We got to the airport 90 minutes early, only to discover that I had somehow misread the flight itinerary and the flight was leaving in twenty minutes. Too late to check bags! J leapt into action and got Betsy, Zoe and Jeremy on the flight with backpacks (mostly violins!). He stayed behind to follow with the checked bags--that's right, the bags with all the bug spray, mosquito nets, and anti-malaria medication. J gets to sleep overnight in Miami airport--we get to swelter, trying to keep all body parts under sheets, while the occasional mossie whines around our ears. We volunteered to stay behind on the flight to Managua, which would have been a major score, but a connecting flight didn't come through, so we has to soldier on without J.
In Miami, I treated the kids to their last AmerIcan pizza for a month--hugely expensive--and this lovely Columbian airport worker not only made space for us at his table, but then went to get us all lovely big cups of ice water. "I want to go to heaven, but I'm Colombian, so I have to work harder." Then he had to tell me that the American women's soccer team had beaten Brasil. "They played better than the men! This one woman, she knocked it into the net with her head, you know? Ah, it was so beautiful!"
At the gate, Jeremy made friends with a 5-year-old girl named Maria Isabel and her little brother Paulo: ten months old, and the fastest knees in Miami. I chatted with the mum while we watched Jem and Isabel doing ballet. Zoe suffered stoically through her mother doing bizarre contortions in public, too. We swapped contact details, and may try to get the kids together one day this week.
Who knew you needed ten bucks a head to get through immigration? Guess it's a good thing J sent us forty dollars and my credit card by way of the nice ticketing agent who helped us get on the flight. Luckily, the pickup at the airport went smoothly: Zoe will tell you more about that.
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