Santa Cruz

I finally landed in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.  Here, I had about a 5 hour layover and had to switch plans to make my final flight to Cochabamba.  This meant I had to go through Immigration, pick up my suitcases, recheck in, deposit my bags, and then wait to board my plane.  The gentleman I sat next to, again, helped me get my carry-on down, which was much appreciated.  After getting off the plane, everyone had to wait for about 45 minutes for Immigration.  As we wound around through the path marked out for us, I noticed only two booths were open.  Another booth in the back was open, but apparently that guy only approved people for Visas, not actually processing them for people to get into the country.  I watched him as the line moved.  He simply stared at the wall, watching the non-existent paint drying.  Didn't move a muscle, one arm leaning on his desk, the other thrown over the wall of his booth.

It was my turn to show my visa and went through the process fairly quickly.  As I searched for my bags at the baggage claim, which was simply all the suitcases gathered together in the next room, a Bolivian man came up to me with a cart.  Through gestures, as he did not speak English and I did not speak Spanish, we managed to find all of my suitcases.  He grunted a little as he put them onto his cart, and I kind of felt bad for him.  But, he insisted on doing it all on his own.  He motioned me to get in line to exit that area.  Exiting the terminal, I had to push a button as I went through a metal detector.  It had flashed green for the girl in front of me, which I assumed that it meant to go.  However, when I pushed the button, it flashed red.  Uh-oh, what did that mean?  My gracious guide motioned for me to go over to the side...apparently the red meant random bag check.  Great, just my luck.  My guide heaved my bags onto the table and the security guards motioned for me to open them.  I unzipped the suitcases and they opened them.  As my luck would have it, most of my dedicates just happened to be on top...how embarrassing!  After they proceeded to let the rest of the terminal know the contents of my suitcases, they zipped them back up and I proceeded to exit into the main terminal.  

My guide gestured to me, asking if I needed a taxi.  I replied no and pulled out my ticket for my next flight.  He studied it, handed it back to me, and said "vamanos," which means "come."  I had barely put the paper back into my back when he took off down the crowded hall, almost literally pushing people out the way.  "Pardon!" he called out when people did not see him.  Every few steps he would glance back to make sure I was keeping up with him.  I barely was, and was very winded by the time we arrived at the correct check-in desk.  No wonder he was so skinny!  I went to check in and the lady told me that because my flight was not for many hours later, I had to wait until 11:30 to check my bags in....and this was at 8:30.  Great, two hours of twiddling my thumbs.  My guide deposited my bags at a wall nearby and and I handed him his tip, he zipped off in search of another customer.  I pulled my bags off to the side near a plug, where I could charge my phone.  After a few games of candy crush and flow free, I figured out the airport had free wifi!!  Awesome! I could get on Facebook, check email, and chat with people.  

My luggage

The two hours flew by and in the midst of being in electronic heaven, I found myself people watching.  An adorable little girl, about 2 years old was playing with a cart nearby, climbing all over it.  To my left, a group was busy taking pictures and kissing each other as friends reunited.  Everyone spoke Spanish, and I felt almost left out...the language barrier made it much more difficult to eavesdrop on other people's conversations.  As I continued to look around the airport, I noticed it...Cinnabon!!!  I was so excited, I could barely contain myself.  I still had about an hour left to go until I could check my bags in, but then it was go time.  I hadn't eaten since my chicken fingers the night before and the thought of American food...I was practically drooling.  At last, I could check my bags in.  When I was done, I raced towards the escalator and towards Cinnabon.  Then I stopped, I hoped they accepted dollars as I had yet to change any money into Bolivianos, the local currency.  I asked hesitantly, and much to my happiness, the did.  Whew.  I sat savoring the heavenly roll, as I prepared myself for the flight.  I was almost there.

My American food :)