For the moment, at least, I can no longer fathom what is about to happen. I know that I’m mildly nervous and monstrously excited; I know that I feel like something momentous is about to happen. But like a 4 year-old at Christmas, I am uncertain of exactly what to expect from this morning that I’ve been hearing so much about.

In fact, I’m sure tomorrow will be a typical day of travel, and when we arrive in a foreign city, we’ll hold hands and say isn’t this lovely! and oh the architecture! and I would like to attend a performance in a nearby square, and malcolm will balk but we’ll go anyway and be delighted. and overwhelmed. and feel alien and say, perhaps “the air looks different here.” at evening’s end, we’ll return to the Hyatt and sleep in relative familiarity. We will be tourists for just one night.

Friday we begin to explore the streets and avenues of Merida, looking for a rental. At that point we’ll be refugees. or expats. or technomads. or world citizens. or some other such bollocking thing. Drinking margaritas in anticipation and quickly losing my motoe skills, I must sign out, for the last time in America, as your jills.