Bacardi - Rhymes with Party

In case you didn't know, CinS and I have been together for over 8 years and spent 5 of these years in a long distance relationship. Why am I disclosing this lovely fact? For your admiration, of course!

But seriously, CinS and I spent 2 years flying across the country every 6 weeks, and 3 years schlepping between NY and Philly almost every weekend. So you can imagine our exhaustion (both physically and budget-ally) at the thought of travel. It is due to our history that my husband and I have only taken 2 vacations in our 8-year history.

We went to Jamaica for a week in 2004 from Christmas Day to New Year's Day. This vacation rocked. The resort where we stayed was super nice, the weather was great and we spent one full day on a tour of the Appleton Rum plantation/factory. Our love of fancy rum and our distain of vodka began on the white-sand shores of Negril. And for that, we thank you Jamaica.

Our next trip was a mere 3 years later and was our honeymoon. We went to Africa for 2 weeks and loved every minute of the trip, including our 24-hour flight from JFK to Johannesburg (thank you Ambien extended release). I could go on and on, but will instead lead you here for a small taste (pun intended).

I remind you about our past travel today because CinS and I are about to embark on what I consider to be our third vacation. Sure, we've spent long weekends in hotels in cities across the country, but most often our travel together involves a wedding or a national holiday. When I say vacation, I mean a trip where the only goal is to relax on a beach somewhere without any friends or family. Some alone time, preferably in a tropical climate.

We're heading to Puerto Rico (home of less fancy rum - Bacardi) on Thursday for a long weekend. Yes, we're going back to my "homeland."

I am not actually Puerto Rican, but don't tell that to actual Puerto Ricans, the guys in the "Spanish Food" place by my house, or the large black men of the Alexandria, VA metro stop.

Yes, my entire adult life, I have been mistaken for a Puerto Rican. Which I think is totally awesome. I guess it's my permanent tan and one-time peach hair (I saw myself in Feria. Those were dark days). Or maybe it's my decidedly-Latin figure, ambiguously-ethnic maiden name, and painstakingly-sculpted eyebrows. It is a mystery.

I wonder if when I arrive on the sunny shores of San Juan if I'll be mistaken for a local. I doubt it. My middle-eastern spouse may give me away.