So we spent like 3 weeks dedicated to emptying our house, getting it cleaned, and packing our bags. A wee bit stressful, that process came to completion merely a few hours before we left for the airport (as these things tend to do). Our flight left Dulles at 9:45 PM, and in order to prevent nay problems from arising, we left DC at 4 – only 5 hours and 45 minutes before our flight.

For the first time in recent history in the metropolitan area, we did not hit any traffic whatsoever from DC all the way to Dulles. We arrived, got a porter, checked in with a short line in the international section, and even got through security with no incident worth mentioning – despite having 6 checked bags, 2 children, 4 carry-ons, and 1 stroller.

We found the gate, were happy to find Potbelly’s, and sat down for a cheap dinner (cheap at the airport? How awesome is that?) We had dinner, and even had plenty of time for ice cream (hey, why not feed the 4 year old sugar and milk? Our flight wasn’t even BOARDING for 2 more hours! By then, she’d crash….)

And then the fun started. (Not at all related to the ice cream, incidentally.)

Ana decided to go to Duty Free to get a gift for her aunt. Great idea, I said. She headed down towards our gate to take a gander at the goods, and walked right past the Departures screen with all that great information like destination, gates, time of departure and comments. Comments like “Go to Gate C12 for information.” Departure times like “10:30 AM.” Destinations like “Buenos Aires.”

Ana came right back without going to Duty Free and had that look on her face that none of us ever want to see on our spouses face. You know – the one where you just hope to God it wasn’t something you did. And your second thought is (at least mine is) “I hope this is something that she is completely wrong on and I can resolve it with minimal energy.” For the record, it rarely is. I guess I like to think that her facial expressions are half full…. Or the glass is concerned over nothing.

So, being the cocky, self-assured guy that I am, I said “I’m sure that’s just a typo or something, I’ll go check it out. But why don’t you go back to Duty Free – we have plenty of time – and then see if someone is at the gate and ask them about it.” So she went to Duty Free (didn’t find anything) and the gate (no agent) and came back.

So I walked down to the Departure screen to see it for myself (this is the point at which they added the “Go to Gate C12 for information”). OK, so it still says 10:30 AM. Hmmm, a mere 12 hours, and 45 minutes later. I’ll just go ask the nice agent at C12 if that is correct – they probably have a sign up behind the counter that says the 10:30 PM.

Or not.

And the friendly gate agent? Apparently she doesn’t work there anymore. In the nastiest tone I’ve ever heard – the one that people in charge of customer service for a major corporation would cringe at – she is nastily telling about 5 people when I walk up “I don’t know anything, it’s news to me, let me find something out so I can help you.” I figure I could sit here and wait for Ms Nasty (not Janet Jackson) or I could walk down to C22 where the Customer Service counter is and probably get better information and answers. Only the line there goes all the way back to C12, so that was a bad idea. Back at C12, she is now telling the 5 people in front of me “The plane has some mechanical problems, and we have to fix it before we can leave. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to have it ready to go until 10:30 tomorrow morning. Now if you are from the area, we ask that you return home. If not, we will try to put you up in a hotel.”

OK…. What if I am sort of no longer from the area as of now?

Anyway, I walk back to C1 where my family is doing their best to entertain themselves with hopes that I will come back and put their minds to rest. Or not. So I get there, pass on the interesting news, and we head back to C12 to stand in line for hotel rooms. You know, with 5 people it shouldn’t take long. Of course, that was 10 minutes ago, and now everyone sitting at C5 has figured out they need to be in C12, and they’ve all gotten in line. So now I have like 25 people in front of me, and Ms Nasty is not really helping people all that much. After ascending to Dante’s next plane of hell (no pun intended – oh, who am I kidding – it was intended), we finally get the hotel room – Holiday Inn Dulles, not a bad place – and by this time all the kids are asleep. So we realize now that if we were boarding now like we were supposed to at 9 PM, the kids would’ve slept through take off. Nice.

So we are waiting for the hotel shuttle van thing outside in the crisp (!?!) Spring air, along with all the other passengers going to BA (oh, by the way, we got the last room in the Holiday Inn Dulles – everyone after us had to go to Leesburg – and there were a LOT of people after us – like maybe 50…). Eventually it shows, and Ana and Sof jump right on, I carry Isa on (we are the first three) and the driver looks at me with a stroller and says “That stroller has to go in the back.” “OK….” “There are going to be a lot of people on this van….” (the tone of his voice insinuating that for some reason I would not want to ride this van because of that. So I said “Well, I guess I could walk to the hotel…” He got off his lazy ass at that point to go open the trunk for me. Sure enough, I get back on and have to stand in the aisle. Until he says “This van is going to Dulles – is anyone going to Leesburg?” When half a dozen Argentines in broken English realize they are on the wrong bus. And I get to sit next to Ana! Woohoo! God bless DC’s confusing suburbia!

Long line to check in at the hotel, of course, and eventually we make it to bed. At midnight. For those of you keeping score at home, we would’ve been halfway through our first inflight movie with two sleeping children and dinner consumed had we been in the air. Instead we are sleeping in a hotel room that is cold and has that musty hotel room air. Oh, but we have useless United vouchers for dinner – useless because the restaurant closed when we checked in. And we were too hungry to eat. And, oh by the way, sleeping.

Morning comes, no time for a shower, and no bags to change our clothes, and off to quick breakfast and the airport. Quick check-in – this time without 6 bags to check because they kept the checked luggage – and back through security. Again. Go to the gate (ironically, C1), board the plane and finally, we are off to Buenos Aires.

Now originally, we thought an overnight flight is perfect for two young children because they will be so tired that once you get over the hump of having small kids insanely tired they will crash and sleep through the night on the plane. The thought of departing at 1030 AM and arriving 10 hours later was a bit, well, unpleasant. But I have to admit, our little angels were quite entertaining throughout the flight. And we sat next to a woman travelling alone with her boy the same age as Sof, and she definitely made it look like we had the best kids in the world (not that her kid was bad, but she had her hands full at times). Plus, there is something about the comraderie of parents going through the same thing that makes it seem not so bad at times. Unless it's one of those parents who are so preoccupied with their 3 year old getting into Harvard or winning Wimbledon. Then, you just thank God your child won't have to spend as much money on therapy.

So wait, where was I? Or rather, where were we? Oh right - angels. So the angels and I arrive at Buenos Aires, sans incident. At this point, Ana and I are practically high fiving at how we have surpassed all the trauma of moving to Argentina. It's all downhill from here. Just go through immigration, get our bags, go through customs, back to the apartment, and start living the life of a porteno family. (For those of you not in the know, a porteno is a person from Buenos Aires. For those of you in the know, can someone tell me how to type an n with the squirrely thing above it?)

So we get off the plane with two kids, four carry-on bags, and get the stroller. Go to immigration, expecting at least some interesting questions about our newly attained permanent residency, and the guy laboriously goes through all our papers and after like 10 minutes of Isa patiently waiting and Sof just looking at Mama with those big blue eyes, he says "Buenos noches." Y vamos - just get our bags and go through customs. No problema.

Would've been nice if they had our bags. You know, I worked for US Airways - where the employees all know you never check your bags, but we had 6 40 lbs bags, so we had to check them. I figured hey - what are the odds they'd lose all of our bags? And even if they lost one, we'd still have a 1:6 chance that they'd lose the one really important bag.

Apparently, we hit the Dante's planes of hell lottery. They lost all 6 bags. Again, big props go to the princesses who patiently waited while mama and daddy had diverse reactions to the apparent loss of all of our earthly belongings. (Well, all if you exclude all those ones we have in North America.... And in our four carry-on bags....) Mama had the appropriate reaction - stay rational, be appropriately upset, handle it by taking it out on the airline employee who kindly tells her they believe the bags are in DC and will arrive tomorrow morning.

I, however, know better. I worked for an airline. I know for certain that our bags are on the original plane, which was fixed and diverted to another route, while our plane was borrowed from some other route. So our bags are now in Oslo. Where the plane will then go some place else, so they have to route them on another plane to get them to.... Dante's fourth plane of hell - the one where all lost baggage goes. Through my short life, I have learned something though. Keep my stupid mouth shut when I conject these ideas, because I don't really know that I will never see my bags again, it's just an idea. And if I plant the seeds of discontent in anyone else's minds (ie Ana's) then discontent will sprout up and cause great, well, discontent. So I take the approach that I have discovered works best for me.

I laugh it off. We walk out of Customs (which goes unbelievably smoothly because in Argentina, they actually have some sympathy and know enough to say that the passengers walking through Customs at midnight when they were supposed to have arrived 15 hours ago, and they have 2 kids, and they have no bags, there really is no reason to ask them if they have anything to declare. Well, anything to declare regarding physical property they are actually bringing into the country, as opposed to physical property they would like to be bringing into the country....) So we walk out of Customs and into the arms of our waiting cousin and aunt. Where we all have a great big laugh over how we arrived 15 hours late with 6 fewer bags than we started.

Every now and then - about as frequently as you pass a pill-box (another story for another time), I would chuckle softly having ascended to a new plane of Dante's Hell. And my happy thought was how big the check would be from United for replacing all our stuff. Especially my wetsuits - 'cuz I just bought a brand new wetsuit for surfing in Argentina, and I packed three, so if they lost three I would get to buy three more new ones, and the new Quicksilver wetsuits are sooooo sweet..... So we are driving to our new home (well, Tito and Nechy's home, but our long-term house guest home) with my delusional thoughts about our pending shopping spree.

But in the mean time, we have no clothes, no diapers, no wipes, no shampoo, no soap, no deodorant, and very little formula.

Home (or long-term house guest home) at last, we bleary-eyed make our entrance (which with only 2 children, four carry-on bags, and a stroller is far easier than if we also had 6 40 lbs bags), go up the elevator, and go to bed. Good night Isa. Good night Sof. Good night room. Good night moon. Good night stinky clothes I have been wearing for three days. Good night beautiful wife who hasn't said anything about the fact that I haven't showered since I don't remember.

Good night, Good Airs.*

*Buenos Aires, in case you don't know, translates to "the Good Airs" - which is another story for another day....