I’m not sure why, but the more I run into turbulence these days, the more actually give thought to my plane falling from the sky and smashing into the ground. I find myself looking out the window on the approach to land and wondering if we’re low enough yet to make it should we start spinning like a top and falling like a rock. I almost always convince myself we are and try to enjoy those passing feelings of weightlessness I can only find on board or a roller-coaster – the nearest of which I’m sure is another plane ride away from here.

“Nahani. Ndaipori taxi o collectivo ocorrehina. Oky tuicha – tuichaite.” At least he wasn’t making it up – it was raining big. Real big. I’d carried on my bags, so I’d made it through the mild formalities of entering Paraguay by air rather quick and was one of the first to pass by the broken – or just plain turned-off – baggage scanner and through the sliding glass doors – whose glass had long ago been replaced with some sort of aluminum sheet metal – and into the terminal’s arrivals area. After dodging my usual greeting party: rental car agency clerks who’ve figured out they can turn a way bigger profit offering to exchange your foreign currency for guarani’s – at a less then honest rate – I made my way to the ATM and took the four dollar hit of it’s withdrawal fee rather then deal with the guy over a Hertz. The legit money exchange both was closed of course – as I’m sure are most through out the world’s airports at 2 pm on Friday…

The next set of sliding glass doors really were made of glass. The sound I walked into on the other side of them – outside – was loud, to say the least. Seems what we’d flown through, about an hour ago at this point, was now sitting on top of the airport and there’s nothing subtle or quiet about that much water falling from the sky. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t at least a little welcoming. Fresh, cool air; wind; and of course entertainment. The taxi stand we’d been standing in front of was crowded around by a good eight to ten guys, all dressed in black pants, shoes and some form of white button down shirt – with the number of buttons in use apparently optional, as is the norm in this land. Each time a newly arrived passenger walked though the doors with the look of, “oh, shit, it’s raining”, on their face, one or three of these guys would yell, “Taxi?”, and a passenger or two would mope over and try to negotiate a price. And then they’d receive the same line we had about nothing running anywhere because of the big rain and the rest of the crew would all bust out laughing. This went on for a good forty-five minutes as we waited for the rain to let up, each time all of them laughing at their latest delivery of the joke as if it was the first time. It was hard not to laugh along with them.

The three hours we spent trapped at the Asuncion airport that afternoon was merely the close of the day’s traveling debacle getting back from Mendoza. And while it would seem easy to label it as the greatest of the day’s inconveniences, it was actually the most enjoyable. I’m not sure why, but as soon as I stepped out and saw and felt that rain, I had this strange feeling. Strange, because of it’s unexpectedness. It was the feeling of being glad to be back. I feel like I’ve seen a good deal of the inside of some airports in the past ten years or so and with just about all of them that I’ve visited more then once, each on has it’s own feeling when you walk through those sliders out into the   fresh or not so fresh air. I don’t have to be standing in baggage claim to tell you what it’s gonna feel like when I walk out the doors of Tampa or Orlando or BWI or Denver or any number of others. But this is one I never would have pegged for Asuncion.

The time spent in Argentina had been filled with all the things I can’t find or get here in Paraguay that we all find ourselves gripping about regularly: terrain, driving, real beer, wine not in box, Asian food, cool air, a language I can understand, cheese, a lack of giant insects… all that good stuff. After the trip was over and we rode through the flooded streets of Asuncion to the to the all too familiar Palace Hotel, I was left wondering though, what I actually did for all that time. It was the longest vacation I can remember taking and yet by far the least event packed. It seems I’ve become hooked on what it was I was so glad to get back to – the tranquilo-ness of it all.

But surely it wasn’t all just staring out the window – the photos of our wanderings (if you haven’t seen them already) are off to the left. Enjoy.

kb