A long road ahead - Friday, January 11th

Gatwick Airport

I had been a little apprehensive of this leg of the journey. Not because of a fear of travel or DVT but because I was about to travel through America on my way to Colombia. And I was about to do it with the wrong passport. As an American you have to travel to the states with a US passport. I’d lost mine. Furthermore Ali, my beloved gf, had very kindly washed my Danish one a few months previously, erasing a good chunk of my past (I still think intentionally). For those of you who are lucky to have missed out on the unending joy of American customs, arriving there with a washed passport from the wrong country is a little like running up to the gates of downing St dressed in a turban screaming “Allah Akbar”. 

My fears were only slightly assuaged when the BA attendant leafing through my passport asked me where I was going in the states. I said I was in transit to Bogota. Without hesitation he handed the passport to be and shouted “Colombia!” in what I imagined was a Hispanic accent. Given he was a short, bearded man in his late 50s I couldn’t really help but smile in wide eyed bemusement.

The flight was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever been on given that I had three seats to park my arse, thighs and legs on. I had more room than the business class passengers. This thought tickled me for about 10 mins before I remembered that I’d still be stuck in a tube for 10 hours at 40,000 feet bound for Orlando. If you ever want to put a partner off children I advise you to take this flight. Nothing like the anticipation of several days in 150% humidity and being hugged a spotty teenager dressed as Goofy to really get the worst out of your child. The parents sat in silence drinking with great purpose, many having only just come around to the fact that their souls and wallets are going to be subject to an all out assault over the next week.

Orlando Airport

Orlando airport was as expected. Much like Disneyland but there is only one ride, longer ques and Pluto is more curious about sniffing your colon than giving you a hug. I imagine Daffy doesn’t stick his fingers up your arse if you look Middle Eastern either. 

The airport carpet is a curious mix of bergundy, custard yellow and bathroom mould green. There may have been a pattern once but it looked curiously like someone had taken a lawnmower around and never bothered sweeping up. Searched in vein for a sign warning epileptics not to stare down for too long. We’re in America after all.

As soon as I stepped outside of then airport I began to feel a wave of dizziness wash over me. Like I’d just spent an hour on the spinning teacups at Disneyland. I initially blamed the carpet but it was clear that there was a more serious underlying issue as I could no longer stand. Paramedics were called by the nervy airline staff. When they heard my accent they immediately assumed I was gay and hence on drugs. After very lucidly telling them that I had flown in from London they became even more suspicious. I was about to tell them that it was probably the carpet but then there would be no chance of me leaving this cursed place. 40 minutes of pleading at passport control was enough to shut me up.

Suffice it to say, the suspect British meth dealer with H5N1 was taken in a gurney to hospital. Gently pleading with the staff to let him stay whilst vomiting into a plastic bag. 

3 hours and $2500 later I was back in purgatory. Apparently having a cigarette in high humidity after a 10 hour flight had slowed my heart rate somewhat. When they took my pulse it was a notch above cardiac arrest. The silver lining was that I discovered that my actual resting heart rate was in the ‘athlete’ bracket of their chart.

It was 11pm and I still had 8 hours before my flight to Miami. I had nowhere to stay and no one to see so I did what any self respecting man would do. I went to McDonalds. It became clear that there was nowhere decent to sleep in the hellhole that was Orlando airport. So I slept where I ate. Quietly paying homage to my prehistoric forebears who may well have done this very same thing 10 000 years ago. Sort of.

Miami Airport

Having escaped its physical clutches, Orlando airport still had an ace up its sleeve for my flight. A couple, each the size of a continent, parked themselves next to me. She was wearing a white pair of Minney Mouse ears with a wedding veil. He had Mickey ears with a little tuxedo underneath. Both hats bore their names and the same date. There was a something very sweet to be found amongst the tackiness of it all. Sadly I never found out what the deal was as neither said a word to one another on the flight. Must have gotten married.

Bogota Airport

Landed in one of the nicest airports I’ve ever been to. If Colombia has such a big image issue they should probably run an advert with just the airport. Looks almost identical to Heathrow terminal 5. Was hoping for a donkey and gangs of people hustling us with corn husks. This is far too civilised.

Phone predictably useless and the roaming text I’ve just received made me want to remove my sim card and beat it to a pulp with my shoe.