Aventura en el Aeropuerto

My mom says I could write a book on this. She might be right, considering that I’ve NEVER had a trip that was completely uneventful. This one wasn’t as exciting as some, however.

Albuquerque to Houston: nothing. Houston to Miami: nothing. Miami: I’m about to figure out the airport, so only 15 minutes were spent looking for the Avianca ticketing counters. But WHERE was it that I found a quiet corner to sleep the 5 hours I spent here before? And WHERE could I find something to eat at this time of night? I wandered, confused, until an old Hispanic janitor noted my face and dared me to ask him in English and see if he could help, “Dime. Dime, què busca?” I answered in Spanish and was immediately transformed to his princesa. He directed me to Dunkin Donuts (I ate a sandwich, Mom!) and insisted that I should find a luggage cart. I just found a bench in the Latin American concourse, where lights were darkened; I laid my suitcase on its side, put a towel over me, and slept on and off until 3:30, check-in time for the flight to Bogotà.

Arrival with no drama, 2 weeks in Bogotá and I’m headed to the airport again, this time in taxi. The driver asks me, “El Aeropuerto o Puento Aereo?” UH-oh. I didn’t know there was more than one option. I shrug and tell him I suppose it’s the airport itself. I arrive, horrified at the long lines, but delighted to find they are only for the States. I’m headed to Pereira and within 3 minutes have my boarding pass for this domestic flight. But what’s this? I have to go to Puento Aereo? How do I know? Oh, all domestic flights leave from there. How do I get there? If I go that way, I’ll see a bus. Mmmm. I go through security and ask directions, but I don’t see doors on that end. The janitress (is that a word?) sends me the other way and I find a lovely young stewardess who directs me to wait for the Avianca bus. We drive across the airline terminal, where we disboard and enter Puento Aereo. I search for my gate, only to learn that you are allowed to enter the rooms which open to the gates only when it is time for your flight - and you have to go through security again. Not that it matters, I’m allowed to take my water bottle through. Note: You know you are in Latin America when the snack shop attendant can’t find enough change, so she asks her friend to dig through her purse.

Well, to continue the story, I arrived in Pereira without incident, and departed in the same manner. Likewise, I flew through the Bogota ticketing process with enough time left to enjoy one last ice cream with a friend at Crepes and Waffles. The only slight hold-up: I got sent to pay taxes and stopped in customs momentarily because agents confused my work visa from 2 years ago with my current tourist visa (be at peace, I didn’t have to pay the taxes after all!). I discovered one change in Bogota departures that I sincerely dislike. After entering the departure wing through the typical easy security process, one must enter a departure room; for U.S. flights, at least, every bag is opened and every person given a patdown. I even had to turn the computer on. All this would not be so bad, if one didn’t need to leave the departure room to go the restroom - and undergo the same process upon re-entrance! I decided to trust an elderly Colombian couple with my backpack to avoid the baggage inspection (I’d already run a greater risk in Miami, trusting ALL of my luggage to an elderly Colombian lady!)

And, even as I write, I find myself in Miami again. Arrival: 11 p.m. It’s nice to be a resident; the customs lines are much shorter. I find my carpeted corner, although it was kind of full of sleeping people. I curl up behind a post, suitcase by my head, hugging backpack and purse. Sleep is slow in coming this time around, though I haven’t had a lot in the last two days. I did get a nice nap between 2:30 and 3:30 a.m. I gave up at 4:45, went to the bathroom, washed the sunburn peel out of my hair, washed my face, brushed my teeth. There are people sleeping on their suitcases in the handicapped stalls; perhaps it is safer? At 5:40 I decide that with a flight leaving in 3 hours, Continental should be ready for me. Arriving at the gate, I had a nice nap, not having to worry about the suitcase, until everyone else came at the recommended 2 hour mark.

And all this to say, have you ever thought of thanking God for what did NOT happen? Like the fact that the trusted Colombians didn’t leave with my bags, or the fact that I didn’t lose my passport (I did lose my Bible somewhere between Pereira and Bogotá; I only pray that whoever finds it reads English). I thank Him that no one even tried to disturb me or my suitcase in Miami, and that no one tried to take advantage of the lonely foreigner in Puento Aereo. In EVERYthing give thanks.