Just a few token shots here until we get the posts sorted.

A few token shots until life is blown into the blow by blow travel-blog.

Not at all the romantic business of epic novel. The last minute double whiskey with Richard in the The Happy Flyer Lounge nearly cost me the flight. I thought they always called you in plenty of time. Unfortunately this is not true of Delta Airlines. I was met in the terminal by a pair of very perturbed stewardesses, obviously the heavy mob. The ones the airlines feed male hormones to, deprive of sleep and drive out with cattle prods to deal with arseholes like me. Well they threatened and cajoled me through to the plane, snorting on about; "...that I could thank all the Gods of aviation if I even got to fly and how they had already off-loaded my luggage..." Well I made it. Even through the gauntlet of disapproving, icy stares from my seated fellow passengers; who probably thought that I was causing them some manner of delay. The smell of whiskey and the jangling bags of duty free probably made my mumblings of "Sorry..Heavy traffic." Seem a tad hollow.
By Mid-atlantic a few of the ones in my immediate vicinity had started to thaw out a bit. A few more drinks punctuated an otherwise uneventful flight to Phillidelphia. "Mr and Mrs Smith" and "Bewitched" must be two of the worst films ever, even though they have a couple of the best looking actresses. Nicole should go back to "Dogville" and Angelina to Billy Bob. I wish I could save them from the stunted losers they are obviously forced to work with.  God I hate long haul flights. I had to check out my bags in Philly and then back on for Miami, with all the attendant vigours of the new Homeland Security measures. Everyone is fingerprinted and photographed as a matter of course. The interminable X-rays, removal of shoes, jackets and belts, the lugging of many heavy bags through seemingly endless terminals all added to the joy of travel. Philly was as cold as a homeless crackhead at Christmas, so it was not without some measure of elation that when I put it behind me, enjoyed one more scotch on the airplane and finally touched down in Miami, it was not only an inner warmth that I felt. Blissfully Hannah was waiting with a car at the airport, not more that ten yards, from the baggage belt. Off to the appartment for a grand chat over a great meal and a good wine.
I was later to discover that my luggage had been off-loaded in Amsterdam. The baggage handlers, who obviously don't like to handle the same luggage three times had added a few stickers of their own, bringing everything from my lineage to my sexual orientation into question.  Hmmmmm. Maybe there is an epic in there.

What a difference a day makes. After sleeping the sleep of the righteous I awoke in the breeze of the airco not entirely sure where I was. Fortunately this is not a condition entirely alien to me. Halland and Hannah, being the hard working folk the are, were up bright and breezy to see me off. Hannah, God bless her cotton socks, was prepared to brave the morning traffic of Miami to get me stocked up on last minute toiletries (Target) and a pair of little speakers for the laptop (Best Buy). The trip through Miami international was a breeze compared with the rigmarole of Amsterdam-Phillidelphia. I guess they're not exactly stampeding out of Miami into Colombia. It was blissfully quiet in and around the boarding gate and everything proceeded in a friendly and orderly fashion. The use of English dried up quite quickly and by the time we had taken off, and I was faced with a Spanish only flight crew, then I was glad of the small effort I had made in learning a few preparatory sentences. Having chanced my arm with "do you think I could have a cold beer or two?" the frosty Aguila that I was sipping as we soared like, well erm...an Aguila, over Cuba, was the pay-off. The sweet, chilly fruit of endeavor. Nothing else to do but watch the stewardesses float like flamenco dancers up and down the aisles. Strikingly beautiful with those taut, severe black hairstyles, and golden earrings. (Those sweat hogs at Delta Airlines could take a few pointers in poise here). The sense of formality stayed alive only until the copious amounts of alcohol kicked in. Then it was an in-flight fiesta. A few drunken American lads, who obviously knew the score, were already getting lucky with a few industrial grade Shakira look-alikes. The drinks trolley didn't even make ten rows as people were already leaning on it, shooting the shit with the ladies and ordering the second or third round. By the time the plane started adjusting it's clothing for a dignified descent I must admit, leaning my head on the window, seeing Colombia growing beneath me, there must have been a little tear in my eye. The homesick one, returning, at last, to a place he has never been. 

The Venezuelan I met in the customs and immigration queue did not exactly fill me with confidence. "You should listen carefully since I will only have time to tell you once before you are sucked up into this whirlwind, which is Colombia, senor..." Apparently this whirlwind would suck up my luggage, money, credit cards and at last my clothes, leaving me naked and destitute in a dusty gutter. Regretting at my leisure not having heeded the almost free advice of a well-meaning stranger. It was bullshit of course. The advice that I should be the first at the luggage carousel at all costs was unfeasible. Unless I fancied,tucking my cabin luggage under one arm, facing off my fellow passengers with the other and  charging the wall of armed immigration officials. I'm sure they would have loved that. As it happened no-one had plundered my mountain of luggage, nor did I have to watch the baggage boy with the trolley like a hawk. Both Immigration and Customs were tolerant and polite and this despite the fact I'd lost my reading glasses and had just taken a stab at filling in the forms. All of which were in Spanish anyway.
In no time I had been spotted by the waiting family, enclosed and bundled into a waiting taxi, the luggage boy had already been tipped despatched and we hurtled off in a cloud of dust,through Soledad and into Barranquilla. The whole family fitted into two taxis. At least ten people in each, doors flapping like the wings of flightless birds. All the way to Centro the streets were lined with heavily armed soldiers, armoured carriers at every exit. I thought they had layed on some sort of special do for me, until it filtered through my spanish comprehension that President Ulribe was in Barranquilla and as such had brought half the armed forces with him. The route to the airport being particularly well guarded. Ahhhh so they weren't waving at us! I Loved that pretending to aim at us stuff though! What jolly wags the Colombian military are! And so young!
Anyway I kept my camera well down. This proved to be a good idea since as soon as we hit Centro all the doors were suddenly closed and locked and all the windows were wound up, leaving us precious little air until we hit Norte, North Barranquilla, where the windows came down and we could breathe again.
Within seconds of the taxi pulling up at the kerb I was bundelled out, swept up the first flight of stairs, the younger members of the family following like a baggage train. dumped into a chair, a beer thrust into my hand, a fan trained on me and more family introduced. To my profound discredit all I could muster in my new language was a feeble "Ola!" now and again, but I'm sure that this will change. It's already plain as the 'nariz' on my face that no-one either in the family or it's environs speaks more than a single word of English. If I want my intercourse here in Colombia to constitute of anything more than well-natured monosyllabic grunting, then I'm going to have to learn Spanish pretty fast. The family are great though, they are kind enough to ignore the fact I cannot speak the lingo and continue to speak to me at the same unrelenting pace,(Constenos speak faster than any other Spanish speaking folk by a factor of ten I'm told),smiling at me and then each other in sympathy as if I were some happy, benign oaf.
It would take me more than a week even to begin to remember all their names. Suffice to say though, they really laid on the white tablecloth treatment and after a few days of travelling, the welcome I have received is in itself welcome. Today marked the end of a journey and the start of an adventure.