Honduras: Monday

Monday was a long day.  Real long.  I woke up at 6:30 to shower and pack up.  We loaded up the car and headed out around 7:35 that morning for the 3 hour drive to San Pedro Sula.  The gals were dropping me off at the airport, then hanging out and doing some shopping in town, spending the night, and retrieving a friend from the airport the next day to head back to La Ceiba.  Please note that Kate was to buy 5 fans for their house in addition to the ones they currently had.  Yes, it's hot in Honduras.

We had a sweet time of prayer in the car and I enjoyed my crackers and Diet Coke.  You can take me anywhere and my breakfasts habits don't change much.  I told the girls about a house that I'd seen on the way to La Ceiba.  Sadly, I wasn't able to take a picture of it in time on the first ride.  So we were all on the look out for what I like to call "the Swiss Family Robinson house made out of school buses."  We finally saw it!  Shannon pulled the car over and I was able to snap some pics.

We made it to the airport and I grabbed lunch: baleada with avocado, chicken tostadas, and a water.  It was sad to say goodbye to my friends that graciously hosted me for my stay.  They made me feel so welcome that it felt odd to be alone in the airport.  I boarded the plane and made my way back to the States.  This is where my day got a little crazy.

My original flight was from San Pedro Sula to Houston and Houston to Charleston.  However, a few weeks after I booked my flight, they called and said my Houston layover would be replaced with a trip to DC.  Let the good times roll.  I remembered this the night before and prepared myself for lots of airplane time.  We landed in Houston at 3:45 and my flight for DC took off at 5:00, boarding at 4:25.  Shannon assured me this was plenty of time so I wasn't worried.

Yet.  We landed at 3:45 and was off the plane at 4:00.  I waited in the customs line and I waited and I waited.  It was 4:05.  Then 4:10.  Then 4:15.  Then I started getting anxious.  Then it was 4:18 a gracious couple let me go ahead of them!

Dude at customs: Are you an American citizen?
Me: yes sir!
Dude at customs: Did you bring any alcohol or tobacco products back with you?
Me: No! ... Wait...yes, one cigar.
Dude at customs: Is it a Cuban cigar?
Me: No!  Absolutely not!
Dude at customs:  Would you be able to tell the difference?
Me: Of course!

And with that he let me go.  I sprinted, with my carry on and full backpack on through the airport.  Running as fast as I could.  I made it to the next line.  And I waited and I waited.  Then the dude called me up and gave me the ok.  Then I took off again...it truly was a work out as I hustled my way up an escalator with the pack on, dodging folks every which of way, all to be stopped at the next line.  The dreaded line of removing your shoes and accessories and being x-rayed.  I made friends with a nice Mexican businessman behind me en route to San Francisco.  We picked the "fast line" which of course turned out to be the line slow as molasses. (Yet, aren't they all?)  It was 4:40 and I was on the verge of tears.  I really didn't want to be stuck in Houston.

Dallas: could have hung out with friends.  Austin: always wanted to go there.  Houston: not so much.

I finally made it through around 4:48 and don't think it would have been possible for me to run any faster than I did to gate C45.  By the grace of God, I made it.  Of course, I was seated in the last row of the plane.  Haha.  I had to excuse myself to the restroom to tidy up a bit after all the running.  Hot and sweaty.  Gross.

The front cover of the book I was reading prompted my seat mate and I to start talking.  He asked if I was a climber; clearly, I am not.  But that's how Alister the Brit and I became friends.  We started talking about Jesus, discipleship, my trip to Honduras, sex trafficking, American politics, the global economy, his travel adventures, poverty, and getting involved in our own communities.  It was one of those great conversations you have with a stranger.  The perfect single serving friend.

We parted ways once landed in DC and I headed to my next plane.  At this point, I'm ready to be home.  I was on the phone with Courtney when I spotted something wonderful.

Me: Dude.  There's a Five Guys in this airport.  Do I want a burger?
Courtney: Shut up!  A Five Guys??
Me: So, yeah, I guess I'll get one.  Yum.
Courtney: Five Guys.  In the airport.  That is so awesome!  Yes.  Get it.

And, I tell you: it was awesome.  So good.  What happened next wasn't awesome, though.  I boarded my third and final plane of the day.  It was a tiny prop plane and I was so thankful to be in single row of seats, second from the front.  2A -- such a great seat.  Well, then, the flight attended said the plane was too heavy up front so 3 of the 5 of us up front had to move back.  I was one of the lucky ones that volunteered.  Little did I know the back of the plane smelled putrid.  Like, really awful.  And my seat buddy would be a middle aged snorer with less than desirable breath and the tendency to venture over from his seat to mine.  Off and on, I pulled the classic move of putting your nose in your shirt.  It was that bad.  I also thought the flight was an hour...but it was actually closer to two.

It felt so good, and breathable! to land in Charleston.  It was midnight and mom and dad picked me up and took me home.

It was such a great trip.  I really loved every minute of it.  Honduras, I hope I'll be seeing you again one of these days.