Letting go

 It was in that moment when I took my first step out of the plane door, down the stairs and onto the tarmac at Pointe-à-Pitre airport, when the warm, humid air hit my face, and the distinct smell of the tropics hit my nose, that I finally let go, and began to breath again. It was that breath that I have been holding for a while now - during the newscasts of the manifestations in Guadeloupe 3 weeks ago, the uptick in Omicron cases 2 weeks ago, the unexpected cold that hit both Mario and I last week, accompanied by rather stressful Covid tests and thankfully negative results. I held it during all our packing, during last-minute car rental bookings and during most of our activities leading up to Christmas, always wondering when the other shoe was going to fall, and our trip would be pulled out from under us.

But no. We walked through the corridors of the airport, and no one stopped us. We passed through security, collected our bags and no one stopped us. We took a shuttle to Magaloc car rental, collected a cheeky little Fiat Panda to zip around in, and no one stopped us. Was I in a dream? As we booted along the darkened roads, past houses glowing under the weight of way too many strings of Christmas lights, I repeatedly had to pinch myself, still not believing that we had succeeded, and we were now driving  in  Guadeloupe.  

When Mario and I pulled up in front of the place we would call for the next 5 days, surrounded by giant palms, we were greeted by our lovely hosts, and gifted with a magnificent (and unexpected)Christmas dinner of braised boar and patates au gratin. I still had to pinch myself. 

And now I sit here, full from my delicious Christmas feast, with Christmas cookies and panettone we toted along in our carry-on luggage, watching a performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O" on TV, while listening to the sound of the rain falling on the roof, and the chorus of Rainette frogs chirping outside. We've finally arrived, and I am over the moon happy that we made it.