The Good 'Ol U.S. of A. Never Disappoints

It was departure day. We woke early and managed to be first in the restaurant for coffee and breakfast. We spoke to the woman working the lounge about our imminent departure and she had no idea we were scheduled to leave that day. We asked about settling our bill but were told we'd have to wait until Melanie got up at eight o'clock. We were supposed to leave at nine. There was nothing else to do except head back to our room to shower and get our stuff together. While packing, we abandoned the two ponchos and cheap flashlights we had bought on Ambergris Caye, along with a pair of Cha's shoes that had been used for cave tubing a week earlier and still had not dried.

We returned to the bar to settle our bill. Marie and Jayson had turned up for breakfast so we sat with them for a bit. Then we discovered that Loudmouth and Blondie would be taking the airport shuttle with us that morning and, of course, they were running late. The four of us executed a collective eye roll. When it was finally time to leave, we said goodbye to our Canadian friends and hopped in the van. We strategically sat in the back so that the sound of their voices would point away from us. Instead, they turned around to talk to us pretty much the whole way there. After 30 minutes on the rough Northern Highway, I began to feel carsick. I asked the driver if I could sit up front and he promptly pulled over so that I could switch seats, turning up the A/C so that it blasted my face the remainder of the ride. I'm guessing someone has barfed in the van before.

Poor Charlie was left to attend to the talkative women, but fortunately they were pleasant enough. We got to the airport and immediately entered a gift shop where we bought 11 bottles of Marie Sharps hot sauce in a variety of flavors. The airport is tiny, so we were able to check in quickly and go through security. There was only one woman in front of us. She was about to go through the scanner but wasn't sure if she needed to remove her hoodie before doing so. She tugged on one side of it and, misspeaking, asked the security officer, "Do I need to take my clothes off?" His eyes widened and a coy smile crept onto his face. He began to joke and flirt with the now visibly embarrassed woman. He also exchanged a few words with his nearby colleague in Creole, which, judging from the tone, were not fit for polite company. Charlie and I made it through without incident.

We sat in the waiting area playing FreeCell and watching two cute toddlers explore. We boarded the plane and were immediately served decent food (for once), and slept. I was a little nervous about our transfer through Atlanta because of the terrible experience I had had there when returning from Argentina the year before. As we approached passport control, we saw that the line was immensely long and Charlie swore loudly in response. Then we figured out that the long line was the one for foreigners and ours was much shorter. Just then, an announcement came over the loud speaker saying that the computer systems were down, which did not bode well for the timeliness of our connection.

The passport control officer was nice as he processed our entry. When he swiped Charlie's passport, he paused for an uncomfortably long period and then asked Charlie to verify his birthday. Charlie's passport was well worn after regular use over many years and I was concerned that its barcodes were no longer readable. I felt my blood pressure rise and I held my breath for a moment. Fortunately, all it was was the aforementioned computer problem causing the verification to take a long time. He stamped our customs form and sent us on our way. Then we picked up our suitcases and handed the customs form to the white-haired man at the checkpoint. He waived us through without further ado.

We rechecked our baggage and had to go through security again. While waiting in line, we realized we had a big bottle of water and a bottle of coke, so we tried to drink them as quickly as possible before going through. My bottle of water had pressurized slightly during the flight, and when I opened it, it shot water out of the opening and onto the bare ankle of an unamused man standing in line in front of me. I apologized and explained that it was only water. He remained unamused. We made it through security rather quickly and found our connecting gate. The whole ordeal took less than 20 minutes, to my shock and relief. In fact, I was thoroughly impressed with Atlanta's efficiency and courtesy this time.

The TVs at the gate were showing the news, which reported an active shooter at a hospital in Reno. Charlie sighed. "Welcome home," he said. We made it back to Seattle fine and then were dismayed at the clusterfuck taking shape at the curbside pickup area where our friend Whitney would be collecting us. Everyone had forgotten how to move in relation to one another, both on foot and in car. Charlie yelled. Someone yelled back. When Whitney finally found us she was so stressed that I took over driving. Somehow, we survived the ordeal and made it home safely.

That concludes the Belize saga. Stay tuned for MEXICO!