In two weeks, I'm heading to PR for a much needed week of family and relaxation time. Sometimes I'm not exactly sure that American Airlines has delivered me to San Juan, but there are certain telltale signs that I can look for after my arrival (and sometimes even before) to know that, indeed, I made it to my intended destination.
If at least one of my fellow passengers is a woman sporting a dubi-dubi, I know I'm probably headed to PR.
If on my way to baggage claim at the Luis Muñoz Marín airport I see more people holding signs bearing the logo of a resort than actual passengers, I know I'm in PR.
If I exit the terminal and walk right into humidity so thick that it bounces me back a couple of feet, I know I'm in PR.
If I get in my mom's car and head straight into a traffic jam, I know I'm in PR.
If during the drive away from the airport I let out a sigh of contented relief, I know I'm in PR.
If I immediately develop a craving for fried fish and arepas from Los Pescadores, I know I'm in PR.
If I find myself actually craving Medalla Light, I know I'm in PR.
If I'm stepping into a panadería and find myself buying a dozen quesitos and a cuban sandwich the size of my head, and seriously consider eating them all myself, I know I'm in PR.
If it's 90 degrees and I'm having café con leche, and thinking about asopao for dinner, I know I'm in PR.
If during the ride to the airport I have to hold my breath so I won't cry, I know I'm leaving PR.
How do you know if you're in PR? Or, how do you know you are back home, wherever you're from?