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My Journey to Colombia from New York: Part One



4:30AM, December 28th, 2009. I’d just missed a train, which had been leaving as I’d got to the steps on the corner of Broadway and West 79th Street. I stood, shivering, in the 79th Street subway station, waiting for a “One” train to take me to Penn Station on 34th Street. I was wearing my thermal undershirt, jeans, long sleeved shirt, leather jacket, scarf and beanie. I’d left my jumper in my suitcase with my wife Kerryn. I hadn't wanted to deal with the jumper's bulkiness. I was paying for it with the air temperature.

Fortunately, no snow had fallen since the previous weekend, when there’d been a snow blizzard – some had called it a “Snowpocalyse”. Weather commentators had been calling it the coldest winter in 20 years. We’d been in midair at the time, travelling from Australia via Japan. Luckily, the runways had been cleared by the time we got to New York.

I was on my way back to JFK airport, to catch a plane to Colombia in South America. A few days ago my friends Lucas and Angela had advised me that their wedding ceremony had been changed to six PM on the day I was arriving there - today. ‘I’ll be there, provided the flights are OK,’ I had said.


I stood near the platform edge, tapping my foot. The New York subway is one of the few mass transit systems in the world that runs twenty four hours a day and I hoped that a train would be along shortly. There is always demand for it, because there are always people working. There are two Apple stores in Manhattan (the iPhone, not the fruit variety) that are open 24 hours a day. There is a 3-storey M&M world on 7th Avenue that is open until 12AM (yes, 3 storeys of merchandise for the bright coloured chocolate candy). There are policeman, fireman and wailing sirens on the streets all night.

I had no idea when the next train was coming because there weren’t countdown information boards in most stations. Apparently the boards were under trial in a few places around the city. ‘New Yorkers stick their heads out from the platform edge to look for lights of the next train,’ my friend Stephen had said, who’d recently moved to the city for work. ‘It’s pretty funny at peak hour time, because the entire platform is full of people who are leaning out over the platform edge.’

This seemed a bit dangerous to me. It reminded me of the story of a person approaching the end of the tunnel, only to realise that the light was coming from an approaching train. But I needed to get to the airport, so after waiting for ten minutes, I stuck my head out over the platform and had a good look. Nothing – the tunnel was as black as the far recesses of the universe.

A little later, I could hear a train in the distance. ‘Clack Clack. Squeal. Clack Clack. Squeal. CLACK CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. ’ When the noise came closer, it was an express train that raced past on the inner set of rails, far away from the platform. Fifteen minutes had passed - I was starting to worry. I had to catch a subway and two different trains to JFK and I wasn’t sure how long I'd have to wait for each connection, given the time of day. ‘OK, I’ll wait another five minutes, if nothing comes by then I’m catching a taxi.’

I was ready to race out of the station, when a stainless-steel train finally slowed down at the platform with a whine of its electric motors. By about minutes past five, I’d made it to Penn Station, bought a ticket and boarded the Long Island Railroad for Jamaica Station. The train raced through tunnels for about ten minutes, before coming to the surface somewhere in Queens. It was still dark, and we clattered past streetlights and multistory apartments with lights in some windows. There was no rain or snow, so I imagined there would be no reasons for delays at the airport. How wrong I was to be.

At Jamaica station, I changed along with about 20 other passengers to the Airtrain, which steered driverlessly along elevated bridges to get me to Terminal Four. JFK has eight terminals – it is truly enormous and employs about 35000 people. Icy air whooshed through the small gap between the train doors and the station doors, and the concourse in the station was only slightly warmer. I made my way upstairs to the Avianca check-in desk and got into the queue.

‘Phew, I’ve made it through all the public transport. The weather looks OK. Everything should be fi… what the!’ I thought to myself as I received my boarding pass. The eight AM departure time had been crossed out with a biro and changed to one PM.

I did the calculations in my head. The flight time was five hours and twenty-five minutes. Customs and immigration usually took an hour. Then I would have to get dressed – in a suit I was supposed to pick up in Colombia today. I wouldn’t be at the wedding until eight PM at the earliest. ‘Shit, that isn’t going to work. The wedding is why I’ve come over from Australia. What do I do?’ I thought to myself. ‘OK – I can either accept the situation and go and get breakfast, or I can be positive and create the possibility that there’s a way to get there on time.’

I picked up my phone. It read ‘Emergency Service Only.’ I couldn’t call anyone using it and it was too early anyway. I made my choice. ‘Is there any way you can get me on an earlier flight? My friends are getting married in Medellin at six tonight.’
‘The flight is delayed sir – there’s nothing we can do about it. If you see the supervisor, she will give you a voucher for breakfast and lunch.’
‘Which person is your supervisor?’ I asked.
‘The one wearing the red coat.’
‘They’re all wearing a red coat, aren’t they? Which one do you mean?’
‘The third one from here. The older lady,’ she gestured, pointing one hand.

I looked across through the frustrated expressions of other customers. Her supervisor was talking on two phones at once, with one cradled between her shoulder and her brown hair. She put one down and picked up a walkie-talkie. She spoke to two customers, whose faces wore stressed looks. She nodded her head at them and issued a rapid command to a nearby colleague. She was interrupted briefly by a cargo handler, and then she turned back to the customers. She asked them to stand nearby and then waved at me. She handed me a $10 voucher to spend in the terminal. ‘Uh – I really need to get to Medellin. My friends are getting married there at six tonight. I’m the best man,’ I said.

I smiled and put my best hopeful look. She looked at me with sky blue eyes in a careworn face. ‘OK Sir, please stand over there and I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.

By now, it was about 6:50AM. I waited as she talked to more customers, answered questions from the check-in staff around her, and made calls on phones and the walkie-talkie. After ten minutes, she ushered me over and waved to a colleague. ‘Connie here is going to arrange for your boarding pass and put you on the flight to Bogota. It is leaving very soon. We will put you on a domestic flight from there to Medellin.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said.

Connie had a short, stocky frame, with a medium complexion. ‘OK Sir, let me get your boarding pass. Is your only luggage the daypack you’re carrying? Have you got any liquids or gels greater than 3 onces? Are you carrying any scissors or knives?’ she said, patting the side of her dark hair.
‘Yes, No and No,’ I answered.
‘OK. So you’re going to a wedding in Medellin tonight? Will this be your first visit to Colombia?’
‘Yes – it will be my first time in Colombia. My first time in South America too.’
‘OK – here’s your pass. The flight is leaving very soon. Let me get my things and I’ll take you through.’

Now, it should be noted that the flight was leaving in ten minutes, and I was standing at the check-in desk. I hadn’t been through security yet and only three days before, an idiot had tried to blow up a plane with explosives sewed into his underpants. Terrorist activity was still alive and unwell.

We approached lines of people and security staff. Connie walked in front of me, with her identity tag slung across her chest. ‘Hi, how are you. Hellooo,’ she smiled and waved.

We raced up to the very last X-ray machine, and loaded it up with my possessions. Connie went through ahead of me. I took off my shoes and belt, threw them in and stepped through the metal detector. ‘I’ll take your stuff down to the gate. Get your shoes on and catch me up,’ said Connie.
'Have you got your passport?’ she asked, when I sprinted up beside her.

Oh Oh. I thought she had it. I patted my jean pockets and felt nothing. I tried the pockets in my coat. My fingers felt the familiar booklet shape – I pulled it out and checked it. ‘OK, got it,’ I said.
‘All right. So we can’t get your boarding pass printed out for the flight from Bogota to Medellin. Just go to the Avianca desk and tell them Connie in New York sent you. We’ll have sent down your details by the time you get there. Go and get on the flight.’
‘Thank you so much for everything. Muchos Gracias, Senora,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome. Now go and enjoy the party tonight,’ she said.

I walked down the loading bridge to the plane. I was on my way, although nobody except a few Avianca staff members and I knew it. I hoped I would be able to call Lucas and Angela in Medellin before anyone got worried.

The journey had only just begun…

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