Off to Cape Town and Botswana

I had no idea where we were, a place called Ojibway on an island 20 minutes by boat from the parking lot some 5 to 6 hours drive north of Toronto. Amy had found the place because her daughter, Sophie, was a counselor at Keewaydin Songadeewin summer camp in Vermont, sister camp to Keewaydin Temagami located on the same island as Ojibway. There were no campers during our stay, because the Temagami camp is primarily used as a base for long-distance canoe trips for paddlers, upwards of 6 weeks in summer. Ojibway felt like summer camp for adults in one of the most serene settings I’ve visited in Canada. The inviting waters entice you to grab a canoe and paddle to your heart’s content, following the loons. Meals are served family-style on the long tables and the food was surprisingly good. So was the company, many of whom had a long history with this island, including a woman from Mississippi, who told me that her grandfather had found this place in the early 1900s, not wanting to deal with the crowds in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Her family has been returning here for over a century. And who can blame them! 

 

It’s hard to find a more peaceful and stress-free setting, one where your WiFi only works close to the dining area (and very slow at that). You’re free to discard the smart phone and read your stack of books, go for a paddle, have gin and tonics on the deck, and yes, swim. I want to hold on to that image of me diving off the dock at Ojibway to hopefully keep my blood pressure down the rest of the year. At least, until I return to this special spot and dive in again. 

 

 

I grab lunch and do some work, when I hear over the loud speaker that all passengers on the cancelled must go downstairs to baggage claim, grab their luggage, and rebook it again at the departure counter. The self-service counters at American Airlines are now a chaotic mess, with countless people waiting on line after using the computer to get their boarding passes. I wait and I wait once again on the long security line. The flight to Miami was a breeze. Unfortunately, when we arrived in Miami, there was no gate to pull into, so we’re delayed. By the time I get off the plane, I only have 20 minutes before my flight to Cancun leaves. As I depart, I hear “this is the final call for American Airlines, Flight 2139 to Cancun, Mexico.” With at least 20 pounds of computer equipment in my backpack, I sprint like a Marine to my gate, which feels like it’s a mile away (those elliptical machine workouts at the gym finally paying off). I’m covered in sweat when I reach the next flight, but remarkably the gate is still open. I beg the flight attendant for a glass of water and he looks at me like it’s a major inconvenience. I finally make it to Cancun, 8 hours later than I was supposed to arrive, only to find out that my luggage is still back in Miami.

 

Then I reach the stylish lobby of the new Riu Palace Peninsula, all lit up for the Holiday festivities, and I can finally breathe again. When I drop my trusty backpack off in the room, I was delighted to spot the king-sized bed, the sunken Jacuzzi tub, the pleasant blue and white décor. A fruit plate was waiting, along with all the rum, vodka, and cervezas I needed to take the edge off. The liquor was certainly appealing, but another reason I love an all-inclusive property is that the restaurants stay open late. So I went downstairs to have dinner, my first fish tacos, guacamole, and refried beans of the week. Ambled over to the theater to watch the scantily-clad dance troupe work their way around a couple Bob Fosse tunes. Then took the elevator to the 17th floor and that king-sized bed. I slept wonderfully and awoke to the morning sun lighting up the Cancun sands and the shimmering Atlantic waters. Ah yes, back to my dream job.