One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or Blame it on Rio

I must leave my Caribbean blog for the moment.

To record what happened to me 22 years ago, February 4th, 1984.

It was supposed to be the best holiday ever but it turned out to be a nightmare of the worst sort.

I had been looking forward to my annual winter escape to the sun, and this time I was particularly excited since my "friend" (the quotation marks will be self-explanatory later) Tammy and Ihad chosen the exotic destination of Rio de Janiero, Brazil. We were going to stay at a deluxe hotel on a private beach, a little removed from the bustle of Copacabano and Ipanema, and the crime, we hoped.

1984 was off to an Orwellian start. Unreal! I was on a natural high that January. Everything seemed to be going right. I was full of energy and good ideas, and there didn't seem to be enough hours in the day to get all the things done I wanted to do. On the eve of my departure, I stayed at the office until 2:00 a.m. clearning up. On my way out of the building I noticed a "caution" signin the lobby. I should have paid it more heed.