BzzzzzZzz

"Miss, come with me.  I found your dog."

Phewww.  Thank goodness.

The Miami International Airport is a bee hive-- thousands and thousands of people scuttling about with large bags and suitcases, lots of lines, and the constant buzzing of various languages being spoken at the same time.  People returning from living abroad talk about reverse culture shock, and I experienced my first overdose in the Miami Airport.  Stressful, saddening, uplifting-- many emotions surfaced during my four hours in the hive.

I deplaned in Miami speaking Spanish to one of the passengers sitting next to me, and I think that's why I was directed to the "non-US citizens" line in customs.  I waited in this line for two hours.  Why does this line move so slowly?  All non-US citizens need to be fingerprinted, and that takes a while.  The problem?  I am a US citizen.  I was waiting in the wrong line, and even worse, I was anxious about finding my dog, Javier, in baggage claim.  Would he be waiting for me on the other side of customs?  Did he get on the right plane? 

I realized I was in the wrong line as I approached the counter for "non-US citizens."  Shoot.  I had to switch lines.  The good news?  The "US citizens" line moves much more quickly!  (When I was telling this story to my Mom and my sister, my sister calmly asked me, "Didn't you realize you were standing in a line for two hours with a bunch of people speaking languages other than English?"  Hmmm.  I guess I was just so used to hearing Spanish that I wasn't fazed...  Good question, sis).

Once I got through customs, I entered the giant baggage claim area.  What a mess.  Honestly, anyone can walk into baggage claim and take whatever they want.  Bags and suitcases are thrown on the floor in no particular order, and passengers hunt down their bags in order to recheck them on their connecting flight.  I spotted my giant backpacking bag, and a few minutes later I found my Nica saco and other suitcase.  All that was missing at this point was Javier Antonio.  Where was he?  I searched and searched and searched, walking around with a giant cart (which cost me five dollars-- FIVE DOLLARS!.. to borrow!), my bags stacked about five feet high.  He was nowhere to be found.

I approached a man who appeared to work at the airport and explained that I couldn't find my dog.  He took me to a counter, and I explained to about four other people that I couldn't find my dog.  They got on their radios and asked around, in both English and Spanish, but they all came up empty handed.  One lady turned to me and said, "Honey, you're just going to have to go on without him.  You need to catch your connecting flight."

Excuse me?  How was I going to leave without my dog?  The stress of going from my tranquilo pueblo in the mountains of Nicaragua to the beehive of MIA and losing my dog had me in tears.  What was I going to do?  Where was Javier? 

One man at customs came up to me and said, "Don't cry, pretty lady.  One time I needed to get my dog to Washington State.  He ended up in France.  I got him back ten days later."  Whoa, ok.  I honestly didn't know what to do, so I rechecked my big bags and went to find an American Airlines counter to explain what was going on.  At this point (after waiting in a line for two hours and looking for Javier for another hour), I had a little over an hour to catch my connection. 

While standing at the American Airlines counter (another line!), a man came up to me and said, "Miss, come with me.  I found your dog."  Thank goodness.  I followed him through the hive and back down into the mess of baggage claim, and Javier was sitting calmly in his cage.  Apparently he had been left on the runway for three hours, and I had less than an hour to go back through customs with Javier.  Thankfully, the man who found Javier assigned me an American Airlines worker, Sabrina (her dad is Nicaraguan!), and she got me through the lines quickly.  Before running to my gate to catch my connection, the man that found Javier handed me his card and said, "Contact me for anything, even if it doesn't have to do with your dog."  Hmm, thanks, mister.

I rushed into an airport store to buy some food-- I was starving!  The choices were overwhelming.  Twenty types of granola bars.  Eight flavors of Chex Mix.  Bottles of water.  Bottles of flavored water.  Bottles of low-calorie, flavored water.  I'm used to being handed a plate of rice, beans, and a tortilla!  I decided on a granola bar and orange juice.  Seven dollars and twenty-three cents.  Are you kidding me?  That would buy me a weeks worth of food in El Jicaro.  Whatever.

While sitting on the small plane that took me from Miami to Pensacola, I looked out at the conveyer belt taking suitcases into the belly of the plane.  I saw Javier in his cage slowly going up into the plane.  We made eye contact, and Javier yawned.  He was obviously just as tired of the airport business as I was.

Although getting through the bee hive was stressful and almost impossible, all of the workers who helped me at the airport were very nice. Javier and I are now at my parents house de-stressing and enjoying good food and company.  We'll be hiding and resting for a bit, but our next adventure is approaching!  Hasta pronto..