Curacao to DC... Eventually

It rained the day we left.

We were told that everywhere takes a credit card in Curacao. Not so. At Mambo Beach, the ATMs only take MasterCard debit card. Candace managed to pay the burger place in a mixture of Netherlands Antillean Guilder and U.S. dollars. The taxi driver to the airport stopped at a Visa ATM and we were able to pay him. Supposedly there is a government rate to each destination, but it was $5 more to the airport than it had been to the hotel.

We were very early to the airport. We had to wait an hour before people even showed up at the counter to check us in. Security had problems with Candace's scooter"if it doesn't fit [through the scanner] it's not coming on the plane!" declared the agent. Once we took apart the pieces and lifted it up on the belt, it fit. The stroller however wasn't close. "That won't fit; just push it through," said the agent with a tone one would use with a dumb toddler. At the gate, there were the biggest fans I've ever seen. The brand was called Big Ass Fans.

We had our last taste of Curacao's indigenous sodas including Gosa Fria and its weird bubble gum flavor. And we were off to Miami. Well, almost. Abie was randomly selected for additional screening at the gate. Candace and I openly expressed our bemusement. A woman at the gate asked, "Does he have any bags?" I answered, "No." Candace added, "He's a baby!" The woman was unmoved and stared back at us blankly. This led to a discussion between two gate agents in Papiamentu in which I learned that the Papiamentu word for infant is "infant."

We arrived at Miami with fewer than two hours until our connecting flight. Two people assured me we'd make it. The wheelchair aid was wonderful. She tried to get us in every quicker line conceivable, but luck didn't break her way. Whenever we left a line, it started to move.

I didn't have high hopes for Miami's airport after our Miami Mover fiasco. The line for wheelchair users with a connecting flight was slower than an octogenarian driving with his left turn signal perpetually blinking. It seems like that should be the quickest line, but maybe that's just me and common sense. The passport agent told me all about his offer to join the secret service, but he ultimately declined because the cost of living was too high.

We finally made it through, got our bags and dumped them into the connecting flight baggage area. Then we hit security and we hot Congress's desire to fund Trump's wall. We were going nowhere. Then we realized Candace's sister had left her carry one bag back in customs and she wasn't able to retrieve it. On the bright side, we had one less bag to carry, but on the dark side, we lost a bag.

Our helper eventually pushed her way through everyone in the security line and we rushed to throw everything on the belt. In the process, I nearly lost my belt. Whoever got the stuff ran to the gate. My belt was hanging loose, my pants falling, Abie in my arms screaming, and my backpack unknowingly open. Stuff fell out, and I crumbled to the ground in despair.

"David?" I heard. Our wheelchair helper gallantly came up behind me and said, "Get in," as if it were a movie. I sat down int he chair as she pushed. It helped as I was able to get my belt on, put my stuff in the backpack and make Abie happy as he felt the breeze int he process. But that momentary aid proved more a deterrent than anything. She was wheezing from strain and I knew I could've out run her even while holding Abie. But she turned down my repeated requests to run myself.

Candace and her sister missed the closing of the gate by one minute. Then we went to rebooking. A tall man was about to leave when he announced, "I'm going to help these people," meaning us. He was very helpful but also extremely self-important, which evoked mixed feelings in me. He said at least five times it wasn't the airline's fault, but he would help us anyway.

We were put on stand-by. I've never been on stand-by before. Tali and Abie were playing around the sign that tells you how big the carry on and personal item can be when Tali fell. She bonked her head and sloped in my arms. Everyone was scared, but I knew it was just how I was holding her. I asked the self-important man what happens if we don't make the stand-by and our flight int he morning is canceled due to a coming storm in DC. He gave an optimistic answer, but the truth was, he didn't know.

The wheelchair helped tried to get Candace's sister her bag back, but it was a dead-end. The babies were exhausted. Abie hadn't napped and Tali barely had. It was well past their bedtime not including the extra hour from the time change between Curacao and the East Coast. Candace made the decision that we should try to get the babies home even if it meant splitting up. I was called and brought Abie aboard at the last minute. Candace's sister was called and brought Tali aboard at the last second.

Abie slept most of the flight, but cried when woken up in the middle of the flight and at the end. A man in my row asked a flight attendant for extra headphones and gave them to me so I could watch tv.

On the plane, I kept crying, partly a release, mostly worry for Candace. I would've been more comfortable if she had her wheelchair instead of the travel scooter. We got off the plane and things were mostly smooth from there. Tali was very good-natured and calm, but Abie was very upset, almost inconsolably. He wanted me to hold him, but we had too much stuff. We got a taxi and made it home. Abie and Tali went right to sleep.

I stayed up worrying. A snowstorm was coming, so I couldn't just drive and pick up Candace from the airport if she made it.  She made it today and took the metro with no problem. I drove her van through the snow and picked her up from the metro. So we finally got all the people and all but one bag home.