Three days, three flights, one five hour bus ride later

So, imagine this:

I am standing in front of a door. It´s marked 425, and as the traffic wizzes by me on Sarmiento street, I can suddenly feel the 8,000 miles I´ve traveled weighing down on my shoulders.

We were supposed to leave Monday morning. It was a beautiful goodbye: friends and family had come to wave Devin and I off, and there were tears as turned as waved goodbye as we passed through security. We met up with Veronika -a fellow U of Oer- and we took our places in the awkward leather chairs and awaited our plane.

But-not for the first time on the trip- something went wrong. The flight attendent made an announcement that a light on the pilot´s dashboard was out. They would have to fix it. 45 minute delay. Minutes later, we were told the part would have to be flown in from Dallas. 4 hour delay. We were going to miss our connecting flight.

They rescheduled us. We would fly to Dallas when the plane was ready, and then we would have to spend the night because there is one Argentina flight out of DFW everyday, and we would catch the next one. On September 1st. We were missing a whole day of our trip, missing Orientation, our first night together... everything.

To say we were disappointed would be an understatement. But we were still flying out of Portland, and we figured we could stir up some trouble in Dallas. We killed 5 hours in the Portland airport, than walked back to our gate.

Flight cancelled.

...I have class now. I´ll write more when I can. But I am here, I am safe, and I want to give American Airlines too large middle fingers for the 72 hours of traveling it took me to get here.