I had four good reasons to panic as our flight neared touchdown in San Jose, Costa Rica.
I'm not afraid to fly. My reasons were seated behind us wearing ear buds. Dragged out of bed before dawn, the three teens and a tweener had been promised a memorable blended-family vacation, and I was secretly sweating the wisdom of letting a travel agent I'd never met plan every hour of our lives for the next five days.
What if no one greeted us at the airport? What if our hotels were dumps? What if the eagerly anticipated zip line experience was actually two guys holding up a clothesline?
A self-professed travel snob, I've thrilled at landing deals on the Web, finding out-of-the-way gems and planning (or emphatically not planning) my vacation days. I love the serendipity of making the wrong turn that turns completely right.
But with kid-sized expectations, chance was best left at home this time. So I took the advice of a friend and made a call.
May I tell you how much we all loved our trip to Costa Rica last summer? May I tell you how I, a traveler who previously would never let anyone take control of my trips, am a changed woman?
The airport greeter was smiling, the hotels were gorgeous. The drivers were friendly and prompt, the tour guides knowledgeable and enthusiastic. We photographed playful monkeys, neon-colored birds and creepy crawlers bigger than our palms (at an insect garden, not on our hotel room floor).
And zip lining was incredible.