After the Big Blow

I make decisions and then try to have no regrets, but this time, my decision to be unencumbered with my camera, on a trip to a place I have many photos of already, was a dumb move. One never knows when photo opportunities arise. Lizzy had her camera but does not see things the way I do so the record of events is minimal, to say the least. I would have been keen to record all the destruction the following morning, but I cannot tell another person what to do with their camera.
The complex was littered with a blanket of plant debris, most of which looked like it had gone through a food processor. There were many larger limbs down also, and a few larger trees snapped off or uprooted. The staff had already been working through the night to clean up the mess. It was unbelievable how in 48 hours there was not a stitch of evidence that there had been a hurricane. We heard many stories about that night, making us grateful that we were in our rooms when it hit. Those near the beach had to take shelter on the lea side of pillars and walls as the sandblast from the beach was brutal. Anything loose, such as a young man's papers, as I overheard the next day, simply vanished. The rooms facing the ocean, about 100 yards off the beach, had their patio windows blown inward and the guests had to take shelter in their bathrooms from the driving sand and broken glass. The clay tile, a common form of roofing, littered the ground and there was not a tile roof anywhere unscathed. A large thatch roof on a building near the beach was demolished. Poolside umbrellas and lounges were scattered. Rows of low shrubs were simply uprooted and lying on their sides where once they stood erect. Fifteen foot palm fronds were hanging down, their backs broken. One building nearest the ocean had a lot of its paint blown off and it was lying in the grass in large pieces. It was a mess.
We decided to walk to the little village of Bucerius while the clean up was taking place. There we saw the largest tree in the middle of the town Flea Market completely uprooted and fallen across the main power lines. The power was out and crews were working to restore it, with chain saws buzzing and men up on the power poles. It began to rain again and soon we were darting from overhang to tree, trying to prevent a good soaking. We were grateful it was not cold. Soon the water was running down the streets once again and we took shelter in the big open doorway of the Catholic Church in the town square. A big tour bus pulled up and a wedding party dashed out of the bus and into the dry confines of the church. It was the wedding that was supposed to be on the beach that day. We made our way back through the streets of Bucerias, no longer caring about being wet and wading through water up to our ankles.
We got back to our rooms, had a refreshing hot shower and changed into dry clothes. We looked at one another and wondered how we could have picked the worst week of the year in which to have a vacation.