As I’m now two weeks past the point of being able to remember enough about the bits and pieces of the trip to recount them sufficiently, I resort to photos and tweets. I hardly photographed the journey on day two, save for a shot or two of the Mississippi… but here are a few from the latter days of the trip. On the second day of the journey I travelled to Wheaton, IL., where on the third morning I rummaged through Dorothy Sayers’ original, handwritten manuscript of Gaudy Night at the Wade Center . I spent most of the third day avoiding vicious tornadoes by driving north of the storms before cutting south to stop in Columbus, OH. The fourth day took me east through the tippiest-toppiest-tip of West Virginia. I dipped into historic Wheeling briefly to drive around as I have distant family there and wanted to see the area. Further east through Pennsylvania, and then south through Maryland to land in Alexandria. Once in Virginia I went straight to the house of the room that I was scheduled to rent only to be told — after a half hour of horrible conversation — that she had rented the room to someone else the previous morning. I spent the fourth night asleep in a rest area in North Virginia. The sleep was surprisingly comfortable considering my car was too stuffed to lean back my seat. I like camping when I’m not at risk of bugs. I rented  another room the next morning.

Click the map for a zoomed view of my route!

Does this malformed tree not look like a baby Slitheen?

I’ve decided that Katherine is not allowed to come to Bolivia. This is a significant change in plans, since Katherine is scheduled to arrive in Bolivia on Friday and she intends to stay through August.

Here’s the problem.

I will lose the Katherine Card.

The Katherine Card works all manner of magic. Observe:

Convincing Teenage Sister to Accept Medicine

Lorien: “Staton, you have to take this medicine.“
Staton: “Um, no. It does nothing for me.“
Lorien: “It doesn’t matter if you think it does nothing for your symptoms, because it’ll stop you from being contagious.“
Staton: “So?“
Lorien: “Katherine will be here Friday. If we get her sick, her first two Bolivian Weeks will be miserable.“
Staton: “Oh. Okay. Can I have the pills?”

Convincing Eleven Year Old Brother to Bathe

Lorien: “David, take a bath.“
David: “Nope.“
Lorien: “You stink.“
David: “Yup!“
Lorien: “No, seriously, you smell really bad.“
David: “[snicker] Yeah, I know!“
Lorien: “Katherine will be here in three days! You don’t want her to smell you like this.“
David: “Oh. Yeah.“
Lorien: “You’ll need to bathe more than once a month, you know.“
David: “True. Like, every day. Oh man, I need to go do my laundry, too!“
Lorien: “Um, okay, yeah, definitely.“
David: “GOTTA RUN, I SMELL BAD.”

Admittedly, the Katherine Card is less effective on the elder of the younger siblings, Thomas and Nicholas. They’re very much, “eh, whatever, I’m doing my own oh-so-cool-and-suave thing.” I suspect this will change when they stumble out of their rooms, like any other grumpy early morning, and realize, “POPE’S POOP! THERE’S A GIRL IN THE HOUSE. WE HAVE TO BE NICE!“

On second thought, Katherine should still come to Bolivia. That reaction will be worth the loss of the Katherine Card.

Update! Jeff McMorrough made his own version of the Katherine Card:

I settled easily into my AeroSur seat. There was a delay as airport security tried to find a passenger, some male, who needed to be Removed From the Plane for Questioning. Eventually they found the guy, and we were cleared for takeoff. I knew better than to eat their possibly-Amoeba-poisoned fool, so at 11:something at night I had my day’s first meal — the Starbucks sandwich I’d wisely purchased earlier. That swiftly done away with, and my brain satisfied by having seen Cuba down below… and I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning somewhere over Ecuador, maybe Colombia. It was impossible to tell. We landed safely in Santa Cruz.

A couple of scary things about landing in Santa Cruz.

First, the AeroSur would only take me so far. In Santa Cruz I was to get back onto a LAB flight. I had no interest in flying with LAB.

Second, by landing in Santa Cruz I had to go through customs twice. Every time you go through customs you run the risk of outrageous charges and confiscated goods — anything someone wants to take home to his wife.

I was blessed. Santa Cruz was easy. They took my immigration papers and they stamped my passport — in the wrong spot, naturally. They waved me through customs without a single problem. They were all intrigued by Captain Pausert whose bright green eyes stared out of his Prison. They were particularly impressed with the embossed and brightly inked seal of the Bolivian Consulate in Houston on Pausert’s health papers. I was in Santa Cruz, standing in Bolivia, and I was free. I went straight for the LAB counter. Another half hour in line, then I walked up to the counter and pointed at my nearby stacks of luggage. They stared blankly. Then came the conversation in Spanish.

“Only one bag.”

“No, you have to take all of my bags.”

“Only one bag.”

“No, I paid for all of this luggage in Miami. This is my receipt.”

“Only one bag! And no pets.”

“NO! You take ALL of my bags AND my cat.” (The Bolivian travel agent had been very indignant that I be as loud and as mean as possible, as that’s what was necessary and normal to get through unscathed.)

“$750.”

“NO, I PAID in MIAMI.”

LAB Jerkface #2 turned and asked something of someone else. That someone asked someone. Then a woman appeared, looked at LAB Jerkface #2, and said: “It’s okay.”

LAB Jerkface #2 suddenly turned smiling and pleasant, “Thank you! Please hand me your luggage.”

and all was well.

After being cleared, I went upstairs and waited. This was a new experience, too. Well, two new experiences.

First, a Bolivian bathroom. One on the clean side of things, but buttons were in odd places.

Second, the security experience. You can’t go through security and wait at your gate. No, you wait with all of the other flights and try to find a couch which isn’t packed with sleeping people. When your plane is ready to board, then you go through security and go to your gate.

I made it. I made it through security, through my gate, onto the LAB plane. The LAB plane was this old, smokey, rickety machine. It flew, though!

We landed in Cochabamba. My luggage was retrieved, and again Pausert and his Official Bolivian Consulate Seal was such a distraction that customs ignored my luggage and passed me through the gate… and into my parents’ arms.

I am in Cochabamba, Bolivia.

AeroSur was odd. I made it through the lines and to the ticket counter. I asked if they’d take my luggage, they said no. I said I’d pay, they said no. I asked why, they didn’t answer. I asked again if they’d take my luggage, they conferenced. I said I’d pay, again, and they said no. Then, out of nowhere, this guy with badges and tags popped up behind teh counter and told them that they could. Then! I found out that it was quasi-yes but they didn’t tell me why it was a quasi-yes. Then they said they had to call Homeland Security to check my cat and the carrier. We waited. Guy in a uniform comes downstairs. Now, please note that there is no racism or nationalism involved in this one — the fact is that the Homeland Security guy was the first pleasant human being I’d dealt with all day, and while he searched my cat and the carrier we chatted pleasantly and calmly… and he was also the only American I’d dealt with in the entire fiasco. Captain Pausert was cleared.

One moment later, the AeroSur Boss with Badges and Tags reappeared and said, “Take her things. She’s the last one. No one else on the plane.”

My cash was swiftly taken and I was hurriedly given my boarding pass. I had minutes to clear through security, find the gate, and get on the plane. Mere minutes! I turn, I say goodbye to our Miami contact, and I move towards the security hallway…

Laughter. My head turns.

LAB JerkFace.

“See?”

“What?”, I asked.

“I told you.”

I turned and took another few steps towards security. He actually reached out and touched my arm. I stopped and faced him.

“I told you it would be fine, but did you believe me? No!”

“No, you told me that I would have to leave my luggage on standby and sign away your airline’s responsibility for your failures. I’m flying tonight, but not because of you.”

He laughed again, in my face, and responded, “Oh, I told you what would happen and that you’d get to fly but you were too busy going ‘blah blah blah’!” His left hand was opening and closing, like a child mimicks a chatty person via gesture.

“Stop. That’s enough. You are being extraordinarily rude, and I’m leaving.”

“Look, please, just let me tell you how I was right!” (HE ACTUALLY SAID THIS!)

I channeled my mother. I gathered every ounce of Texan Southern Samurai Sweetness that could be found in my genetic code.

I smiled calmly, my stance softened. My voice was sweeter, slower, and darker than molasses when I replied:
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I have four minutes before my plane leaves. I just don’t have the time to nurture your wounded pride. Bye-bye now!”

I ran to security. Not a single beep. I ran to the little metro train. I ran to my gate, and I was on the plane.

I was flying to Bolivia.

Insanity.

Totally bonkers and nutty and filled with stress.

That’s what’s it’s like to try and fly on Lloyd Aereo Boliviano.

First one cancellation, then the second. I went to the airport and they gave me a voucher for a hotel. The Red Roof Inn at MIA was perfectly pleasant. I walked next door and paid way too much for decent food at Bennigan’s. I enjoyed walking in the evening of Miami, though, after the chills of Missouri. So, okay, good hotel experience for a free night.

I was told that the next day we’d have a flight. Right, whatever. I went with it, though. I scheduled it with the contact in Miami, the kind family that let me stay at their house when the flights were cancelled, to store my luggage (8 pieces, not counting the cat) in their pickup throughout the day. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with that monstrousity of a headache while negotiating to make sure I had a flight. Plan fell through. Without delving into details, I soon found myself with all 8 pieces of luggage and a cat in the airport completely on my own. Oh, but was this fun!

I camped out with all of the luggage right in front of the LAB ticketing counter. It was 2:00pm. The counter would open at 7:00pm. At about 3:30pm I realized that I had to get to the bank in order to pull out the cash for my luggage and any emergencies overseas between Miami and Cochabamba, Bolivia. and yet? Luggage. I had all of the trunks and duffel bags stacked onto two airport luggage carts, with Captain Pausert’s Prison perched atop one of them. Keep in mind that my previous airport experience involved my passport/wallet/ID/cash/everything stolen while I was carrying it. I was not about to leave my luggage. I did part from it to run the 60 feet to an airport directory map in order to determine where the bank was.

The LAB counter, where I was camped, was in Concourse E Level 2. The Bank of America was in Concourse A Level 4. Maybe B. I think A. Whatever — it was far.

I pushed one cart ahead of me and pulled the other behind. They were disastrous to steer — I’d aim them in the necessary direction and then move forward about six feet. Then I’d pause, re-align, and push. Repeat. Repeat through elevators. Repeat through countless long hallways. Repeat up and down inclines. Repeat repeat repeat. I made it to the Bank of America and back to the LAB counter with my luggage carts only unstacking themselves messily once, and I burned about 9,000,000 calories. It took almost an hour and a half.

Skip ahead through the hours. I’m tired and pissy and I want to be in Bolivia. The LAB fellow comes out and starts arranging the line-organizing-poles. I was smiley and making chitchat. All was well. They started speaking very, very fast Spanish to let everyone know what the deal was. I essentially monopolized the Guy In Charge because he was willing to speak English. They had a list of names of the people that were going to be able to fly out that night. I was #2.

This was a Very Good Thing.

Except, of course, I would be flying on a different airline and thus only be able to take one piece of luggage. LAB would fly all of my other 8 luggage pieces via cargo the next week. Problem: when luggage flies cargo, the cargo goes through the very intense version of customs. Fortunes are swiftly charged. I’d pay more in customs than I’d paid to purchase the supplies and fly them via passenger plane! Unacceptable, and the LAB guy was openly lying about the customs issue and mocking my refusal. The alternative was that I accept the flight on AeroSur and put my luggage on standby. I knew, though, that once I signed and accepted the AeroSur ticket that LAB would no longer accept me as their responsibility. The guy even said so, at one point! So, hypothetically, I could end up stuck in Miami with all of my things, having been abandoned by the contact who’d promised my father he’d manage the airport headaches, and be without a ticket to Bolivia and without a voucher for hotels.

That would be a Very Bad Thing.

I spent the next hour + some arguing and fighting for a commitment that my luggage would be accepted and LAB would Make Everything Work. I recorded it all, and one of these days I’ll upload it for amusement and posterity. The process was maddening — I’d negotiate with LAB Jerkface who claimed he was the Highest LAB Official on the Eastern U.S. Coast that night, my father would call me for an update, he’d call the travel agent and find out that what LAB Jerkface was saying was nonsense, and then I’d negotiate again. Eventually everything was at a standstill. I agreed to let LAB store my luggage in their office while I grabbed a sandwich and went to the bathroom. One sandwich purchased and stored in my TimBuk2 and a HUGE espresso swiftly guzzled at Starbucks, and I was set. I camped out back at the LAB counter and photographed the LAB Jerkface for records-purposes.

I reinitiated chats with my fellow stranded passengers. A bond had quickly grown between us throughout the day. Most of them barely spoke English, and I’d not practiced Spanish since the college courses… it was limited. One lady, however, informed me that AeroSur was allowing extra luggage after all. A bit of questioning later, and I decided to go to AeroSur myself to find out what was up.

In the meantime, my father had called the boss of the fellow who’d abandoned me at MIA. The boss sent the guy back out. By that time, of course, I’d gotten past the worst of the experiences and really wasn’t excited about dealing with an additional variable, no matter how good the fellow’s intentions were. Regardless, he reappeared and helped me cart my things through the lines at AeroSur, which I did greatly appreciate.

For the first time in hours, I had hopes of making it out of the country intact.

On December 17th, 2006, my plane from Kansas City left at 7:25am to Miami, Florida, from which I would continue to Bolivia, South America.

I was not on that plane.

Rewind.

Summarized To Do List:
– 3 finals
– 2 papers
– 4 trunks to ship to Bolivia
– 1 apartment to pack
– 3 cars to empty and clean
– 1 tea party to hold
– 2,730.3 loose ends to tie

12.3.2006
Grandmother is about to leave for KC. She needs a laptop, desperately, in order to communicate. Funds were tight, no sufficient sales. I decided to sell her my computer for $250. Bought a new notebook, an upgrade from my 2005 model, for $600. $350 investment, brand new computer. Had to move everything over.

12.5.2006
Grandmother leaves for Kenya.
12.7.2006
Two of the four trunks are packed and shipped ahead to Miami.

12.8.2006

The car dies.

12.9.2006

I rent a car.

12.10.2006
I enter the apartment (have been living in the house for convenience) to grab a bag to take to my Paper Writing Day at the library. Raining inside. Pipe had burst. Massive amounts of the next several days are used for cleanup, meeting/conversations with insurance, you name it…

12.11.2006
Inquisition final submitted.

12.12.2006
Finals for Public Administration and Research Analysis Methods are taken. Require a 95% on the Research Analysis final in order to maintain an A in the course.

12.14.2006
One paper is finished, at long last, and is quite lackluster comparative to my other work. I somehow don’t care. Meanwhile, I realize with a gasp that there’s not a snowball’s chance that I can successfully finish my Inquisition paper. Incomplete is requested — there’ll be time to write on the planes.

12.15.2006
I clean clean clean the house. Kristin and Katherine arrive. Gloriously casual tea party is held with Earl Grey, Cranberry Scones, Cucumber Sandwiches, Clotted Cream, Black Raspberry Jam, and Champagne. Christmas gifts are exchanged. Giggly videos are made. I am subjected to a seven minute recorded interrogation on the subject of whether I will find a Hot Bolivian Husband (Lorien: “NO. Marxists deserve to be stoned, not wed.”). Said video will never see the light of day. Kristin and Katherine secretly plot to steal said video.

12.16.2006
I awake at 6:15, two hours later than my alarm had been set. I pack one trunk. Kristin and Katherine wake up. We go to a bridal shop to inspect a dress Kristin had spotted through a window. Pleats are admired. Library books are returned, including one that was intended for a different library. Oops? Return home. I’m officially Stressed. More stressed than I have ever been in my life. Katherine and Kristin go about finding ways to help, and they’re marvelous — dishes from the tea party, unplugging appliances, packing the car, keeping me sane… nonetheless, I often find myself switching rooms and doing Lamaze breathing and 3 second bursts of tears. Stress intensifies when I realize just how many of my parents’ supplies I have to leave behind. I decide to NOT pack the apartment. Or clean the cars. Or. Or. Or. Car is packed. We leave town 2.5 hours later than intended. I’m a mess. We get to Kansas City and have dinner with Kristin’s fiancee Josh. Entirely exhausted, we all go to my motel by the airport. It’s dark and spooky, but it’s $64 for the 4 hours I intend to be there. Luggage and cat are placed inside, and the three of us tearfully pray and say goodbye.

12.17.2006
I awake at 4:30, one hour later than my alarm had been set, by my father calling. I rearrange the luggage so that one of my purses can be emptied and abandoned. I rearrange my wallet so that my daily wallet can be emptied and abandoned. Everything is set. I carry my luggage to the shuttle. I’m the only one. I’m driven to the airport. My hand is on my wallet throughout the shuttle ride. I even think “obsessive, much?”. Get out of the shuttle. Carry luggage 30–40 feet from shuttle to the check-in counter. It takes about a minute to a minute and a half for me to realize that in that time and space my wallet as disappeared.

My wallet contained:
– Passport
– Driver’s License
– International Driver’s License
– My bank and credit cards
– My father’s bank and credit cards
– My mother’s bank and credit cards
– $500 cash

Gone.

AirTran lets me check-in regardless. I have to rearrange part of the luggage in order to only have one bag overweight. I’m given a boarding pass so that if I find my wallet I can get on the plane quickly.

I go off to the side to look around and dig through my carryons. Can’t find it. This woman walks through the door and comes straight towards me, doesn’t even look around. Just looks at me and says, “Don’t cry, honey. It’ll be alright.” and walks on. I didn’t think to look to see where she went, but I didn’t see her again. I’m not positive she was human.

I spend the next several hours in a state of almost constantly brimming tears. They rarely spilled, but they were there.

I can’t fly.

6:00am: IM my mother — “URGENT. WALLET GONE. NEED DAD.” Discuss the matter with Dad.
6:30am: Receive text from Katherine — “I love you. Miss you already.“
7:00am: There’s no way I’m finding my wallet. The AirTran lady that was taking care of me told me to make a police statement.

The police come by.
Policeman #1: “You lost a wallet?“
Lorien: “Yes sir.“
P#1: “Why’d you call US?“
L: “The ticketing people told me to.“
P#1: {gets huffy and impatient. Still he’s apparently very bored. He sticks around.}
Policeman #2: {arrives}

They have me go through my carryons in case they see the wallet. They have me call the shuttle driver back so they can search the shuttle. P#1 is very eager to interrogate a shuttle driver who likely has a criminal record (because he’s a shuttle driver, they say), and is almost definitely illegal (ditto). No luck.

I text/call Katherine. She leaves church to come and get me.

We stick around the airport until 9:51, when the last possible flight that I could have taken left.

I recommend AirTran. I didn’t even ask, but they gave me a FULL credit for my plane ticket, the fee for my cat’s flight, refunded the extra baggage weight cost, AND waived the $50 cancellation fee. PJ at the K/MCI Airport’s AirTran booth is a dear and kind lady.

Katherine takes me to the motel to search the room, just in case. Nothing.

In the car, Katherine gasps: “!!! You can come to the CHRISTMAS PARTY and surprise Kristin! Don’t you dare tell Kristin!” A plan is formed.

Katherine takes me to her home. We have tea and cookies. Her family gets home. We have lunch. It’s very much like my own family, so everything is very easy and comfortable. Katherine’s parents are incredibly kind.

We go out to the World Market and Target for presents and wrapping. That evening is the Christmas Party for the learning center at which we all used to tutor and where we became friends in the first place back in our early years of college. We decide to craft the Ultimate Kristin Gift. Earl Grey tea, Cranberry scone mix, clotted cream, and lemon curd (sound familiar?). Katherine gets that, and I buy a box of Kung Fu Fido (“Someday you’ll find yourself barking up the RIGHT tree!”).

Back to Katherine’s house for tea and ironing.

Christmas party. Kristin was presenting Zee Boy and Zee Ring that evening, and we daren’t endanger that. We arrived a half hour late. Kristin was still not there. Katherine went inside, ready to text me when it was safe to come in. Fifteen minutes pass, and Kristin and Josh arrive. They drive up and their headlights are directly facing Katherine’s car where I’m hunkering down so as not to be seen. Ten minutes more. Katherine texts: “come”. I enter.

I can hear Katherine babbling nearby to distract from my entrance. Leta, our old boss, spots me. “It’s so good to SEE YOU!!!” Kristin hears and turns. It was brilliant. She physically staggered, bent sideways at the waist as if she wasn’t really seeing properly, gasped, pointed, made fish expressions, and came towards me.

In short: Katherine and I will a) never again achieve such an effect, and b) shortly be dead in a puddle of Kristin’s vengeance.

The gift exchange was a roaring success. Someone else opened the Tea in a Bag gift that Katherine had prepared, and Kristin’s face grew increasingly amazed as she watched its unwrapping. Katherine and I spent the next half hour stealing things from Kristin whenever we could manage it in order to ensure that she captured the Tea. Katherine wound up with a neat collection of gourmet cocoas (one of which she gave to me, because she’s spectacularly sweet) and I kept my Kung Fu Fido fortune cookies.

Another goodbye with Kristin, and we went back to Katherine’s house.

12.18.2006

I wake up at 5:45am. More sleep than I’ve had in weeks. Captain Pausert, my poor cat who had been with me throughout this dreadful adventure, had expressed his dismay and discontent and lack of a litterbox by peeing on my leg in Katherine’s guest room bed.

Thought #1: “EWUGH!!“
Thought #2: “Oh maaaaaaaaaan.“
Thought #3: “and her Mom has been so nice to me!“
Thought #4: “Oh. ack. I hope they believe me when I say it was the cat.” (By the way, I just looked. Apparently this is a Cat Thing. Ew.)

I showered. I locked myself OUT of the room. Katherine’s Dad took off the door. Katherine helped me set the sheets a-washing. We had breakfast. Katherine’s Mom hugged me even though Pausert made a mattress stinky. Katherine has a good mom. I managed to not bawl. I’d told Katherine that I knew I would, since I knew that any existence of maternal presence was going to make me weep. I didn’t manage to speak to my own mother until Tuesday, because I knew I’d be a mess the moment I did. By Tuesday I could handle it. Anyway.

We went to the Longview Lab so that Katherine could work and I could wait for my ride to Springfield. We hoped that a student or a math tutor would eat one of the dog cookies — no luck, too few students available. My ride arrived — a friend of my father’s very kindly drove me back to Springfield.

12.19.2006

I did nothing.

12.20.2006

I have written this. I am fixing the websites. I am in Springfield. I am going to be in Springfield for at least a few more weeks. Possibly a month and a half. I despise it. This is life. I am going to pack the apartment, empty the flooded garage, tie up all of the loose ends. I will write the Inquisition paper. I will finish my undergraduate thesis. If I decide to wait another three weeks, I will take the LSAT. Then I will go to Bolivia.

The loss/theft of a 8“x5” leather bundle has changed the course of two months of my life.

Surreal.