But not before an astonishingly successful preflight errand run Monday morning, which sees me accomplish the following list inside of three hours: get an international driver's license; purchase and change a laptop battery; get serious cash; negotiate the renewal of the apartment lease; return a mic and adaptor to B&H; buy camera filters; buy mosquito repellant; rev up my bike and take it for a short spin; pay the bike garage; scan and email the first page of my passport to Mom (not quite sure what that's about); pack all bags; speak to an American Airlines customer relations supervisor about boarding all the film equipment with me; triple check all the camera equipment, the books, the clothes...
Something is very very wrong... I am not sure what yet, but I'm at the airport more than an hour early and have absolutely no problems getting the gear through security. This whole morning has passed so well, so counter my expectations, that clearly it must be setting me up for some huge problem...
That's when I realize that in all my luggage fretting, I never thought to take the laptop charger from the plug at the house. I start looking around -- this can't be that bad, can it? Perhaps, I can buy a charger off someone at the airport... Then I remember an overheard conversation at the Apple store in the morning regarding the incompatibility of the MacBook Pro with anything other than the 85-Watt Magsafe charger. The ominous memory gets me panicking -- I WAS being set up! Don't panic, says the Hitchhiker's Guide, so I start making phone calls. In an hour I am sure of three things: there's no way to know in advance if I can find such a charger in Bolivia; the Best Buy nearest to Miami International (my transfer point) is 7.4 miles away; it closes at 9.30pm.
Right. Let's see... my flight gets in at 8.35pm, 10 minutes to get cab, 20 minutes to the Best Buy, 15 minutes to find and purchase charger, 20 minutes back -- I should have time for a small birthday before the 11.05pm flight to La Paz. Perfect.
An hour past the New York departure time, my plane is still sitting on the tarmac. New estimated arrival time -- 9.10pm. I manage to contain my surprise. This is going to be close.
9.03pm. I am on the cab line in Miami. There's lots of cabs, a few people are waiting, but it still somehow takes seven minutes to get a cab driver to pull over so I can hop in. Mine is a 65-year old Jamaican in a rush to nowhere. I manage to fire him up a bit with an inspirational speach about the do-or-die nature of our mission. At the same time I try to call the Best Buy store to see if they can stay open a couple of extra minutes. The recorded message I get is not good at all: "The store is open from 9am to 9pm. Please call during our work hours."
9.15pm. I look up the nearest apple store, which I know closes at 9.30 for sure, but it's 20 miles in the exact opposite direction, so I decide to stay the course -- if Best Buy is closed, then so be it.
9.25pm. I see a tricky intersection coming up. My Jamaican partner should slow down, keep his eyes open and move over to the right lane. Of course, he just blows right by the turnoff. My alerting him to the fact only confuses him further and causes him to miss his chance to take the next exit and remedy the original mistake. At this point we're headed a solid WNW and there are no exits in sight. I start wondering if I'll even make my flight.
9.27pm. A miracle! My accomplice decides it's time for desperate measures, looks around for cops and goes through the grassy median in a most illegal and ill-advised freeway U-turn.
9.31pm. Cab screeches in front of the gates of the store. They are open only 5 inches, but there's a guy inside. I direct my heartbreaking story at him full force. He quickly relents. I turn around and give thumbs up to my Jamaican compañero. Despite all the years spent with one Mary Jane, my new friend still has a few moments of defiance left in him.
Happy owner of a $150 laptop charger, I get through Miami security no problem. The airport workers are speaking heavily accented English and I'm beginning to suspect I'm in Latin America already. I even find one food stall open, get a sandwich and sit down to enjoy. Halfway, I am interrupted as the world's first ahead-of-schedule boarding takes place. Incensed, I walk with a half eaten sandwich and a 35 pound equipment bag in one hand, dripping water bottle and a backpack in the other, one untied shoelace and a pair of jeans falling off my hips. There's nothing I can do about it -- I board.
Except for a brief glimpse of a beautiful Habana and the incessant laughter of the drunk couple across the isle, the next seven hours are a blur. My head is splitting, but as we approach La Paz my nasal airways clear. That's a first -- they had to lower the cabin pressure to land! Things are going to different here...
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Vaya con Dios
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