Going to the Island!

January 9, 2008
We are here in The Dominican Republic or accurately stated Republica Domincana. We have been here since Saturday the 5th. We flew from Miami very early Saturday morning to arrive here at around 3:50 PM. We left Orlando and the rest of the kids on Friday night around 10:30 PM on a sort of an unintended but crazy fast paced tour by default trip to get to Miami on time to make the plane and just barely made it.
From Orlando that night, we drove to Port Saint Lucy, Florida, to Megan’s Grandfathers house and arrived there around 1 AM. It had been rainy, off and on, on the ride down but had stopped for a moment when we arrived there. We had not packed our stuff into bags yet for the trip to RD because we had spent every last available minute with the kids at Disney’s Animal Kingdom on a Safari (like I always promised Meg we would go on, spare no expense – what a guy) for her birthday celebration together. After the day at the park, which was insanely crowded, but an enjoyable being together all the same, we headed off to a Japanese style Hibachi restaurant for the birthday and final meal, of the trip, together in Florida. We enjoyed our time there and the food and entertainment were great.
We dropped them all off at the resort we were staying at and began the process of packing up all of our belongings that had been uploaded to the condos for the stay in Florida, back to the RV and loading the car on the dolly for the trip south. We were soon complete with the reload and our good byes and on the road. After the 2+ hour drive to Pop’s house, where Meg attempted to put together what she could as we rolled down the highway (which is challenging at best), we jumped out of the RV and began unloading the car from the dolly to take to Miami. The kids (Sara and Jasper) were sleeping in the RV while this all went on. Once the car was removed, we put the dolly in the yard and backed the RV into its parking space for the week and plugged it in so that the fridge would stay on while we were away and got on with the hurried business of packing our clothes for the island week. During that process it started to rain again and Bud (Meg’s uncle) came out of the house to say hi and greet us (2:15 AM). After completing the clothes packing, we packed the sleeping beauties into the car and started off to Miami.
We were rolling at 2:45 and after a long drive for me, as the Megan and the kids slept, we arrived at the airport at about 5:20 AM with the gas gauge flashing empty. (I didn’t want to stop for gas because we were just about going to make it as it was. I figured it could sit on empty in the parking lot while we were gone). When we got there the airport parking lot was damn near empty and it gave me the impression that we were fine with time so I went back out and got gas anyway. This in affect, unbeknownst to me, would really put us in jeopardy of missing the flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico, the first leg of our trip. We went inside the airport adjacent to the parking garage entrance where the posted signs told us to park for American Airlines. Well, this was just about as far away from where we needed to go as we could have gotten. As we entered the empty airport terminal, we had no idea where to go and there was no one around to ask at that hour. We read the signs, trying to figure out where we were supposed to be, went up and down the escalator a few times and then just started walking in the direction of the other end of the airport. There seemed to be no one at our end of the building, so we may as well just start walking, dragging our luggage behind us, getting later and later….
We finally got to the open AA terminal where there were hundreds of standing/mulling, sleepy but anxious people waiting around doing what we all do when we are waiting for the process to happen, try to get thru the BS and onto the plane. In addition to what we normally do though, many people flying home to the various islands, serviced through Miami, are usually checking in many added bags and parcels that they are bringing back to there island homelands. Things that they cannot get where they are from based on cost or lack of availability, making the line process that much more complicated and congested with the added locations for people to stand around as they attempt to process thru pulling their weighted and awkward parcels behind or in front of them or otherwise somehow attached to their persons. And let’s not forget the added interesting aspect of airline officials speaking and directing them (and us) in Spanglish.
We now have to attempt checking in and checking our baggage at the ticket counter, once we determined where we were supposed to be with a little poignant help from the agents on the floor. Once we arrived at the end of our line, we remained standing there, waiting in that line, watching others from other lines head to the ticket agents until I told the woman agent blocking the exit point of our line, that we were supposed to be on a plane at 6:25 to San Juan and it is now 5:55. I got her attention and somehow my sentence spoke to her need or ability to do her job to help process people like us. She told another (barking) agent with obvious authority (she had the look and the two way radio) who was walking backwards, in place, in the apparent authoritarian open space in front of all the desperately seeking agents people, that we had to get to the San Juan flight at 6:25. The authoritarian gal looked at me for a second or two and then made an angry general comment skyward about, you people need to get here earlier, you are not going to make your flight, I just took care of the last bunch that were already late, now what am I supposed to do (sigh, frown).
The line blocking agent seeing the obvious place for her to fit in a do what she was supposed to do (her job) released and directed us to an open agent at the left end of the long and very busy, beehive like, counter. We bolted out of the starting gate, toting our luggage and carryon’s forward to our next important position, made our way through the tangle of other bags, bodies and crisscrossing people and landed in front of a polite yet nonchalant/overwhelmed ticket agent. He looked at our passports, typed in our names, looked at the screen and seemingly (to me) started moving a little faster when he realized what flight we were on. We began, at his direction, bending down to slide our bags, one at a time, under the obtrusive, belt height counter, onto the scale to weigh them for transport to our destination. (even one pound over 50 lbs. equals a $100 charge for over weight) Sara’s was over weight! So, we had to shift stuff (a few pairs of high heels, blow dryer, curling iron and make up bags) from her bag to my hiking pack to get it to fly. Success!
After making it thru this part of the process, with increasing anxiety, we ran as fast as we could thru the pre-established slalom of mostly Spanish speaking people. Completing this course with agility, grace and as much patience as we could muster, we had speedily meandered our way to an abrupt stop.
There we stood, in a long fishtailing line designed to get us thru the security check point. In front of me happened to be an agent of the security detail. She was sent into the line to accurately discern, in advance of the actual check point (as she later explained to me as “I’m doing my job” after I asked her why she, with obvious uniform and assumed clout, was standing in this line) if their were any infidels or drug traffickers’ in the security line that would have to deal with when they got to the check point. I asked her if there was any line for the people like us who were late and at risk of missing their flight. She politely said, “No Sir!” I have asked this question a few times before, as you can imagine. I usually ask, not only because we are running late a lot, but you never know when someone will be willing to assist or pull rank or strings to make it work for you. This has never occurred! Also I have never actually had an agent or whatever they are called standing in front of me in line. A few minutes passed and she then turned to me and asked me what time my flight was. I told her 6:25 and she looked at her watch to see what time it was. She turned back to me and said, “You will make it, you have plenty of time, this line moves fast and they are just about to add new agents and check points.” She then asked me, “What is your gate number?” I told her it was 35 and she explained, that that gate was the second one, on the left, after the check point and that we would make it with ease. I relaxed, as much as I could, coming from the check in procedure and jog through the terminal and tried to pass on my new found confidence to my family standing behind me.
We started munching, lazily, on fruit from our bags that they would not let through the check points and began seeing ourselves on the plane heading to San Juan. We got thru the check point without any stops or hesitations. We even had just enough time, for those of us in need, to hit the bathroom and get some Starbucks staples [at the mere cost of a newborn child) (yet only a mere pitence of the costs soon to to come in the Island airports]before sitting on the assigned seats of the expansive 757 that would take us to Puerto Rico. While sitting on the plane we called a friend in PR who excitedly agreed to meet us at the airport and take us on a quick (island time, nothing is quick here like in American terms) tour of the island and have lunch with us. We arrived on time in PR at 9:50 AM, 85 degrees and sunny, met our friend Hilda and set off to spin around the island for a bit.