Worst Airport Evah!

So I land in Miami, not too excited to be back at this airport. After a long taxi we stop. After waiting several minutes the captain informs us that we are just waiting for a plane to taxi out of the way so we can get into our gate. We wait more. Then the captain tells us that the plane we are waiting for needs to be towed out, and they are waiting for a tow to come and get it. Waiting, waiting, waiting, 35 minutes after touchdown we are able to taxi to our gate.

Welcome to Miami, I knew you would be good to me!

As I am trying to make my way to immigration there are two women who work for the airport pushing two men in wheelchairs, walking side by side, chatting and taking their time. No one can pass them because they are walking side by side. Finally a way around in sight! One of those speed walker things, but in Miami I guess they move a little slower, the thing was packed, people we walking slow and the thing seemed to be moving slow. Now the ladies pushing the wheelchairs are moving faster than us! So still stuck behind the wheelchairs by the time I get off!

Luckily the lines at immigration are not too long. I get up to the stand and the border patrol officer has a low, raspy voice, kinda like Moto Moto, the hippo in Madagascar 2, but not sexy at all.

BP Officer: "So you live in Managua?"
Me: "Yes"
BP Officer: "What would you do there?"
Me: "I am a teacher"
BP Officer: "What do you teach?"
Me: "Social Studies"
BP Officer: "Oh so you speak Spanish?"
Me: "Yes, but I teach in English"
BP Officer: "Oh so you speak English?"
Me: "Ummm...yesss"
BP Officer: "So you were born in Hawaii?"
Me: "Yes"
BP Officer: "How was that?"
Me: "Goood??"

I have never been asked about being born in Hawaii, ever, until I came through Miami. Last month when I came in through Miami they were questioning me about that too. He asked, if my middle name is Hawaiian? And then did I know what my middle name means? And then he asked me, "ok, what does it mean?" He then told me he used to live in Hawaii. It was a strange conversation, come to think of it maybe it was the same officer....

Anyway, it was kinda fun looking around when going through customs, there were all sorts of people getting searched and questioned and taken into back rooms and waiting in strange unmarked lines, I feel like I don’t see that anywhere else. So that part was exciting!

I make it through immigration and got my luggage and dropped it off, which was much better then when I did this a month ago and the place to drop off my luggage was just two people standing in a corridor with a sign saying drop luggage here. I felt lucky when my suitcase made it to Toronto, I had walked away thinking I was tricked into giving random people my luggage.

Unlike my last visit, there was actually a screen to check my gate. And the security entrance and terminal were clearly marked! Yes! Except for the 35 minute tarmac delay and the weird immigration encounter, this may not be so bad!

So walking to my gate, D57. Wow, it is far, all the way at the end of the D concourse, took me a good 15 minutes to get there, well kinda, so I get to D55 and then there is a sign to go down the stairs to D60, I think maybe D56-60 are all down there, but no, it is just D60, but with several gates, going to different places.

Confuse me!

So I go back upstairs and confirm that several destinations are flying out of one gate D60 and so where is my gate, D57? Yes it is D57. But it just skips D56-59. So I retrace my steps and go back to see if there was some strange turn or arrow, or up or down stairs area to these mysterious gates. Nope. Again feeling lost in the retched airport! I look at their nearest screen, Boston D8. What...D8? Desde cuando? I checked like 3 times and it was D57. And certainly I couldn’t have confused an 8 for a 57, maybe 51 or 75, but not 8!

Alright, so I guess I am going to have to walk all the way back down this looong-ass concourse. Only the terminal didn’t start with D1, so in order to get to D8, I have to walk upstairs and board the freaking sky train in order to get there! As I board the sky train I hear a familiar accent and see some big Irish boys wearing old-school Patriots hats and I know I must be on the right track.

So, to recap: my plane landed at 11:40am, and I arrive at my gate at 2:30pm. So much for getting lots of paper correcting done! Thank god I didn’t have a close connection! And as I sit here at the gate, every other announcement is a gate change. Way to be Miami airport, living up to your sucky reputation like nobody’s business.

Addendum: After I wrote this and boarded the plane, my flight got delayed an hour and a half (ok not the airport's fault). The guy next to me is on the phone going on about how much Miami airport sucks, and how there has got to be a better way to get into and out of Florida, and how he must have walked over a mile in the airport! I feel you buddy! You were looking for D57 too, huh?!