Airpot Abuelitas

A child was carried away from the security gate at he airport in her father’s arms screaming “Abuelita” over and over while grasping a Coca Cola in her hands. The love for her grandmother, audibly evident. The attempts by her parents to pacify her were evident as well.

Last night, instead of boarding a plane to Cartagena, I was given a bottle of Coke.

The airlines did not have a record of my flight, they said I didn’t pay, and therefore could not let us board-unless we paid again on the spot. In all my travels, this problem had never happened. This was totally unexpected, and as I had my brother and his wife with me, this being her first experience leaving the country, I felt double embarrassed and agitated that this was happening. After arguing for over an hour, producing the requested flight confirmation from our email, we were sent to a 5 star hotel and asked to print up my bank account statement that contained the record of payment and bring it with us back to the airport the next morning.

We did just that.

At the airport the next morning, upon delivering requested documents proving payment had been made to the airlines, we were yet again denied boarding passes. Supervisor one was brought out. Supervisor number two. Finally, Alejandro the head hancho arrivo‘d.

Twenty minutes of broken record talks resumed.

In efforts to find a solution, Alejandro asked me if I had made any other reservation. I told him that I had, yet it expired after 48 hours with payment, so I had to restart the payment as I had missed the 48 hour window of time. He asked me if I knew what times the flights were for the previous reservation, and I told him I did not. He could give me some times and I could guesstimate, or if they gave me access to internet, I could log in to either my email or their airlines and look for the old reservation. Alejandro looked at me and said in a seemingly sharp tone, “You don’t know your own itinerary?”.

I lost it.

It was about 11am by then, (we had arrived at 9am). I had gotten to the hotel the night previous at 11:30, and I had not been able to fall asleep until after 2am. To put it mildly, I was cooked. I shouted at him that it was HE who should know the timetables of his flights, not me. That I knew my present itinerary, yet not one that I could not reserve or pay for, hence it was not an itinerary at all. That I had done everything they asked for and they still would not let us on the plane. His airline had made the mistake, not me…and blah blah blah.

I am not to sure how long my solo shouting match went on for, yet the bun on my head fell apart along with me. Solidarity, now that’s what I am talking about.

A couple of minutes two army soldiers made their way over to us. They asked what the problem was. I threw up my hands in disgust, and let Jordan and Jessica talk with them and explain. I took a short lap around the ticket counters.

I returned beaten. J&J and I discussed it, and decided not to go to Cartagena. I would fight the payment that the airlines said they never collected when I got home and we would take some side trips from Bogota.

I explained to Alejandro the head honcho that I needed a statement from him, saying that we never got on the plane. That the airlines denied my bank statements that I paid, and that I should be full refunded as we did not use the flights if the banks could prove the payment was made. He said he could do it in 10 minutes.

With the decision made I felt lighter. Jessica and Jordan were ready to return to the US, and they decided we would go look at changing their flight to that day. Weight descended rápidamente on mia.

Alejandro approached me again and asked if I had any other record number from the reservation I had tried to make. If so, perhaps the could find the proof of payment that way. I said yes, again- I needed an internet connection. I was a bit annoyed, as I had requested access to the internet before to do just that.

It worked.

When I had logged back in to the airlines to pay for the tickets, it had dissolved my reservation as I had not paid within 48 hours. A message told me I had to make a new reservation. So I did, and this time paid with my credit card online at the same time. Apparently, the airlines applied the payment to the ‘original’ reservation and not the one I had just made. Hence, confirmation numbers were different, and flight times were different too.

So, we were back to going to Cartagena. The next flight was at 4:45pm. We had five hours to kill. I asked if we could go back to the hotel. Alejandro said yes. I asked if we could keep the return flight for the same time, and they were able to give us a one four hours later. I wanted lunch, and assumed we could eat at the hotel. As it turns out, no. In fact, El Jefe Andro thought I meant our hotel in the Candelaria area-at least an hour away without traffic, versus the 5 star hotel only 10 minutes away.

It all started to go back down hill. We could have fast food in the airport. The would pay for 10 USD of it.

I was sullen.

J&J went and had crepes and waffles while I wasted time arguing with El Jefe Andro about the ridiculousness of staying in the airport when we could rest gently in the lounge at the hotel and enjoy a real meal. I lost those negotiations badly and walked out of his office with $20 USD for lunch for the three of us.

The plane was on time, we arrived to our hotel that evening after 7pm. We had left our hotel in the Candelaria of Bogota the previous night at 8:30pm. My Dad did the math and sent me a message on Facebook.

"Sorry about the 30 mph plane trip, was it a glider?"

I opened my imaginary Coke, and thought to myself- Why yes it was a glider, but a very bumpy one.