In Medellin, before we could get to do any of what we’d planned, we had to get on the line for international flights. On this line, the actual slowest person on the planet checked our itineraries and documents a bunch of times, made sure our international flight tax (huh?) was paid, and asked a million questions that I’d already answered four times. I was hungry, tired, and in need of a cigarette, so in other words, not in the mood for these shenanigans that took 45 minutes, by the way. She dismissed us after placing a stupid little green sticker with a symbol on our passports.
Now this little green sticker, though seemingly harmless, would be one of the biggest thorns I’ve had in my side ever. We asked about it, because something about it didn’t seem cool to me, but this slowpoke just reassured us that it meant we were okay to pass through to the gates. Mmhmm.
Anyway, due to this lady’s unbelievably slow pace, food and a smoke would have to be quick and for the most part it was. I’d come to the conclusion at this point, and only at this point, that everyone in Colombia moves in super slow motion. Seriously. Nevertheless, once finished we got on the only line and waited patiently for the slugs disguised as people to get through the people in front of us.
“Put your carry on through here, take your sweaters and shoes off, put all metal objects in this basket, walk through this metal detector.”
I passed through, flying colors, which is to be expected since I refuse to wear jeans on a plane; spandex for me. Unfortunately, my carry on did not pass through so easily. This other snot-nosed person who was also named Dick (wierd), made me empty my backpack, went through every piece of clothing I had, making a stupid little comment that my clothes were dirty and smelled (yes, Dick, because your stupid country doesn’t have laundromats and your hotels don’t have windows so that clothes that are hand-washed in a sink and hung in the bathroom can dry properly), took apart all my electronics, and then pushed all my stuff aside so I could repack and he could rush me because I was moving too slow for the line. Thanks, Dick.
Finally, we made it through this checkpoint and proceeded to immigration. This time a snail was sitting behind a computer. Again the same bunch of questions, then finally a stamp.
Now onto DAS, which just so happens to be next to the gate, excellent…On a line again, exhausted and cranky because this whole process didn’t need to be over 2.5 hours long, I patiently waited. Almost there.
“Hey, Jen?”
“Ma?”
“Are those our suitcases over there?” There they were, three suitcases that were once saran wrapped sat at DAS. I went to check, the whole time hoping they were just look alikes.
“Yes. Those are ours.” What the flock?!
It was our turn on the line and before we could say anything about our suitcases not being on the plane, the lady discovered that stupid little green sticker on our passports.
“You can’t board the plane until you take your suitcases into that room over there. We have to hold your tickets until you’re cleared,” She says as she points us in the direction of hell.
“But the plane leaves in 20 minutes,” we whine.
“It’s okay. The plane will wait for you. Next!” And we were dismissed. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Saran wrap wasn’t a secure enough package? Why us? Just let me get on the plane! None of that stuff is mine anyway. Grr.
There we sat, in what resembled a hospital waiting room with one area blocked off by curtains. A lady was already sitting there with three very large suitcases. We chatted with her for a while and then finally she was called. Oh goody, we’re next.
Over the curtain appeared a green uniformed body signaling us to bring our suitcases. Oh finally! And again the barrage of questions…
Again all our items were dumped onto a table and the suitcase lining was removed. Just when I thought it would be okay to start repacking, the guy pulls out something like a mini screwdriver and starts stabbing the suitcase…and then tasting the screwdriver. Um, really?
“You never know,” says the guard at what I’m going to assume is my “what the flock?” face. I’d probably be stupid criminal.
Once satisfied, he directed me to start repacking, “not the liquids yet, though,” he says. And there it was, the biggest wooden skewer I’ve ever seen. He removed the lids to all the liquids and started dipping skewers like he was throwing a dart. The skewer was pulled out, smelled, and tasted.
“You can pack those now. Leave the fruit out.” Out came the suitcase-contaminated screwdriver and in it went into every fruit four times, each with a smell and a taste.
“Okay. You can leave now,” 45 minutes later. We stuffed everything into the suitcases and closed them. The lady who had our tickets said they’d be sent to the plane immediately and that we could now board…but only after going through the final metal detector.
“What?! Another one?!” I asked outraged. She didn’t even bother with a verbal response and instead just pointed. Again. Backpack off, laptop out, shoes and sweater off, ticket and passport in hand. The laptop was rescanned twice and then finally it passed. Stuff computer into backpack, put shoes on, grab sweater.
“You guys better hurry. The plane is ready to leave.” …Really? We ran down a hall and then downstairs to the outside. There was the plane, completely boarded except for us two. The flight attendants outside waved us on hurriedly and directed us to our seats.
“I’m never going through Medellin again, ma. Ever!”
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Lmao, at least they didn’t cavity check you also.. sounds like a lot of good quality time with mom though.. I’m guessing those fruits never made it to NY? =/
No they were confiscated upon entry
but seriously you must try everything in Colombia when you go. It’s all fantastic. Every once in a while I come across a picture of food and my mouth waters.