Part 2...

I boarded the plane with dread, knowing that I was in for a long and squishy flight. The man in the window seat was already there dressed in a very fashionable black velour leisure suit. He reeked like cheap cologne but seemed normal. He said hello, put in his earplugs, and closed his eyes. Perfect. I was reading my magazine when Salami Man made his entrance. I knew right away that he was a big oaf. Most people when they sit down do exactly that....they sit. He got into his seat like he was scaling the pummel horse in Beijing. He sat down with such force the entire row shook. Just for you to get the entire visual, he was wearing a lovely silver metallic muscle shirt with matching shorts, his head was shaved bald, and he sported the ever original barbed wire tattoo around his upper arm. I could tell that he had spent a few hours leading up to the flight in the airport bar. The smell of alcohol permeated his clothes and oozed from his pores. I smiled politely and kept on reading...

As soon as we were in the air his boorish ways became apparent. He flagged down the flight attendant by waving his arm and whistling. Once he had her attention he ordered a beer, two tequilas, and a deli pack. The tequilas were short lived as he pounded them within a minute or two. Then he dug into his deli pack. Now remember I have just spent two days praying over the porcelain god and my stomach was still not 100%. I am not sure what was grosser, him or the deli pack. The deli pack consisted of crackers, salami, and Parmesan cheese spread, which he ate like a complete sloth, chewing with his mouth open and picking the remnants out of his teeth with his finger. He wasn't even half way through his pack when he whistled for two more tequilas and of course another beer. Tequila number one...pounded. Beer...chugged. Deli pack consumed. Deli pack number two ordered. This one was a lovely medley of crackers, cheese, and salmon salad...barf. I took my Gravol mainly to cause drowsiness and block out the horrors of Salami man....

Salami man was relentless in his quest to ingest every last bottle of tequila on the plane and equally as relentless in his goal of becoming a belligerent asshole. At one point he was sifting through his deli pack with his fat sausage like fingers and stumbled across a little packet containing a vitamin C tablet. One that was berry flavored and dissolved in water. No water? No problem for salami man...plop, plop, fizz, fizz, in went the vitamin C into his shot of tequila. What a baboon. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to the sound of him yelling at the flight crew. I guess he had wandered into the first class cabin and was trying to use their washroom. He was told by a very patient flight attendant that he would have to find his seat and use the washroom in the economy cabin of the plane. This obviously did not sit well with our drunk friend because he started yelling and swearing and essentially further confirming my suspicions that his IQ was that of a sponge. At one point he yelled out that his Uncle was the President of the airlines and that he was going to have the flight attendant fired. Uh ya right....your dear old Uncle is the president of the airline and you are sitting in economy. He didn't give up there. He made sure that once we landed he would call his Uncle and demand the termination of the flight crews jobs...what a complete knob. He "talked" to his Uncle all through concourse of the airport screaming things like "I want him fired!"...everyone within earshot just laughed.

I had an hour between flights and had to change terminals, so I high tailed it to American airlines and checked in, got my boarding pass, and again stood behind people in security who were not familiar with the routine. The plane was an hour late leaving so I had time to send a quick email to my friend C, who I was meeting in Haiti, grab a muffin, and watch the throngs of people gather at the gate. The flight into Haiti was uneventful. No one took their own seat, their was no room for any carry on baggage, and the flight crew looked less than thrilled about their destination.

The heat hit me before I had even exited the plane. It is a heat that if you have not been to Haiti, you cannot understand. Their is no grass or trees to absorb the suns rays, the concrete seems to magnify the heat in a way that I can't describe. The smell is another thing. I wish I could bottle it up and let people experience it. The combination of garbage, burning tires, and poverty is beyond what I can describe here. It is one of those smells that is etched into your nose forever. The Digicel band was playing as per usual, the Haitian midget was greeting you at the terminal door, and the nervous energy I always feel when landing in Pap was definitely there, maybe more so. Immigration was quick and easy. I don't think the officer even glanced up as she stamped my passport and little green ticket. Baggage claim was what it usually is...a complete gong show. Bags were piled feet in the air, people were arguing over which bag was theirs, porters were trying desperately to help, and so on....I waited until every bag was off the plane to find out what I had already assumed, that my bags were MIA.... I left the airport two bags lighter but at that point I didn't care. My appointment at the US embassy was only a couple hours away and I really wanted to make it myself and not have our director act on my behalf.

I spotted my ride quickly and the car was sent to pick me up. The ride from the airport to the guesthouse is quick, maybe 10 minutes. I think I could walk it myself now if I so wanted to try, which I didn't.The street kids were out by the dozen that day. Little boys coming to the window of the truck with their hands out begging for money. It's horrible. I was taken to my room at the guesthouse quickly, my room with no AC. I dropped my bags, grabbed my wallet and headed across the street to the O. The walk across the street was different this time. Maybe it was because this time I would take my son and never have to bring him back, maybe it was the excitement of seeing C and R, who knows, but it was definitely not the same as the times before. The metal clad gate was closed as usual and I slid it open to reveal the familiar sight of the orphanage courtyard and the sounds of the kids playing upstairs. A few steps away on the porch of the orphanage were C, R, their girls, and Wil....

to be continued...