Getting there...

Check out this beautiful picture I took of the sun setting as we are landing in Buenos Aires. For those of you who are geographically challenged, that's in Argentina - the complete opposite side of South America from Santiago. Shall I continue?

After a relaxing lunch of Pappa John's pizza and one more diet coke, I am ready to head down to officially check in to my new flight. I guess I should mention that at some point in the morning after I got my carnet and before lunch, Lauren Baker called to let me know that she had talked with Miss Allen and that I needed to take the Taxi VIP to the hotel Sundador.( I would later find out it was the Hotel Funvador - apparently the connection between Allen and Lauren was garbled and they had a difficult time understanding each other.) Oh yeah, and would I please look for Miss Allen's suitcase because mine is in Santiago with the girls. Apparently Allen's suitcase had been labeled as mine and vice versa so Allen was in Santiago without luggage until I showed up.

I headed down to the very long check-in line. Finally get to the front and have to tell my tale again - this I attempted in Spanish - to a very nice young man who looked like the kid from Boy Meets World. He fixed my ticket and tells me that my plane will depart around 2pm and arrive in Santiago at 12:15am. I quickly do the math and ask how is that possible to which I am informed that I will be flying to Santiago via Buenos Aires. Nice.

I quickly recover from my shock just as the guy is saying "Next" to ask about my/Allen's suitcase. He is done with me, so he tells me to go ask that lady over there about it. I go through my spiel again - in Spanish - and she then passes me off to another gal, with a walkie talkie. She makes me go through the whole story again, but just as I am finishing she says, "Talk to me in English because I can't understand your Spanish." At this point, I really need to not speak in English because my vocabulary is not quite so limited. But she asked for it. I tell her - in perfect English, "My suitcase is somewhere back there and I need to know that it is going to be on my flight and I need to know immediately." She then tells me to talk to this girl over here and walks away talking on her walkie talkie. Ugggghhh! By this time, that little girl has been watching me be shoved from person to person and she is ready to get me outta there. She tells me, "I am going right now to put THIS TAG (that says take me to Santiago, more or less) on your suitcase." Thank you - was that so hard ???? As she walks away, I add, "Make sure it won't get left in Buenos Aires." Allen would be really mad.

I head on to run the gauntlet for the second time that day, not strong and not courageous, but tired and frustrated. I go through the tax line thinking I can show them that I have already paid once today and not flown - no such luck. Once the little sticker is beeped it can never be beeped again. While I am expressing my love for a country with such an efficient and fair system, the little lady at the next booth over sends me a friendly rebuke. I won't go into that exchange - it was short - not sweet and I was very glad nobody knew I was a missionary. I would say I was hitting bottom.

Next was immigration. I was afraid - I was very afraid. I was already crying quietly just getting to the booth, when the little man (a different little man) tells me something about the system and the police. He points to the little police booth and tells me to go over there and says something again about the system, but really, I am not understanding anything else in Spanish. I tell him "I don't understand! I don't understand! I don't want to go to the police." And therefore freak out, and head over to sob against the wall.

I really am a sight - sitting in basically a fetal position sobbing heaving sobs. Little man glances my way and sees me in my state. He runs over, "Senora, please. There is not a problem. The system is down and everyone has to go get stamped by the police. It's ok." He pulls me up and walks me over to the little police booth where I get my stamp and then walks me back to his little booth where he does my stuff. I have my carnet now, so there is no problem, except I am still sobbing just out of sheer stress and emotional turmoil.

I didn't stop crying until I was well on the plane - and even talked/sobbed to John a couple of more times, although he wanted to hang up on me. "Heather, God has not fallen off His throne. Can we agree about that?" "No." "Heather...you are not being rational. It's going to be ok - you know this." "I don't know this." I imagine it was like talking to a pouty three year-old, but that's just where I was. I was mad and I wanted to stay mad.

We hung up and I did board the plane and I did fly to Buenos Aires, stayed on the plane with the other four people making the entire trek to Santiago (the picture is all I saw of Buenos Aires), and arrived in Santiago after midnight. Making it to the Hotel Funvador around 2am. Allen and Jami embraced sobbing me. While I was still sobbing to Jami, Allen grabbed her suitcase to make a quick change and finally get comfortable. I was in bed and asleep by 2:30. Twenty-two and a half hours after waking up. It was a long day.

The end of that drama. I'll share more about the conference itself and some funnies in the next post.