I was going to write how shitty my flight, and even more so my stopover in Houston, had been.
Check in luggage. “Can’t check you in sir, you have to get a visa to the US.” What the?!? Not that it doesn’t sortof make sense, but why wasn’t I told this when buying my ticket? And how the hell do you get a visa two hour before flying? Well, luckily you could do that online through one of the machines at the airport, but still…
Then a delay when boarding. And more delay before taking off, creating in total an hour delay. Which would leave me only an hour of time for getting on my next flight in Houston. Somewhat nervous.
Somehow however the plane managed to make up for that one hour during our 10 hour flight (why can’t they always make it a nine hour flight then?).Arriving in Houston (where it’s HOT compared to the Netherlands). Long lines for customs. Looooooong lines for customs. Which were not moving. Which turned out to be because the system was down. An hour and a half left to get my flight. No movement, nerves starting to rise.
An hour left to get my flight and the system seems to be up again. But they’re taking their time. Getting particularly nervous now.
35 minutes before my flight to Lima leaves I get through customs. On the verge of panic, racing through the hallways (which is not funny when you’re carrying a shoulder bag with too much electronics and a sortof-backpack containing a saxophone.)
Next stop security. Long lines. 25 minutes till my plane leaves. And no, I cannot skip the line in any which way just because I have a connecting flight (mister!). Have you ever actually felt your heart beat in your throat? I have!
With 9 minutes to go I clear security, after which it takes me a minute to stuff all my electronics back in my bag, get into my shoes (not time for laces), ram my belt into my bag (no time to put it on) and start running for my gate.
Which is not in the building.
I’ll repeat that: It’s not in the building.
It’s at another terminal. Sweat breaks out, my hands start trembling. Full blown panic.
At the right terminal. Running to my gate. Where, completely out of breath, they are just about to close. Ticket, passport, “have a nice flight sir.” A quick look at my telephone tells me my flight is supposed to leave in exactly one minute.
Stumbling onto the plane, where the (very friendly) stewardess directs me to my seat and offers me a cup of well-deserved water.
I’m here, I made it!
Then, of course, it takes close to another half hour before we actually take off… But who’s counting eh?
So, I was going to write how shitty my flight and stopover were. But I’m not going to. Stuff happened. And I’m on my way to Lima.
Life is good!
But I’m never flying over Houston again!