The Sound of a Train

Now that second semester has begun, I think back to two years ago as I was preparing to head to the UNI recruiting fair in Waterloo, Iowa. At the same time, I imagine, the teacher in my current position was agonizing about whether he had spent enough time in this amazing country. (Clearly, for whatever reason, he decided to leave.) I now face a similar decision.

It is strange to me that it was as difficult as it was to make. (Quit trying to skim ahead; I'm attempting to add a little suspense. Humor me.) As I have already said, the country is diverse in both people and geography, cultures and cuisines, architecture and possibilities. For these reasons and more Colombia has captivated me. I enjoy the people I work with and the school's campus is beautiful. This year's group of ninth graders are amazing and I literally have not had a day where I did not look forward to seeing them; they are wonderful kids. But in general, most of the people I have met here have been very warm and friendly. I feel at home here.

I heard a song by a singer/songwriter that a friend recommended to me. The song includes the lyrics:

It's never quite simple, it's never that safe
It never seems perfect until it's too late
It's never the right time to find a new way

There's an answer in the sound of a train
There is wisdom past the bridge on the bay
There's a lifetime through the fog, in the rain
There's a beauty in walking away.

(Marié Digby)

Despite the wonderful experience I have had and continue to have on a daily basis, there have been some policy changes that I do not agree with, on a professional level, at my school. (Being a professional, I am not going to discuss them here, however, if you would like me to bore you with the details, I'd be happy to enlighten and discuss them with you in a more private forum.)

I struggled with the decision of leaving based mostly around such a reason and had a hard time justifying parting on these grounds. But I came to realize that I needed to stick with what I felt was right for me. I wasn't going to be here for the long-haul anyways, so why push through something unpleasant when I didn't have to. I do believe that, at times, "there's a beauty in walking away."

So, now I throw myself, haphazardly yet purposefully, into the ever widening sea of unemployment. I will teach internationally again one day, but I feel now is the time for me to start working toward a Master's degree. As far as future plans, that's about it. I have five more months of exploring and experiencing more of Colombia and I expect to take advantage of them. Beyond that...well, that's a whole other adventure!

Thanks to everyone who has written to me inquiring about my future plans, who listened to my concerns and offered advice, and those who tried to be objective in giving advice. Special thanks to A.M.H.T. for an amazing, as always, conversation - my thoughts may not have been rationalized the way they were without our chat! Thanks!

Food For Thought

Pun Intended

On my day-long journey back to the frozen tundra of Minnesota I had the unexpected pleasure of discovering a new favorite breakfast. On the first leg of my voyage, from Cali to Panama City, I was served a meal of French toast, fruit, and cheese. Sitting quietly beside the French toast slices was a non-descript white cup full of what I assumed to be syrup. Upon opening and cautiously taste-testing it, I discovered not syrup but apple sauce! In hindsight, I'm not even positive the apple sauce was intended for the French toast, but at the time it seemed oddly logical.

Seriously, put apple sauce on your French toast. Feliz Navidad!

"Solo Valle Solo!"

Every four years Colombia holds its Juegos Nationales (National Games). The event is officially hosted by one department, although some events are inevitably spread to other locations. The 2008 Games are being hosted by the department that includes Cali, the Valle del Cauca, with a few competitions happening in Buenaventura and the islands of San Andres and Providencia.

Last night I went to the fourth night of swimming competition. One of the highlights was getting to see a 2008 Bolivar graduate, Mateo De Angulo Velasco, win the 1500 M freestyle in 16:06.66. The hometown crowd went crazy with pride!

Another Vallecaucano swimmer, Camilo Becerra, has swum in three Olympic Games, including Sydney, Athens, and Beijing. I read in an article surrounding the event that this would be Camilo's last professional competition and how proud he was to end his career in his home department. Last night he got third in the 100 M butterfly. He was then carried off in a stretcher so there could have been something wrong...

I wore my UWEC Blugolds Swimming & Diving t-shirt and my red Manitowoc Swimming jacket (it was drizzling off and on) which turned out to be a good thing since 1) Valle's colors were red and silver and 2) I ended up sitting next to a section where a group of exuberant Valle supporters with drums and songs to boot positioned themselves. Never been to a meet with a drum section before!

The "Donde" Situation

I have had several situations during my time in Colombia where I have asked myself "where am I?" Sometimes out of actually being lost but most of the time out of complete awe for my surroundings. Cartagena De Indias fell into both categories. One of the few "discovered" Colombian cities by North American tourists, this walled Spanish city on the Caribbean coast dating back to the 1500's is truly an enchanting place.

Donde Estamos?
Between myself, my roommate, Nira, and my life-long family friend Sarah (who flew in from Minneapolis for a warm Thanksgiving weekend) we asked ourselves "Where are we?" quite a bit. This despite having two different guidebooks and being in a walled city next to the ocean one would think getting lost would not be a problem. Well, this is the one Colombian city without numbered streets and they often times change names every block. So, while, yes, you will eventually end up at a wall or the sea, that doesn't help you find that one restaurant or your hotel if it isn't embedded in the exterior.

"Where are you from!?!?!"
The one thing that dragged down the magical time capsule-like atmosphere of Cartagena were the street vendors. I know I am spoiled traveling around a country generally unruined by touristic consumerism but I feel as though I was commercially accosted more times in the first day than the entire year and four months I've been here.
People selling jewelery, Cuban cigars, "real" emeralds and silver products, as well as boat trips and money changers, all from the street. The sad thing is that people actually fall for it. Honestly, who exchanges currency from some dirty man on the street? I got many of them to give me a slight reprieve by telling them I lived in Colombia or in Cali; that seemed to at least confuse some of them long enough for me to get away.
The vendor that gets the top prize for persistence was the umbrella salesman who insisted we purchase one of his two umbrellas after dinner one night when it was no longer raining. Even after explaining this to him he followed us for a good five blocks. Another man insisted on knowing where we were from by literally screaming at the top of his lungs "Where! Are! You! From!" over and over again in English. When I didn't respond to that he preceded to ask if I spoke French or Portuguese, but in Spanish, of course.

Where to now?
With all the history (Cartagena was one of the first Spanish forts in the "new world," enduring numerous pirate attacks, and being one of two main hubs of the African slave trade) and architecture, it is easy to forget that it is located on the Caribbean. Well, not "easy" - it is incredibly sunny and humid and the heavy air has a nice salty odor.
On Saturday we joined a group of fellow tourists to venture out to the nearby National Park in the ocean that encircles several small islands known as the Islas del Rosario. A few hours after leaving the grey-blue water of the port, we encountered the most magnificent shade of turquoise I think I've ever seen in the natural world. As we weaved in and out of the tiny islands, some with just one little house on them, the color of the sea seemed to change like a vending machine mood ring. We got off the boat at a tiny aquarium located on one island and walked the boardwalk through which the ocean crashed up between the planks with each surge. There were dolphins, sharks, rays, and sea turtles, all in the most organically natural setting they could have been in. Had you wanted to, you could have reached out and touched each one.
Back on the boat the sea was getting to Sarah and we had to persuade an old man to let her lay across "his" seat. He obliged, but not happily. The other stop on the tour was lunch and beach time at the beautiful white sand beach on the appropriately named Playa Blanca. Lunch was typical Colombian fare (rice, fish, plantains, salad) but the beach was anything but. Somehow there were vendors here too and they brought their women friends who were offering massages. (Because when you're on a beach in paradise you're tense?) Again, the water was unbelievably aquamarine and the breeze made for the perfect place to rest after a nice lunch.

The best part about Cartagena though was wondering the narrow streets, admiring the leafy and ornate balconies and coral and limestone facades. Between the walls, the dungeons-turned-craft shops, weathered old canons, and uneven roads, it was impossible not to marvel at what this mass of buildings has seen. The trials of early colonial Spanish settlers, violent battles against pirates, the inhumanity of humans being sold as property, and finally tourism and relative calm leave much to be learned and even more to be imagined.

My Second Home

I love Salento. If I could have a modest house on a hillside in this tiny town, I might never leave. I would find a way to survive on coffee and trout and just be. This might just be my favorite place in the world; it really is enchanted.

I went to Salento for the first time a little over a year ago and finally made it back for a second visit last weekend. I hope it is not the last. Salento is located up in the mountains at relaxing spring-like elevation where short and t-shirts are fine during the sunny days and ponchos are worn after darkness falls. Everywhere smells of coffee, as the area is home to countless plantations, and it is not uncommon to be offered tinto (black coffee) just about anywhere. Trout is the dish of choice as the fish is plentiful in the surrounding streams and farms.

Salento is also just outside of the insanely beautiful and unique Valle de Corora, home of Colombia's national tree, the palma de cera (wax palm).

Last year, my current roommate, Nira, made friends with some of the townsfolk and upon returning this time, one of the families, a 21-year old university student named Andres and his mother, Gloria, insisted we stay with them. Gloria is like that warm-hearted neighbor-lady that will give and give and give and will never except "no" as an answer.
"Oh, so you are coming over for coffee and breakfast?" she will ask.
"Well, we made plans to visit [blank]." you would say.
"So you will be here soon, yes?" will be the response.
"Well, we are..." you will start to say.
"Oh! I am so glad you are coming over! See you soon!" And thus ends the conversation.

Andres is studying English and hopes to become an English teacher. He is the only one of his graduating class to go on to university and you can tell his mother, an elementary school teacher, is incredibly proud of him. Although Andres got to practice a lot of practical English with a couple of fluent speakers, we also got to use a lot of our Spanish while talking with Gloria.

Upon arriving, Gloria and Andres told us that it had been raining for many days. This was true and continued to be true. Every morning the weather was overcast and by noon it was at least drizzling. You just got used to either being wet or maneuvering throughout town under the overhangs and awnings.

On Sunday morning, in honor of there being no rain, temporarily at least, I ventured out to take some dry pictures of the many colored doors and balconies around town. I was just thinking to myself if the rain would ruin this enchanted view I had in my minds eye of Salento. Just as I thought this a young boy came around the corner carrying a closed bucket and asked me if I wanted a buñelo (my favorite Colombian bakery product - like a giant donut hole except greasier). I asked him to clarify and he opens the bucket's lid to reveal dozens of these delicious treats. Just when I started to doubt the magic of this place, a little buñelo boy comes ands rights me. I was quite content wondering the streets munching happily away on my buñelos.

Later the same day I met up with two other teachers from school who were also visiting Salento for the long weekend, Tara and Eila. We hired a Jeep to take us into the Valle de Cocora to see the famous trees. When I visited last year, I rode a horse for four hours through the national park. This time I had aspirations to hike in, find a nice rock in the valley, read a little and do some sketching of the scenery around. Attempt to have an existential moment, if you will, while Tara and Eila explored the area on horseback. After awhile I noticed an ominous looking cloud slowly crawling my direction, so I packed up and hiked back to the entrance where I found an empty restaurant to wait out the rain in. Halfway through me trout and coffee, the girls came back cold and wet and we continued waiting together.

Now, I should note that because of all the rain over the past few weeks, there had been much flash flooding and landslides in the area. Normally the Jeeps can take you all the way up into the park. Because of this, however, when we were en route, the Jeep could only take us halfway because the road had been washed out. Even a good Jeep couldn't traverse this. Fortunately some Jeeps got stuck on the other side when the road washed out and turned into a river so, once we were on the other side, another Jeep could take us the rest of the way. This is what we did - to get to the Valle de Cocora.


While waiting for one of these trapped Jeeps to come back for us, we met three European backpackers, a German girl, and two guys: a Czech and a Swiss. After talking with the soldiers stationed at the park entrance who told us that there were no Jeeps on this side of the washed out road, despite the fact that we all took one in, we decided the best option would be to begin the three-hour walk back to Salento, as the rain had become a light mist for the moment.
An hour into the journey, a bulldozer happens by and offers us a lift. (Side note: Tara informed us that it was actually a "backhoe" but if someone had used that name in a story I, personally, would not have known what they were talking about. Therefore, it is going to be called a "bulldozer.")

The driver of this enormous machine was actually on his way back to Salento and was more than willing to take us all the way there. The catch was that whenever we passed a fallen tree or pile of mud we had to "do work." More accurately, we had to hang on for dear life as the bulldozer scooped huge amounts of earth and debris off the road. At one point I was sure he was attempting to scoop water that was flowing across a low point in the road. Our mini-United Nations crew eventually made it back to town, albeit much wetter and muddier than anticipated; bulldozers don't have wheel guards.

I've taken pictures doing some pretty ridiculous things (canopying, running a marathon, on a bike, etc.) but I opted out of finding my camera while dangling off the side of a bulldozer careening down wet mud-soaked mountain roads. Riding on a bulldozer also adds another mode of transportation to the list of "ways I've gotten around" while in this country.

Back in Salento, I dried off, met Nira for coffee and talked with Gloria and Andres. The next day we awoke early, visited the shops as they opened to get some of the better deals on gifts and coffee products before we headed out.

As the bus was pulling out of town, Nira commented that it always feels as though she is leaving home when she leaves Salento. I have to agree. Maybe next time it wouldn't be such a bad thing if the landslide blocked the road leaving Salento and the bulldozer was nowhere to be found.

The Color of Colombia

As I watched the Yahoo! interactive map of the United States change colors from grey to either blue or red from the comfort of my apartment thousands of miles away from the election action, I couldn't help but think about how the rest of the world would be colored if it was voting too.

Judging from the headlines and media reports from places like Indonesia, Japan, most of Europe, and all of Africa, Obama seems to be a fan favorite. Our neighbor here, Venezuela, is clearly not a Bush supporter. The same can be said for allies of Venezuela's president, Chavez, such as Bolivia and our other neighbor, Ecuador. They are all definitely blue; an Obama victory would surely please them.

As for Colombia, I'll let my students comments answer the question of who it was pulling for. I can't tell you the number of times I heard, "But Obama hates Colombia!" Yep, Colombia is red. I'm sure the fact that the Bush administration and the Republican party have been very generous to Colombia's military, war on drugs, and opening up the trade agreements, plays the most important factor in peoples' Ameri-political view points.

I tried to explain to my students that Obama, first of all, does not "hate" Colombia and that his first order of business after taking office in late January will not be cutting ties with their country; he has a few other substantial things on his plate to digest first. Secondly, a brief lesson on checks and balances in the American governmental branches was calming to some of them.

One girl put it best: "[President Alvaro] Uribe is a nice guy and people like him. I bet he'll call Obama up and they'll make friends."

Aside from the occasional asinine comments about "I'm never moving back to the United States in McCain gets elected" from some co-workers, I rather enjoyed experiencing the race from abroad. It gave it a whole different perspective. Plus, I didn't have to see or hear any political ads! I might just have to make living abroad an every-four-years event just for that!

The Indians Are Coming!

Today we had school cancelled. I've had "snow days" and "cold weather days" be responsible for school being called off. I imagine some places even have "hurricane days" or "fire danger/drought days."

But today was a first. We had school cancelled because the indigenous peoples of the southern part of Colombia were marching on the city of Cali. I'm not even sure what to call that kind of a day!

Apparently the native Colombians in that region are upset over the lack of government funding they have been getting, including health care, as well as the encroaching corporations into their land. They began marching from near the city of Popayan (about a three hour bus ride south of Cali) and picking up more supporters along the way. They were scheduled to reach Cali sometime today or last night. Thus far I have seen no one. (They are all sporting green bandanas so please don't think I'm trying to judge people based on certain physical stereotypes!)

The latest news we were given is that they plan on marching into Cali, staying a few days and then continuing on to Bogota. Well, President Uribe obviously doesn't want the image of this many people walking halfway across the country splashed all over the international media, so he has agreed to come and meet with the leaders of the group on Sunday.

This is supposed to be a peaceful march. The reason school was cancelled was twofold; other people (members of various paramilitary groups for example) might use this demonstration to further their own cause inciting violence, and our campus is in the southern part of the city, fairly close to where the marchers will be entering.

It will be interesting to see what happens in the coming days. Until then, isn't it interesting how, it seems, no matter where you go in the world, the native peoples always seem to have been unjustly persecuted in some way through out their history?

3:29.34 Later

I can now say I am an International Athlete. This past weekend I completed my first marathon. (I say "first" because although today I am hobbling around like a ninety-year old man with two new hips who forgot his cane, I plan to continue this athletic endeavor.)

The race took place along the beautiful Lago Calima in the northern part of the Valle de Cauca region (where Cali is located). The lake itself is actually a man-made resevoir created by the damming of a river and it is high in the mountains. This meant the course was hilly, the air was thinner, and the climate was perfect.

I did the race with one of the guidance counselors (Adriana) and a few senior students. One of the seniors had a family finca ("farm" or cottage) in the area so we all drove up the night before, had a great pasta dinner and relaxed. Being that I was traveling with people from school who do not want to get kidnapped, etc, we had a bodyguard escort us on a motorcycle and the car was bullet-proof. The bodyguard stayed with us all weekend, obviously.

My favorite conversation during the ride up included the sentence from Adriana who stated matter of factly that "If the guerilla stop us and try to shoot us we can just sit in the car and 'Miguel' [the body guard] will have to drive thru the cane fields to get help. If they pull a bazooka out though, we should probably get out of the car." Where are you people taking me that this conversation even needs to be brought up!?!

Anyways, the race began at 6am while the sun was still trying peak over the mountains. The starting of the race was a little anti-climactic because there were only about 500 runners total and at least half of them were only running the 1/2 marathon; running is not a very understood or popular sport here in Colombia.

The course was gorgeous but the hills were awful. I felt as though I was either running up or down the entire time; climbing or jamming my toes - pick one. Adriana has run several marathons in her life, including New York, and she said that this one was by far the most difficult one she has competed in yet.

I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story for me:

This is around km 9 going throught the pueblo El Darién. The course started in the town, went 5 kilometers south and west, then returned to the town to go to the northern end of the lake.



At km 22, just past the half-way mark with a split of 1:36-something, and still feeling good enough to whip out the camera and snap some pictures. This is the dam at the northern-most end of the lake. The course continued around the tip and climbed away from the water for a solid 4 kilometers or so and then turned around to head back.



The military was present about every 1/2 kilometer or so. If I didn't want to count the painted kilometer markings on the road, I could have just waited to see army men. It would have been about as accurate.



Some of the aid stations had tables, others did not. This one did not. The girl working her assigned stop at km 24 was handing out the typical refreshment: bags of water. You can get these all over Colombia and they are a lot more environmentally friendly than bottles since they take less energy to make and less space in landfills. They are GREAT for races though because you just bite off the corner and squeeze the water into your mouth instead of clumsily spilling all over yourself with a paper cup.



The turn-around back to El Darién happened at km 26. This is right before km 28. Yes, the scenery is unbelievable, but sometimes it felt like the entire course was uphill.



KM 36 had cows in the road. Typical...
I hit my "wall" soon after this and the camera was forgotten temporarily. KM 39 got walked as I was tightening up pretty badly and it was uphill. It got to the point where I realized I could walk as fast as the tiny running steps I was taken - so I did.

When I got to El Darién's town square everyone was cheering and encouraging me on. The finish line was facing the "wrong" way and I wanted to walk across is so badly but I didn't know where to go in my exhausted state. Forget about speaking Spanish, I could barely function in English! I threw out the universal "where-do-I-go?" arm position and picked out one guy's voice who was telling me I had to "run around the park." I know it was a small block but seriously? The finish is RIGHT THERE and I just did 42 km! "Around the park" is an eternity!


After that eternity I finished and my new friend Juancho Correlón was there to greet me. 3 hours, 29 minutes, and 34 seconds later...

After I finished and waited for the rest of my group to come a lot of other runners were shaking my hand and asking me all kinds of standard questions like where I was from, did I like Colombia, did I like running, what was my time, will I do more, etc. As the sole foreign runner (and a pink freckly one at that) I was getting a lot of attention. As we were leaving an official came running over and said to Adriana, "You can't leave! You won a prize!" She asked him what he was talking about and he tells her she was the first finisher in the womens' division. Needless to say, by the time we left the area both of us had become minor celebrities.

I don't think I'm going to visit the track for the next couple days though.

I'm Feelin' Hot Hot Hot!

This past weekend we finally had our first three-day weekend of the school year. I believe this is the longest stretch we need to endure without a tiny break; glad that it is behind us!

My friend Tina and I took two of the new import teachers, Carrie and Tara, on a short little road trip to show them how the insanity of the bus station works and how the general concept of reservations is irrelevant most of the time. After all the weeks without a break from the students we all agreed some rest and relaxation was in order so we headed for the tiny hamlet of Santa Rosa de Cabal in the coffee-growing region about four hours north of Cali.

Santa Rosa is great because it is quaint, up in the mountains so that the temperature is comfortable sweater-weather but not snowing cold (not ready for that yet!), and near a bunch of thermal hot springs. All perfect for a weekend of decompressing!

We arrived in the mid-afternoon on Saturday and found a hotel near the town square. Normally, this would have been fine, except the town was having their 164th Anniversary celebration so when the revelers were leaving the party at all hours of the night, roughly one fourth of them staggered past our street-side room. Tina and I scouted out other lodgings the next morning and found a colonial-looking one near the edge of town owned by a nice couple who spoke English and had lived a time in Miami. (If you should end up in Santa Rosa, stay at the Hotel Cohiba - that's my plug.) He was from Cuba originally and was nice enough to drive us to the very best thermal hot springs in the area and pick us up when we were good and relaxed. That's hotel service if you ask me!

They had a great backyard with a high stone wall, chickens, a rooster that is lucky to be alive after waking us up much too early the next morning, and a nice little green parrot named Pacho who asked "¿quiero cacao?" Perhaps the Colombian version of "Polly wanna cracker?" Cocoa is a much better request than a cracker if you ask me; I think these Spanish-speaking birds are on the right track. He was my favorite, obviously.

The springs were amazing. We could tell we were getting closer as we drove, not only because of the increase in other weekending Colombians and the smell of sulfur, but because of the steam rising from the green leafy mountain ridges. There were several waterfalls at the site of the thermal springs, some fresh and freezing from streams higher up and others boiling hot originating from deep underground. As the pools got more crowded and the day progressed, we took the opportunity to get a massage at the on-site spa. I've never had a professional massage before but I could get used to this luxury! The best (and most surprising) part was when my masseuse began digging into my gluteus muscle. I could go for just one of those next time; its like walking on air afterwards!

That night we partied with the locals in the main central park and ate the regionally famous chorizo sausage among other meat products. It really is impossible to be a vegetarian in this country. I don't think anyone would laugh at you, you'd just end up starving after all the mangos, pineapples, oranges, avocados, and cilantro have bored your stomach to tears.

Things that will continue to amaze me about living here: grocery store "hoes." These are the girls that certain brands pay to stand all day in grocery store aisles and pimp their product while wearing apparel usually reserved for "women of the night." Well, the grocery store off of Santa Rosa's town square had girls serving customers shots of whiskey as they came in and out of the store. Classy, no? Only in Colombia...

Ins and Outs

I have now had to both enter and exit Colombia four times since coming here over a year ago. The most recent time was over this past week for my good friend Matt's wedding in Eau Claire for which I was groomsman.

Anyone who has ever spent any significant amount of time in another area other than where they came from knows about the cultural period of adjustment. You can have culture shock moving around within the United States even! What most people don't consider is that there is an opposite reculturalization when you return.

It doesn't seem like it would be a big deal, but every time I am reminded of things that I like and dislike about my home country, my host country, and the citizens that make up each.

The first shock is the amount of conversation I can understand all around me once I am back on American soil. Each time I have returned I have found myself a little over stimulated by all the mini-dramas unfolding in parts at every turn. What once was "white noise" has now become comprehendible. Sometimes not knowing what is being said is comforting.

Secondly, and I know this will come off as clichéd, is the number of overweight people. Yes, I've been to state and county fairs before and been amazed at the temporary per capita poundage of the fair grounds but stepping off a plane upon returning to the U.S. of A. presents as much a case as any that "we have a BIG problem."

Thirdly, Americans are always running and rushing, panting and panicking to get to where they need to be. I was told when I arrived in Colombia last year that the concept of "time" is different in our respective cultures. To Americans, time is something that is spent, saved, and wasted. Colombians don't attach a tangible value to it, therefore making it nothing more that a reference point. You don't see people in Colombian airports sprinting awkwardly down the hall with four bags a toddler and baby, red in the face, ready to blast through any pedestrian not aware of the train wreck coming toward them. I think every time I've stepped off the plane from Cali I've had to look both ways before stepping out onto the concourse. However, this ease with time may explain why there are occasionally empty seats on a supposedly full flight too.

Organization* is one thing that I do miss about the American savior faire. Everything is very clear as to where to go and what to do and there are always enough people around to help and serve the needs of everyone. I have returned to Colombia to find several planeloads of people in one long single-file line waiting for the one customs official at his booth to process them. Fortunately because time is not a "thing" to Colombians, no one appears upset by this obvious staffing error and they stand calmly and wait. Don't even pretend to think that that would happen in the States!

*does not apply to the hot mess that is Miami International Airport.

Next time I leave the country will be over the Christmas/New Years holiday break. I must have been subconsciously worried that I would start to become used to this in and out business so, to make things interesting, I will be going through customs TWICE! In December I will be flying from Cali to Panama City, Panama, to Houston. I'll let you know how that goes...