Lilithian adventures, it's been so long since the last time

I've just noticed that I was so busy and so angry last times, that I didn't told you in this forum my back travel from Europe... Actually this blog (or better, it's Spanish version) is full of odd stories about travels in general and airtravels in particular... like that time I was almost left because of that stupid Alitalia stewardress, o when they won't let me in teh aircraft in Paris, I guess because I look as a terrorist or something...

But until know, I haven't spoken of this particular back trip... The problem starts when you arrive to the T4 not knowing that instead of flying with Iberia (poor things, since now own, whenever I hear something against them, I will always defend them from American Airlines, Alitalia and even Lufthansa!), you will fly with American Airlines, because you're not flying direct to Guate, but passing through Miami (and you're not receiveing bonus). Indeed I think after this travel, I've almost forgiven Iberia for having me waiting twelve hours in Fiumicino (two summers ago, so long!)... almost.

The check in queue, which with Iberia longs at max twenty minutes, with American takes about an hour. Why? Because they hay very little efficient people in charge of asking questions as border agents (while they are not)... they even check out where you have been before. You cooperate just because you're good willing, and because you don't want to spend any more time there, before getting to the plane. The strange interrogation, then, goes on and you discover two things:
a) miss American is interested, strangely interested on why you were in Paris (I was in León too, and you haven't asked, it's EU as much as Paris; are they frightened that I might run away from the plane and start burning out all Miamis banlieux?)
b) the so called interrogation is just a serial of stupid questions to which, besides, cannot attend the kindest person that brought you to the airport, because she might answer in your place (i don't doubt there are loads of unnpolite people around...)

So, the so called interrogations proceeds, then:

Ms. American: When did you buy your suitcase, ma'am? (I hate when they call you ma'am without feeling it!)
Me: Hm, I don't know, this summer.
Thinking: Look, 12th June 1934. I don't know, and what's the matter... do they don't accept pre 9/11 suitcases in USA?

Ms. American: Do you have any sharp object in the suitcase?
Me: Nope.
Thinking: Yes, I've a knife thirty centimetres long, but don't worry, it's fast wrapped in my underwears.

Ms: Do you have any explosives in you suitcase?
Me: Sorry? No!
Thinking: Ooops, I forgot, let me take them out before doing the checkin...

Ms. American: When was the last time you saw your suitcase?
Me (here I cannot avoid it): Actually, I'am seeing it right now.
Ms. American: No, I mean open.
Me: Ah, ok. This morning.
Thinking: Now, this one in interesting, everybody closes their suitcases before getting into the car? O maybe most people closes it after? I'm sure there's some supersmart guy in the CIA who has designed this infallible test. I reckon they should fire him.

Ms. American: And since then, you've been seeing it?
Me: Not while it was in the trunk.
Thinking: It's wrapped in these plastics, even if I had not been taking care of it, no one could have put anything inside... besides, I've been staring it while I was waiting in this stupid queue.

Ms. American: Why do fly to Guatemala?
Me: I live there.
Ms. American: Are you resident?
Me: Not yet, I work there.
Ms. American: Thank you very much, please proceed to that counter.
Thinking: I expect they won't ask again about the suitcase!!

But they didn't ask about my baggage. They asked about mny return ticket. Because that was my return trip, and as European without visa, I did need a return ticket within 90 days. That I happened to have (courtesy by ICEX). But the stewardress in the counter didn't know that.
Of course, as usual, the stewardress in the counter was very nice to me, because she's already used to pissed-off-because-of-previous-stupid-questions clients. But her boss is as stupid as the mentioned questions. I exposed the issue to the stewardress: See, I am not resident, but I do have a return ticket with Iberia, and so. She couldn't acced to my booking, as it was not confirmed, so she asks me vey kindly "please to go to Iberia counter and get some copy of the booking". When everything's almost solved, the stupid one shows up and says the magic sentence: They are not going to let you in Miami, and you will have to buy us a ticket. I close slowly my eyes and I aight while I think...
First of all, honey: You bet a bottle of goog wine (although you'd never recognise a good wine) that they let me perfectly in in Miami because, in any case, my inmigration problem would be in Guatemala? and second: You bet that I won't buy a ticket with AA in the rest of my life?
... and say: Nope. I'm going to Iberia to get my ticket.
I think even she understands that I am not afraid.

In Iberia, another professional and kind stewardress explains that although they don't ask for the ticket always, they should check that people travelling have appropriate documents. And I think again: but, in Miami they don't care if Ia have problems with inmigration in Guatemala, I bet! With a smile and her Adolfo Dominguez' uniform she prints my copy with which I finally can do my check in, without any other stupid intervention. Fortunately, because I'm starting to be pisse off myself. Neither breakfast with the Legal Drugs Dealer, nor stroll in duty free area (Will I ever see this Zara shop?), nor anything... besides, I have to cross the airport till the T4S, which is more or less in Zaragoza.
And Barajas, easy as anyone can imagine: Sunday, the airport completely packed up and there are only three security check points, instead of six or seven. I t takes almost another hour to cross the security chekcing, and that makes less than ten minutes to arrive to the boarding gate...

I cross the airport running as fast as I can (and that's sadly not that much, especially with a computer and a bag), I arrive without breathing to the gate and I board the plane, I think I'm the last. Fortunately, my sit neightbour doesn't want to chat, so I turn on the iPod and put my mind on breathing again and waiting for lunch to sleep... 5 dollars for a tiny alcoholic drink!! I always ask for wine to sleep better...

Several hours after, including catnaps and an awful film (The trick; extra not recommended), we land on the Miami International Airport, where stupideness continues. Already since the plane thay explain what we should do, which is mainly, get off the satellite terminal, inmigrate, take the baggage, check in again and look for the new boarding door. I think: Three hours should be ok for that, ain't it?

After an hour and a quarter in the inmigration queue, I correct myself: Hm, maybe three hours is not that much... One hour and a half, I arrive to the police officer (after being sure that mine in the slowest queue) and he says to me: shift change, the officer is coming right now.
- Noooooooooo.... Three hours are not enough...
The officer comes, he takes my photo and two fingerprints (but not randomly, the index fingers). I'm not asked any stupid questions (finally!) and I pass thorugh. Mentally, I've won the bottle of good wine). I run out, were my baggage waits since half an hour ago (unique chance to thieves). I fight two guys who try to convince me that my suitcase in in the belt while I can see it in the corner ("escuse me, ma'am, the african american guy is the only one to speak to me in English). I take it, run to the exit and discover that I don't need to check in again (yeah, great!! not a single more stupid question!). I just have to leave abandoned my baggage in the hand of who seem airport employees (but could be other thing) in another pseudobelt and run to the departs area, because I've heard that security checkpoint are more or less the hell...

In the very moment that I read "exit" I realize who stupid the whole process is. You have to do the inmigration process to control people trying to enter the States, but now I could just stay here crossing that door which is not controlled. If I had stayed inside the boarding area, it would have been much more difficult. Indeed, if I now want to make my suitcase explode, it is certainly surrounded of people, while in the plane wouldn't be...

I don't have time for any further consideration, so, appreciating the heat in Miami, I run again (at this point I am sure I could be olympic, I 'm sure) to the security checkpoint, where during 45 miutes I have to stand a guy yelling (both in English and Spanish) instructions about these plastic bags. As I pass (may I see your boarding pass, ma'am? Here you are, thank you, with a smile. He has been the only one to ask something intelligent in this trip, I think), I discover that I have to go back to... the satellite terminal!! These people is just sick... it would be so easy... oh, I'm tired.

In the train going to the teminal, I run into my sit neightbour, who is fliying to Guate too. Gosh, I thought Barajas was bad... no comments!! This has nothing to do with the glamour and efficiency that you can see in CSI Miami...

After all these things, I board the plane, and I sit next to a Venezuelan who do feel like chatting and detects my accent as soon as I thank him for helping me, and starts to comment the last fashion event. And then, I hear the commander's voice saying: "Ladies and gentlemen, this plane is flying to Guatemala City. All those passenger who are not directed to Guatemala, please, leave the aircraft..."

Home, sweet home.