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Postcard :: let's go home

By Monday, June 6, 2011 , , ,

Our longest day of travel began with an early breakfast on the veranda. Rita, knowing we were leaving on the early bus, brought us breakfast at 6:30. We waited on the main road for the bus - distinguished from the school buses by the "fancy" paint over the standard bus orange. This was our most crowded ride of the trip. I was squished in a seat with another woman. The aisle was packed - Lukas stood in the back. Little kids were practically falling into my lap with every bounce of the bus. On and off people shuffled and eventually we made it back to Dangriga.

There was some worry when the express bus pulled into the station with only 12 seats available. Luckily we got seats, but there were a few people that ended up standing. As we pulled into Belize City the bus stopped at a taxi association. "International airport?" That was us.

We checked into our flight right at the time it was supposed to board, but when we got to the gate nothing was boarding - the flights were running on Belizian time. So we were late leaving Belize and late getting into Atlanta. Our lay over wasn't as long as we thought so we were in a hurry.

We hustled through the airport to customs. Then got directed tot he line that wasn't moving. Every other line around us moved quickly along but we were stuck in the same spot just watching the clock. Finally it was our turn, but our customs form gave the guy a moments pause.

"You've been to a farm?" Yes, we'd been to a farm and no we hadn't washed off our boots. So after collecting our big backpack from baggage claim we headed back to security. There we were routed to the line with the special scanners.

"What kind of livestock were there on the farm?" the agent asked us. What? There weren't livestock on the Sho's farm. "Vegetables," I replied. "Just plants."

"Oh, then collect your bags at the end." With that she was done with us and we hurried on. We dashed through the airport; our flight should already be boarded, but maybe we'd still make it.

The crowd around the gate seemed like a good sign that we hadn't missed the flight. Out of breath I asked the woman at the counter if our flight had boarded. "Where are you going?" she asked. "San Francisco." "Nope that flight hasn't boarded yet." Well, we'd made it and the run through the airport left us with enough time to change our money and get two pieces of piping hot card board with cheese they called pizza.

And with that... one last flight and we touched down in San Francisco. As we walked out of the secure area at SFO Betty {my mother-in-law} was there to welcome us back. We collected the big backpack and went home.

{click here for: Postcards #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, and #11}

*Note: I know when we were planning this trip we were hunting down any details we could find. So, if someone doing the same thing happens on this little blog of mine and would like more information and specific details shoot me an email. I may not have the answer, but I can tell you what we did. megan{dot}a{dot}wenger{at}gmail{dot}com


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