Our 1 p.m. flight out of LAX was a full one, but we were glad to get the very last row of seats at the back of the plane. Nick took the window and I took the aisle (hello, small bladder) and luckily no one needed the seat between us — score!
Flight was fine except for a very turbulent last 15 minutes. The plane shook, swerved and dipped while I sat stiff, gripping the armrests with my eyes shut. I’m never like this on planes! Nick played big brother and held my hand while I focused on the band of Mother Teresas (Missionaries of Charity) seated across from me. The sisters held their rosaries and I could tell they were quietly praying. Lovely sight, really. This calmed my nerves a bit. Thanks, sisters, for putting a call in to the big guy and helping to get us there safely.
While the gang of nuns was an interesting sight, it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the biker gang we encountered in the lobby of the MCM Elegante. Turns out the Buffalo Soldiers, a black biker organization, is having some kind of weekend shindig here …
I’ve been bursting into song periodically over the last five hours. Damn. That song is gonna be stuck in my head all week.
The highlight of the day came during dinner with our first sopapilla experience. If you don’t what that is (I didn’t) it’s a fried pocket pastry thingie that is commonly eaten drizzled with honey:
Just as I was in the middle of typing this post, Nick put on his boots and began practicing his rolling golpes. I sense he might have some natural talent. I got up and put my shoes on and for the heck of it I start teaching him how to do a build up. Hey, he’s catching on pretty quickly! So he practices for a few minutes and then stops and says, “Gosh, this kind of makes you tired!”
Poor thing. He has no idea.