The Wonders of George Bush International
Zee Bus. Zee Bozos
When it comes to travel days, the highest payment is the red-eye flight. Sure, it seems like a good idea at the time and boy, is it cheap. Yeah.
Wandering through SeaTac at 10 PM, our merry troupe of Bozos grows larger with each airport bar we pass. Each of the bars disgorges another part of our tribe until we reach our full complement and find the gate for our flight to Houston.
Who really flies to Houston anyway? 11 PM and we take flight for the four hour run. Not enough time to sleep and too long to enjoy.
A four hour layover at George Bush (really??) in Houston brings group brekkie and coffee and starting a new day with two hours of plane dozing.
Hours of airport wandering is enlightening. Did you know you can buy an iPad mini or earbuds or a ready to use disposable cel phone from a vending machine? Well, I'm here to testify that with a valid credit card and poor buying habits you can indeed.
Nicaragua!! We are on the second flight and..... Well folks, one lavatory is out of order and the second one has a small problem. Ruh roh. Stuck on the Tarmac while a harried looking maintenance guy scurries up and down the aisle with tools and then..."OK folks, the crapper is operational". Not a direct quote, I grant you, but with bladders protected, we are airborne.
Excitement building, Lake Managua and the cones of volcanoes come into view as we start our final descent. Not the best phrase to use on an airplane but hey, we're here!! Sort of.
On the flight we had to fill out three immigration forms. Three of them. There is reason for that. It gives one a lot of things to read whilst one is standing in the slowest passport control line in existence. The Managua immigration queue makes Laotian customs seem like a well-oiled machine.
Forty-five minutes later we are out the door and into the tropical heat. Our guide, author and esteemed cigar expert Colin Ganley is there, the group is there, and the Bozo Bus is there. Let the adventures begin!!
This being a cigar junket, wherein we smoke cigars and such, it's time to fire up a bus ride stogie. Yes, it's a wonderful country, you can smoke on the bus. However, while the group is there, the guide, the bus, and the cigar is in my hand, what is missing is a means of ignition. I unzip my checked bag to retrieve one of my cigar lighters only to find a note from the fine cretins at TSA. "Dear Sir: Your lighters were not in a DOT approved case and we are most sorry, but we are now lighting OUR cigars with them. Have a nice trip and good luck getting a light out there on the sidewalk. Your pals at TSA."
Ass-hats, previously unemployable ass-hats, keeping us safe from unspeakable evil. Dog bless 'em.
Well, spoil my fun you won't, you pus-addled sacks of ignorance!! I get a light from one of the locals who is busy hucking our bags in the general vicinity of our bus.
Gentlefolk, the smoking lamp is lit!! Onto the bus pass the valiant Bozos! We few, we lucky few, pop open cold drinks, settle in, and watch the views of Managua fade into the mirrors as we head for the bosom of the Pacific Ocean.
Forth Bozos! Onward towards Leon!
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