New York Fuckin' City

Ecuador

We made it back - barely. Well, I barely made it back. We (read - I) had ticket problems. Too much to go into right now, but basically my ticket disappeared (read - banditos). And what it came down to was that I (read - Marie) had to buy a brand new ticket to get me out of Quito, Ecuador to Medellin, Columbia for around $300. We only had about a half an hour to make the decision there in the airport once we found out the score. I tried to call Cheapoair who we bought the tickets from but the phone connection from the telephone booths in the airport was so shitty that the Indian phone center workers on the other end at Cheapoair couldn't hear what I was saying. And my cell phone didn't have any service. We looked on the Cheapoair website and it said to just buy the damn tickets and we could get refunded at a later date - that's not proving to be so easy. So we got the damn ticket and I got on the damn plane, but not before we (read - Marie ((she wasn't a happy camper)) had to pay an $80 damn airport fee. We were bleeding money (read - Marie was bleeding through the nose) to get me home. But she was an angel. She didn't bitch at me or curse the day I was born, or shoot me in the leg, or bite my ear off. Rather she told me that she wasn't leaving me in Ecuador and that we'd work it out. She did almost bitch slap a curt little LAN Chile airline employee who seemed to be taking extreme personal pleasure in our dilemma. But that was understandable. The woman actually smiled and nearly laughed at one point - she was a bitch - while Marie tried to explain. I, on the other hand, was just nauseous. We got on the plane and hoped that when we got to Medellin, Columbia that we could work something out with Avianca Air, who we were flying with back to New York City, as we had a six hour layover. And for a minute it looked like we might not have to buy another ticket to get me back to New York City when we got to Medellin, as a guy from Avianca Air really seemed to be doing his best to help us out, but ultimately the result was the same. And I (read - Marie) had to buy another ticket, this time for about $800 to get my ass home. I was even more nauseous than before and I started to drink to quell the melancholy that was slowly setting in. Marie, on the other hand, said that it would be okay. Did I mention that I love her? I do? I really do. Did I mention that Marie has a big heart? She does... I would have left my ass there in Columbia drinking Pilsner beer. After that, things didn't go so smooth, as the airline people, immigration authorities, and some lady in a booth with a stamp, all had some difficulties and issues with getting us out of the country - the issues were varied and convoluted at best, annoying and aggravating at worst. On the way into the country the Immigration Officers had somehow stamped Marie's passport with the date 2006 instead of 2009 and the airline wouldn't accept her passport on the way out, and they told us to go to the lady at the booth. The stamp lady at the booth, behind the window with the stamp said that we didn't need a stamp and that we had to talk to the Immigration Officers. The Immigration Officers didn't want to talk to us. And when we went back to the stamp lady at the booth behind the window she said to go to the airline and tell them that we didn't need a stamp. Which we did, but the airline lady at the counter said that we did need a stamp. All this was happening after we had already been in line for over two hours. We were cutting in front of people, behind people, around people, past people, none of whom were to happy as they'd also been in line for hours. So we went back to the lady in the booth behind the window, once again, cutting in and out of throngs of angry passengers. The lady in the booth behind the window told us to go to the Immigration Officers again, and somewhere on the way to the Immigration Office I started to lose my cool with the whole damn thing. I mean, I really just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. I was already disgusted about all the money that we (read - Marie) had to put out, and I just started to wish that I wasn't me and that we were safe at home in New York City with that $1,100 snug our pockets (Marie's). And when we got to the Immigration Office and found that they, once again, didn't seem to want to help us much I wasn't really wanting to hear their indifference. And as I took my sweater off to show all my tattoos and my face started getting redder and redder, and I started tensing up and raising my voice in my chicken peck Spanish telling them that, "ella hablas es NECESSARIO hablas TU!", they started to become somewhat alarmed. And I guess that it appeared that I wanted to rip their heads off and use them as bowling balls, as one of the guys started to tell me to calm down - tranquillo - and Marie told me to chill out, which basically amounted to me being sent to timeout. So I went and sat on a bench and watched the soccer game by myself and let me Marie handle the situation. And the only justice that night was dished out by Venezuela, in futbol, who handed Columbia their asses, beating them 3-0 in the game that I watched from timeout while drinking Pilsner. And I hope that Columbia loses every game they play the rest of the year from here on out. That goes for Ecuador too. No, actually I hope that we, the USA, Columbia and Ecuador all make it to the World Cup next year in South Africa, and I hope that we play them both, and I hope that we make them cry - their entire citizenries (especially their airline employees). Meanwhile Marie was handling things and we were back at the ticket counter as there was another problem. What the problem was we weren't sure, but (of course) it seemed to be with me. They wanted to see my boarding stub from the last flight from Ecuador. And of course, I couldn't find it. And Marie told me I needed to learn how to keep track of my shit and scolded me like a child, and I told her that she wasn't my fuckin' mom and that she and all the airline ladies could shove my lost boarding stub up their asses. And all the airline ladies backed off and started gossiping about me. And Marie said we shouldn't fight (she was a trooper) with each other, and I felt like an asshole and just wanted to cry. And the airline lady with the bug up her ass ran around the airport with our tickets and passports. We would see her appear and disappear again every ten minutes or so out of different offices for about an hour until we were the only people left in line and it looked like we were going to miss our flight. And Marie and I were resigned and accepting of our fates at that point, as we had no more fight left. And then the Immigration Officers wanted to talk to us and wanted our passports, but the airline lady had them. And I'd given up. Marie had too. We'd both lost the will to carry on, and had lost hope of ever getting home. And at the last second the airline lady showed up with our passports and gave us $4,000 Columbian dollars which was like $10 that the airline owed us for a mistake on my ticket. And the Immigration Officials fixed Marie's passport. And we were free to leave... But we hadn't eaten yet and Marie was dying and she was frantically trying to buy us some food. And the Immigration Officers wanted to shut the doors to the international departure gate, and Marie wanted food, and for a second it looked like a Mexican standoff. Marie ended up winning, as she was very hungry. And the officials waited while our two little sandwiches were microwaved (lettuce, tomato, mayo and all) to an indecipherable taste. Then the Immigration Officials stamped and sent us on to the prison like waiting area where the Policia searched through everyone's luggage as we all sat around and watched as though we were being taught some sort of cautionary tale about packing our suitcases really well in case 50 strangers were for some reason to watch them be rifled through. And that poor bastard who had half his suitcase packed with potato chips. What the fuck was he thinking? I bet he learned a valuable lesson. Although he looked too drunk to remember the lesson. But who can blame him really? You know? Who hasn't been shit face hammered and just wanted some fuckin' potato chips? And then we were on our way on a red eye flight over The Caribbean and up along the Eastern seaboard. And needless to say it was a great fucking morning when our plane touched down at JFK as the sun started to rise. And as we got into a taxi that whisked us along the BQE into the burrow of Brooklyn the sun and the New York City skyline rose up in the distance of the beautiful cold morning.

And next time I'm fuckin' drivin' to South America.

Love