We checked things out in the airport to get our bearings, and then walked up to the third floor. There was a TGI Friday's, a Subway, and a Church's Chicken up there. We hadn't eaten in a while, so we sat down at Friday's and had some beers and appetizers. The restaurant was decorated like any Friday's around the world, with bullshit "Americana" junk hanging around the bar. It was big and open and it overlooked the arrivals area down on the second floor.

My flight was early in the morning, around 6:30, while Andre's was in the afternoon. We had time to kill, and with luck we would get some sleep. We weren't sure what the scene would be like later in the night, but everything we had read indicated that the Caracas airport was a seedy place.

There was a Heinekin sign up at the bar, so my hopes were raised of getting something other than Polar. No luck, however; the sign was just bullshit Americana (from Holland). So we ordered some Polar Ice and some buffalo wings and chicken tenders.

It must have been around 10:00 PM when they started closing up shop, putting chairs on tables. We looked around and people were setting up camp in the booths in the other half of the third floor, which was set up more like a food court commons. We got up and scoped out more of the airport before finally settling at a plastic booth by the Subway. As the hours passed, cleaning crews came and went, fresh arrivals entered through gates below, and travelers milled about or slept in chairs. My anxiety about staying in the airport faded as I got to know the faces and the layout around me. It started to feel like a day at the state fair.

We tried to sleep on the hard plastic booth seats using our luggage as pillows, but I couldn't get comfortable enough to fall asleep. In the arrivals area below, there was a big family with some teen girls who had noisemakers and signs welcoming their relative, Manuel. There must have been some false alarms of his arrival because a few times they would all erupt into cheering and making noise. After a while I gave up on sleeping and tried to entertain myself by reading, watching people, or eating odd Venezuelan snacks from the vending machines.

Time was dragging by, but around 1:00 or 2:00 AM Manuel finally arrived through the gate. As his family and friends were hugging and cheering him below, I stood up and started yelling, "hey, Manuel! Manuel!" He never looked up.

There were people moving about the airport all night. It never got unsafe, but it was always a bit bizarre. Over time, the faces that had become familiar to me would leave and new ones would take their places. It was like watching a time-lapsed movie of the cycle of a day. Someone would start out playing a game on a laptop, morph to a figure huddled under a blanket on a bench, and the get up and get his things together and leave. It was repeated many times over until finally it was my turn to leave.

We went down to the American Airlines check-in area at 4:00 AM. The line was at least an hour long. Andre and I said goodbye and he walked off to some other place to wait for his turn. After filling out forms and waiting in lines and being searched, I walked to the gate to wait for boarding. The airport was coming alive again, and the shops were opening and kids were playing. I was so thankful to be heading home.

Venezuela had worn me out. When I got off the plane in Miami, I thought to get down and kiss the ground. I didn't do it, but that is how it felt to be home. Life was comfortable and predictable again. Minneapolis was more of the same.