd never seen that combination before. I highly recommended it, but stopped myself before pitching the value of potassium. Time was of the essence. She handed me take-out containers and gave me a cheery good-bye.

At the reception desk, a staff member clipped off our yellow hotel ID bracelets. They offered a final cocktail, but we declined and scrambled into a taxi.

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 6)

William, can you sleep?

No, you're talking to me.

We have to get out of here. We can't hole up in the bathtub with a couple of blankets, travel Scrabble and a bag of peanuts.

He put his arms around me.

We'll figure it out in the morning. Try to sleep.

At best, my sleep was fitful. I dozed, woke with nightmares, then drifted off and jolted back awake. Over and over.

Morning finally arrived. I opened the sliding doors and my glasses instantly fogged up. The sky was clear and the sun shone, but the air was full of humidity.

Bleary-eyed, we made our way down the five flights of stairs to the lobby. I wondered what we would find. Would there be pandemonium? Maybe we'd waited too long and would encounter an angry, panicked mob demanding help from the hotel staff.

We reached the main floor and heard...soft jazz. Through the tall windows I saw guests slathering on sunblock and splashing in the pool. Some of them were laughing.

Wait a second....

In the center of the lobby a small crowd of people gathered, but they didn't look the least bit worried. We went to the Guest Services desk and were told the PR woman who could change our flights would be in at nine o'clock. We were advised to have breakfast and come back later.

What are those people doing? William asked, nodding toward the group.

Oh, they're going on the Tulum tour. Would you like to go?

Wait a second....

In the dining room, couples giggled over Mimosas and Bloody Marys. Families heartily gobbled up French toast and pancakes. Waiters cleared plates and brought out trays of bacon and ham. William choked down a bowl of cereal and I played with my scrambled eggs. Mostly we had coffee.

At nine o'clock sharp we arrived back the PR desk. We drummed our fingers on the counter, checked and rechecked the clock. Across the lobby, an attractive couple signed up for a scuba tour.

Over in a corner, the Hurricane Andrew couple appeared to be meeting with — really? — a salesperson. Were they buying a timeshare?

I nudged William. Look, they're about to purchase a pile of mud. Didn't her sister call with weather updates? Hasn't anyone here watched CNN?

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 5)

By the final slurp of our Brandy Alexanders we had a course of action. If the weather was no worse in the morning, I would go off in search of Dramamine while William packed the snorkeling gear. We would take that glass-bottom boat trip, we would see pretty fish, and we would not vomit.

Later in our room, while brushing my teeth, I drifted over to the television and clicked on CNN. I froze mid-brush and stared at the weather graphic in front of me. I made a gurgling noise to get William's attention.

The tropical depression now had a name: Wilma.

And she was a Category 5 hurricane.

This is the worst storm in Atlantic history for as long as storms have been recorded, the broadcaster intoned.

The map on the screen didn't target the Yucatan. It didn't target Cancun.

The single location pictured was a tiny island: COZUMEL.

Toothpaste dripped down my chin as I pointed to the TV. We have to get out of here. Mierda.

After umpteen futile attempts to reach the airline by phone (at $3 a minute), we had no choice but to wait until morning to seek help from the concierge.

We crawled into bed, exhausted from stress and hard thinking. After flopping around on the bed, smashing my pillow and uselessly squeezing my eyes shut, I gave up. I exhaled shallow, anxious breaths and tried to imagine how events would unfold.

Thanks to CNN, my head was filled with terrifying facts.

The power would go out early in the game, probably when winds reached Category 1 status at 74 mph. Our room would plunge into blackness. The air conditioning and refrigeration would shut down. An ocean surge would flood the hotel and the streets.

A Category 2 force of 110 mph would shatter those floor-to-ceiling windows in the lobby and blow out the sliding glass door in our room.

And when the Category 5 gusts hit at upward of 155 mph—

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 4)

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....

COZUMEL: October, 2005 (Part 3)

The glass-bottom boat docked at the hotel pier and I asked a few disembarking passengers about any seasickness. The men said they got ill and the women laughed, but everyone agreed the snorkeling from the boat was worth the rough waters. As they walked away, one fellow looked back and said, You may want to get out there sooner than later. Weather doesn't look good for the next couple of days.

The television in our room offered limited local news. We watched CNN International and learned that a tropical depression had formed in Jamaica with a possibility of heading toward the Yucatan. And a possibility of gaining strength and becoming a Category 2 or 3 hurricane.

We came into our room after dinner and from the balcony I could hear waves lapping at the rocky shore. Karaoke singing floated up from the bar. The black warning flags flapped over the railing. We went to sleep with the balcony doors cracked open to the sounds of the sea.

At four a.m. I awoke to hear loud crashing waves and something blowing in the wind. Creaking chains or rope. In the dark, I started across the room to close the doors and forgot about those hazardous two steps down. Suddenly airborne, I flew then landed on both feet like an action hero.

A lucky break.

At breakfast, I pointed out a couple of hotel guests with their legs in casts and, over there, a man with his arm in a sling. Perhaps they had not been so fortunate with their steps.

You know how things happen in threes? I said to William. Well, I nearly lost my contact lens and I nearly broke my foot....

William, not easily impressed with omens, nodded and added sugar to his coffee.

It was Tuesday and we were off to Chankanaab for some spectacular snorkeling. On the tour bus we met a couple from San Antonio and asked if they'd heard any weather news. Not really, but the woman had asked her sister back home to call with updates. Originally from Florida, they'd survived Hurricane Andrew, a Category 4 in 1992.

You were lucky.

Yeah, I guess. We came home to four walls on a slab of cement, but we got through it.

CNN reported the possibility of a hurricane coming our way.

Possibility is the key word, the woman said. They can easily drift in another direction. We've lived through so many of those warnings where nothin' happens.

These folks knew a thing or two about hurricanes.

William and I struggled to snorkel in Chankanaab. The rough ocean made William queasy and I had to constantly stop to clear my snorkel. We were knocked against rocks and spent most of our time trying to avoid cuts and bruises. The water was cloudy and, frankly, any colorful fish seemed to have vacated the area. Perhaps they knew something we didn't.

We found a pair of lounges on the beach, opened our books and held tight to the riffling pages. I glanced up at the palapa above our head. How do its branches and leaves stay together during a storm? Still, the sun shone brightly from a nearly cloudless sky and we lathered up with suntan lotion.