My Kind of Town

My trip back home was a long one… it began with a bus ride from my town to the closest “city” and then another bus ride to the nearest major city. I was lucky to be accompanied by my host brother for the trip, which was nice. He said things like “good for you for having made it this long without going home,” and, “we’ll miss you, say hi to your family for us!” I went to the Hub in Santiago for the night, spent the night alone (watching Beaches and talking to my family back home.) The next morning I woke up early to get to the airport. When I reached customs and they found out I’d been living in the country illegally for a few months, they wanted me to pay a fine. (You see, PC is able to get us green cards to live in the DR but had some trouble with it right when it was time for me to go…) The man told me the fine was US $125 which I didn’t have on me. He asked how much I had and told me I could pay as much as I had. (Sound like he was going to pocket the money???) So I called a boss and VERY LUCKILY he picked up (which made me wonder, what if it hadn’t been a work day?) He told me he’d transfer the money to my account and that I should NOT pay the man, but speak to the man’s supervisor and get a receipt. So I did just that, after leaving the line to go get the money out of an ATM.

And thus began the stress of that day.

The flight from Santiago to Miami was fine. I watched Ghost Town. It was funny. I looked at Sky Mall and decided that it is the most frustrating thing for a PCV to read on their way home because it’s full of EXPENSIVE CRAP THAT NO ONE NEEDS BUT RICK PEOPLE STILL BUY. Sheesh.

When I got to Miami I found out that my flight to Chicago had been cancelled. I fought my way through a line, with people crying because their flights had been cancelled and I let them go ahead. I looked around at all of the strangers speaking English, who had light skin, and I freaked out a little, just a little. Americans looked so weird to me, and I really couldn’t figure out if it was just because I was in the US, if it was because I was in an airport, or if it was because I was in Miami. I decided it was the latter because people began to look much more normal when I got to Chicago… but it was still weird that they were speaking English.

I called home once I’d gotten myself on standby on an earlier flight to let my mom know about the change. Our agreement was that I wouldn’t call again unless I hadn’t gotten on the standby, but, luckily I did, so I didn’t call. I’d told her to watch the flight so that she would know when I’d land and wouldn’t need to talk to me directly. (You see, I didn’t have a cell phone that would work in the US.) So I landed in Chicago, early, hoping that my baggage would be on my flight. I waited for word from my family and for my baggage for one hour, walking aimlessly looking for a payphone and for some indication where my bags would be, if they’d ever get there. One hour was a long time and just as soon as my bag arrived, so did my family and I felt a great relief in the form of crying. I was tired, frustrated, and happy beyond belief to see them, and I let it out in that way… maybe it was a little weird, but my family didn’t mind.

We went for hot dogs on the way home, at my insistence. I had my favorite, a hot dog with grilled onions and BBQ sauce, cheese fries and a chocolate milk shake. Yum. I used to go to this hot dog place a lot on my way home from the airport during college and it was nice to do it again now. We caught up, ate tons, and laughed.