Gus is here!!!!

Who's gus? Some of you know. If you don't, you can just look here...

After 3 and half weeks of waiting, Gus finally boarded a plane (well, sort of) on Tuesday and made the journey that the rest of us made on the 15th of August. Gus's journey was much different than ours, however, as he had an overnight "layover" in Atlanta. While there, he was shuttled over to Dandie Kennels, where he was fed, given water, and walked a little. Then, on Wednesday, he was packed back in his crate, shuttled back to the airport, and put on a plane to Santo Domingo. Lindsay and I were very nervous about his trip and how he would handle it, so the days leading up to and the days of his travel were a little uneasy for us. And, as seemingly every story here in the DR seems to be, our journey to get Gus was plenty eventful.

It all started in Chicago when Al dropped off Gus at Delta Cargo. After a lengthy "discussion" about paperwork and such (I will save the details of the "discussion" between Al and the cargo personnel, but let's just let the quotes around discussion speak for themselves), Gus was put in his crate, only to have his flight to Atlanta cancelled. Luckily, there was a flight only a couple of hours later, and he made it to Atlanta that evening. Minor setback, but nothing major.

Lindsay and I started checking his status for his ATL-SDQ flight early on Wednesday, and had a little trouble confirming that he was on the flight. Since his crate, and consequently Gus, were treated as cargo, he had an assigned airbill number which received scans at just about every point on the journey. Well, all but one. After a little "discussion" with the Delta cargo people, again, we were able to confirm, by means that I was not totally confident in, that Gus was in fact on his way to Santo Domingo. So off to the capital we went. Sort of.

Lindsay and I had never been to the capital. Well, Lindsay was probably 18 or 19 the last time she was there, and would never have really known anything about getting around or such. So, that, added with the fact that customs in this country and culture don't really work like customs in the US, we asked Lowell to come along with us to help us get to the airport and to help us with the spanish and with the customs "issues" that seem to come up here.

We left about 3 hours before his arrival, only to drive into what could only be described as a monsoon. Actually, it probably was more accurately described as the remnant low of Tropical Storm Gaston. Let me tell you something: If what we drove in was only the last little remnant of a tropical storm, then I take back my earlier post about wanting to live through a hurricane. I have never in my life seen it rain like that. It was raining so hard that even with wipers going and driving at almost idle speed, it was nearly impossible to see. The only noticeable difference between that and what you see on TV is that there was very little wind. But... the ability to see wasn't the only issue this brought.

Part of the reason that we left from Jarabocoa when we did was because at that time of day, "siesta", Lowell said that there would most likely be very little traffic. I agreed, not knowing any better. However, when it rains like that, the water has to go somewhere. Even in the US or other developed nations, this kind of rain would have been a problem. In this country, it was a huge problem. The main roads here, called Autopistas, are usually decent for traveling. While certainly not like modern interstates in the US, they aren't terrible. But sometimes things like a lot of water cause problems. In this case, almost an entire section of road having to pass huge pools of water on the shoulder. Put enough of those around town, and you have a huge mess of traffic. Which is what we were in.

Now, driving here is a different thing also. Mainly because of this: What rules they do have, they are really more like guidelines, maybe even closer to suggestions. Why do I bring this up now? Because the painted lines on the roads really make little difference to Dominicans. Again, typically, not a huge deal, during gridlock, now you have what used to be 3 lanes of traffic turning in 30, which are all trying to squeeze through on the shoulder because of enormous lakes of water just sitting on the roadways.

So, needless to say, we were a little late.

And this is where the story gets really Dominican.

After arriving at the security gate at the cargo portion of the airport, and really, I use that term loosely also, as just about anyone from US security would have a heart attack upon seeing this place, we were escorted to a parking spot where Lowell then went in to sign some papers. We waited for a while, then were able to park, and go in beyond the next "gate", which led to the cargo buildings. Now, in the US, usually these building are in sections and you can drive to a point and the be escorted past. Not here. Here, you are escorted. On foot. A long way. I mean, a REALLY long way. After walking who knows how far, we finally found the "Delta" cargo facility. I use that term also very loosely, as this was some other company, in the furthest building away, that contracts for Delta Cargo. After paying their "fee", which nobody at Delta ever mentioned in the 400 phone calls I had made to them prior to Gus's trip, Lindsay, Lowell, and I were able to get Gus from his crate and the reunion began. He looked a little weary and freaked out when we first saw him, but once Lindsay was able to get him out and hug him and walk him around, he perked right up and back into our Gus.

Now, there are some rules in this country about bringing dogs in and having to bring specific paperwork with the pet. We went thru all of that prior to leaving, and then Al was able to do the legwork at the vet on the day Gus left, so that everything would be in order. How naive I am sometimes, and how I just assumed that we would walk into a Delta cargo facilty, sign a paper, grab our dog, and head out. Oh no no no, not in this country.

Here is a picture of us walking an even further route back to a different set of buildings, where we thought the pet inspector was going to be.


So, after walking what could only be described as "forever", we somehow arrived back at our car. We were then informed that one of our new escorts was somehow, and I never really got to the bottom of this one, invloved with the inspectors office. Now, here is another cultural thing about this place: Nothing, I mean nothing, happens fast here. Nada, zilch, zero. So this guys tells us that we can do one of two things. First, we can continue past where we are, try to locate the inspector himself, who may or may not be there, and may or may not be coming back today, OR we can just pay him the "fee" for the inspector, put ourselves in the car and pull out of the security gate, basically ending the whole thing. Knowing that the "inspector" path was going to be on dominican time, which is not governed by clocks, respect for others, or effeciency, we had a decision to make.

I don't know which one you would have chosen, but it took me longer to grab the money from my wallet than it did to make the decision, if that tells you anything. So, a few thank yous and one trip to get our ID's later, and we were on the road back towards Jarabacoa.

It was quite a day for us and for Gus. Lindsay was visibly relieved once we got in the car, having a look of solitude for the first time in days. The drive back wasn't nearly as exhausting as the drive to the airport, but I was pretty weary by the time we got back. Lowell and I had a nice talk, while Lindsay enjoyed the ride and her new company. Gus, well, his ride back probably wraps up the ending to this story the best. He didn't look out the windows barking or checking out his new life. As a matter of fact, he didn't do anything. He layed on Lindsay's lap and took a two hour nap, exhausted from what, is now, his first of many Dominican experiences.