January 7th. Departure Date.

Mom and Dad drop me off at 430 at the Moncton airport. I get through security just in time for boarding. As I step through the gate I turn to see Mom and Dad pressed up against the glass outside the terminal like two puppies begging to come with me. Next time guys!  We take off and I pass out…the airhostess wakes me up, I wipe the drool off my face as we touch down in Newark, New Jersey.

I am in line at customs surrounded by a group of people who just flew in from Peru. I chat with a man who speaks broken English… he seems concerned with the weather (I have not looked outside). I soon realize that I have only 40 minutes to make the connecting flight to Houston, Texas…and that a large Peruvian family of 15 stands between Costa Rica and being stranded in New Jersey.  I wave down some airport staff and explain that I need to make a flight in 40 minutes but they don’t care, neither would I.  The line moves painfully slow…it’s 8:45 (5 minutes from takeoff) and I haven’t even claimed my baggage yet.  Time to be proactive, I ask one of the Peruvian family members if I can step ahead of them…they have no idea what I am saying…I whip out an American 20$ bill and point to the front of the line, apparently they speak this language quite fluently.

I get through customs at 8:50 with little hope. I frantically grab my two 60 pound bags and throw them on the cart. I run down towards security with my 120-pound death wagon, clearly making everyone around me very nervous. I roll my baggage towards a terrified baggage handler and scamper into security. By this time my plane should be in the air. I push my two bags through the scanner and remove my jacket, hat, and belt...then security points at my shoes, which I’m forced to remove also. I dash through the scanner, all clear. I then try to replace all of my stripped belongings, by this time it seems like some kind of cruel obstacle course.  I then discover that I forgot to remove my laptop…my bags must go through again, minus the laptop, which is being swabbed by Eddie Murphy’s twin brother in a very laid back fashion most unsuitable for my situation. It’s 9:00, no time to put my computer in my bag, or tie my shoelaces...I dash off for gate 75, which couldn’t possibly be further away.  I arrive at gate 75, shoelaces tangling and panting like I just ran a marathon. Too my surprise gate 75 is not the disappointment that I was expecting…everyone is still waiting to board. I look outside, it’s snowing…the flight is delayed. The horseshoe is still firmly in place (ask my Mom and Dad for further details of it’s location).

I strut on board the plane with a newfound sense of relief and excitement. Window seat! I sit down and stare at the two inches of snow covering the wing…this could take awhile. I slide the Continental Airlines magazine out of the seat ahead of me. On the cover reads “Fly Fishing Nirvana”; an article about fly-fishing in North America. It serves both as a reminder of what awaits me upon my return, and a promise I made to my father. We begin to taxi towards our runway and I watch as large snowflakes fall against the wing, which is stained green with de-icing fluid. They melt away with my last thoughts of winter. Take off!

Again, I pass out shortly after takeoff, this time face down on the fold out tray. I wake up to the sun beaming through the small window and stare down upon a much warmer climate. Scrolling underneath me is a vast patchwork of human development arranged in tiny little squares stretching out as far as the eye can see. I see forest fires for the first time ever. Judging by the sinuous nature of the rivers winding their way underneath, this land is very flat. Oxbow lakes pepper the landscape next to them, revealing the ancient process of erosion and demonstrating the ever-changing nature of our environment. I see the edge of the Gulf of Mexico as we touchdown in Houston, Texas. 

            I step out of the airplane and am hit with the most magnificent smell, I havn’t eaten yet, so any kind of food would smell good. A man cruises by me on an airplane luggage cart yelling “ITZ JUS LIKE DRIVIN’ A FORD!!” Yes, I am in Texas. I go to a seafood restaurant to grab a decent meal…I ask the waitress for the best dark beer Texas has to offer…she seems to know exactly the beer for me. She returns with 20 ounces of a now forgotten beer, foaming to the brim. She asks me if I would like the buffet, I tell her I’ll take a look…I carefully read each of the labeled foods…Mixed vegetables…pasta salad…garden salad…pretty basic…but then it starts…fried catfish, blackened catfish, sautéed catfish, catfish soup, shrimp kabobs, jumbo shrimp soup, shrimp salad…and the piece de resistance…DEEP FRIED ALLIGATOR…I am salivating like Pavlov’s dogs, I am getting the buffet. I finish my meal with full satisfaction and walk to my gate to wait out the time until my final departure. I continue reading a book that was given to me by a close friend entitled “The Adventurers Handbook” where I find a tiny gem of information that will come in handy whilst in Costa Rica:

HOW TO ALWAYS HAVE A FRESHER PAIR OF UNDERPANTS ON A LONG EXPEDITION

1.     Take two pairs of underpants or knickers, A and B

2.     On week one, wear pair A

3.     On weeks two and three wear pair B

4.     On weeks four and five, wear pair A, which, having only been worn for one week, are now fresher than pair B

5.     On weeks six and seven, wear pair B, which, having only been worn for two weeks, are now the fresher pair

6.     And so on and so on

Next post will be from the rich coast.