Carolina is our savior

Sunday, 10:34 PM Our go-to-girl in this country is Carolina. Carolina was raised in New Jersey by Colombian parents. Hence, she bridges the two cultures well and, besides being a great friend, serves as translator in times of need. Heather calls Carolina. “Is there anything we can do?” Caro says she will call the airport.

Sunday 10:42 PM The phone rings. I pick it up. “The ticket counters are closed,” Caro says. Then, in a low whisper, like someone might hear her, “Sean, I really don’t think you should get your hopes up. In this country, your bag is gone.”

Monday, 9:07 AM Heather tries Caro again. Caro (did I mention that she is a great friend?) offers to ask her uncle to help. Apparently, Uncle knows somebody who knows a person who might be able to help. Maybe.

Monday, 3 PMish Still no word. By this time, an inventory has been taken. Amoung other things, we are missing a jar of peanut butter, a jar of marshmallow cream, 3 blocks of cheddar cheese, every single piece of English reading material, and a handful of presents intended for Heather.

Tuesday, 8:38 AM I am washing last night’s dirty dishes in the kitchen. The phone rings. Heather answers.

The bag has been found.

Apparently one of the porters realized our bag was not loaded and put it somewhere safe. Caro’s uncle has a friend who drives a taxi. We pay the taxi fare along with a sizable tip, and Uncle gets a free ride up to the airport and picks up the bag.

This is the second time we have lost something in this country and assumed it to be gone for good (see The Case of the Missing Underwear). In the States, we would have the seen the bag on the evening news as it was being blown up by the airport bomb squad. We are constantly amazed at the friendliness and good-naturedness of the people of this country – a country that the press loves to rank among the most dangerous in the world.