Gate E6

There are 2 things that can be counted on almost without fail when waiting for a flight to Latin America from most U.S. airports. First, CNN will undoubtedly be playing on some monitor within view from the entire room at some decibel level only audible by the dust mites residing on the metal brace that secures it to the wall or allows it to hang from the ceiling. This is surely the reason for their endless ticker-tape display across the bottom of the screen and the curiously bolded headlines, often adding emphasis to meaningless, out of context quotes. How is it possible that there is never a shortage of disaster footage to show from some part of the world at every hour on this network? Today, in addition to the disaster that is Hillary Clinton’s bid for the Democratic Presidential nomination (it’s scrub time, Hillary, clear the benches and stop fouling), there appear to be some tornadoes wreaking havoc in the Midwest. I’ve not yet seen any word on the fires from the Santa Cruz mountains not far (about 35 minutes) from my parents’ house in San Jose.

The second thing, and this one is as certain as death and taxes and____ (fill in the blanks to get your priority level moved way up around Christmas time), is that there will be a disproportionate amount of very good looking people, be they young old, female or male. Even the kids are very well kept. I particularly enjoy this because it emphatically puts to rest stereotypes that many Americans (United States Americans, that is) have about the way Latinos look. There are brown skinned, fair skinned, curly haired, blonde haired and even red haired people with freckles in these places. There are people of African descent (don’t forget, the slave ships stopped in plenty of those places), indigenous people, and even Asians. Most folks in the U.S. have this need to lump every single Spanish speaking person into a single designation: Mexican. Never mind that there are many more countries in Central and South America (and even the Caribbean) where Spanish is spoken. There are whole nations that, like the U.S. are melting pots of people of different ancestry. Here at Gate E6 at the Miami International Airport, the scene was nothing if not indicative of this fact. I saw sharply dressed women in the finest designer fashions, themselves looking like actresses from a Tela novela sitting next to blonde haired, blue eyed gentlemen with beards. Had they not spoken, they could have easily passed as European or even United States residents. Nearest the television, a mother of 3 sat tending to a little one in a stroller as her other school-age children played their hand held video games with the insouciance of young rock stars, glad to be able to enjoy their own little moment away from adoring fans, and free from the annoyance of one another. Right across from me, three women (probably a mother and her two grown daughters) sat and conversed amongst themselves, surrounded by several bags from what appeared to be quite a successful shopping spree. Another lady sitting near me could’ve been mistaken for Australian, adorned in earth toned hiking gear, complete with boots and a hat that read WOMBAT and had an accompanying picture of one above the bill. I was just waiting for her to call somebody "mate" or drop a “g’day” in a sentence, but she too spoke flawless Spanish.

II daresay that even I failed to draw any special attention from anyone , even towering over most in my white seatsuit. Miami is wonderful that way. The airport is always one of my favorites for the people watching alone. Pay close attention as you stroll to your connecting flight and you may feel as though you have taken a wrong turn and entered the Olympic Stadium , walking opposite the opening ceremonies parade. Being a true international airport, this gateway to latin America makes the traveler feel as though he has already left the United States as each successive gate seems to be heading to some other country. Other than maybe Amsterdam Schipol Airport, there’s not another place that I would gladly spend a layover, given the choice. Having a La Carreta restaurant right in the terminal plays no small part in this ranking either. Looking at the airport map, I didn’t think I would have time to delight in some vaca frita, arroz de morros and sweet platanos, but I did manage to work it out. In search of a mailbox to mail my absentee ballot, I ended up having to leave the secure part of the terminal anyway. I wanted to ensure that my ballot would be counted for the June 3 election that I will miss due to the lenhgth of this sojourn in South America. The security line was surprisingly short for a holiday weekend, and La Carreta was right there, so I decided to sit down and have a bite to eat.

Now I’m sitting in seat 30G of flight 915 at 51000 feet, watching the Water Horse. I can’t wait to get to my hotel room and lay down. Riding back in the cattle class can really wear you out. I sure hope that the immigration process is not a long one.