Mechas and Signe’s big adventure

Signe looking much more relaxed after arriving safe and sound in Mexico. Photo by David Lansing.

Mechas and Signe, friends of the Fletchers, were flying in to Puerto Vallarta. Because they weren’t due to arrive until early evening and you just don’t drive through the jungle north of PV unless you absolutely have to, Chris had asked me if there was a condo near me where they could spend the night before heading north towards Custodio. I arranged for them to stay in a friend’s unit and was cutting up a chicken that I planned to grill for their dinner when I got a call from Chris around five or so. There had been a problem at the PV airport, he told me, and it was closed. Nobody seemed to know when it would reopen. Maybe later in the evening; maybe tomorrow. But the bottom line was that Mechas and Signe would not be arriving soon and, worse yet, he had no idea where they were. Mechas had departed from Los Angeles earlier in the day; Signe had been coming from Wisconsin. He said he’d call me when he had more information.

A couple of hours later he called back to say he’d located Mechas. She’d been diverted to Guadalajara. The airline was telling her that even if the Puerto Vallarta airport opened later that night, it would be Monday before she could get a flight. And although he hadn’t gotten hold of Signe, he’d contacted her airline and learned that her flight had been diverted to Mexico City. An hour later, he called again to say he still had no idea what was going on with Signe but Mechas had decided to take a bus to Puerto Vallarta from Guadalajara. It was scheduled to get in sometime after midnight.

Mechas I wasn’t worried about. She’s a very resourceful woman originally from Columbia who speaks Spanish and has traveled all around the world with her husband, Greg. She’s probably been through more strange adventures than I have and has always managed to get through difficult situations just fine. Signe was a little more troublesome. Signe is the life-long friend of Chris’ mother, Sally. They went to college together umpteen years ago and have been close chums ever since. Like Sally, she’s an octogenarian; oddly enough, both Sally’s and Signe’s husbands died within a week of each other. Signe is spry and clever and has done a fair amount of traveling herself, but she was alone on this trip and, from what Chris had told me, not only didn’t have a cellphone that worked in Mexico but also hadn’t brought any contact numbers with her. She assumed when she boarded her flight in Wisconsin that she’d make it to Puerto Vallarta and someone would be waiting for her. I’m sure the last thing she imagined was that she’d end up in Mexico City.

You have to give Chris Fletcher a lot of credit. I don’t know how he did it but he was finally able to find out what flight she’d been on that got her to Mexico City and then contacted the airline there and found out that Signe had been put on another flight and was headed to Puerto Vallarta. The flight was scheduled to arrive around 11 which, by the time he discovered all this, was less than half an hour away. This was his mom’s best friend and the last thing he wanted was for Signe to get to Puerto Vallarta and be lost and have no idea what she should do or where she should go. So he started calling various Puerto Vallarta transportation companies, most of which were closed. Finally he got ahold of a guy who told him that he had already left the airport and was on his way home. Fletcher offered him the proper incentive and the guy immediately turned around and headed back for the airport. Somehow he found Signe in the arrivals area and convinced her that she was to go with him.

It must have been around 11:30 when there was a knock on my door and standing there was a little man carrying a couple of pieces of luggage. Standing a few feet behind him, in the darkness of the hallway, was Signe. She was pale and shaking a bit so I got her inside and sat her on the couch, took care of the driver, and then offered her a cocktail. “I don’t suppose you have bourbon down here, do you?” she said. I told her I did. I told her I also had red vermouth and cherries and could make her a Manhattan if she’d like.

“Oh, you blessed angel!” she exclaimed. I made her an extra big cocktail. Her hands shook holding it. She told me all about her adventures, which had begun at 3:30 or 4 o’clock that morning, and how she had no idea what she was going to do when she got into Puerto Vallarta and how thankful she’d been that there was the limo driver there to meet her and bring her to my house and how absolutely lovely it was to be drinking a Manhattan. And then about midnight I took her upstairs to the other condo and showed her around and let her pick the room she wanted to sleep in and, having topped off her drink, told her to crawl into bed, finish off her cocktail, and get a good night’s sleep. We’d sort everything else out in the morning.

Then I went back downstairs. And waited to hear from Mechas who was still out there somewhere in the jungle on a Mexican bus winging her way towards Puerto Vallarta in the dead of night.