03 June 2005 05:54
i arrived around eleven, bouncing along like normal. i wrapped things up, signed off the fuel reciept, said goodbye to the guys--then wondered where on earth my taxi driver had wandered off too.san juan is a fairly nice albeit abandoned airport. a good government project, it was oddly enough placed in one of the more weather-prone spots in the area. built in the late seventies, it is home to none save a scant few general aviation aircraft. all the commercial airlines make themselves comfortable at the military airport ten miles down the valley (and two thousand feel lower in altitude). (Besides being ten miles closer to town, the extra two thouand feet means the military airport is rarely closed, while san juan spends a significant number of its mornings bathed in fog. very pretty, but not very conducive to punctual departures).
they keep the place up though, but more on that later.
so i wandered into the hangar, trying to get into the office. the security guard didn't have a key to the hallway, so my office key was definately on this side of useless. "llave" not being in my vocabulary at the time, it made this conversation with the guard somewhat more difficult, but the point was still fairly clear. my options at this point being few (breaking in was one of them, but dressed in slacks as i was, i wasn't really all that keyed up about climbing in past the central air vent and down through the suspended ceiling). but choosing one of my other few options, i decided to make a dash for the comandancia. i dashed about as far as a the security shack out by the gate. "dashing" is probably a bit of a misnomer, since i was walking across the tarmac in the hot sunshine in a uniform while trying to look as nochalant as possible. (at least "dashing" the verb does not apply, but i will neither deny nor confirm whether "dashing" as an adjective applied >) ).
upon reaching the civilian guard shack, he directed me back to the military barracks in seach of a telefono. i would have rathered have continued, but he was being kind, so i turned around and "dashed" back. the military guard was sitting behind the sandbags with his sock-feet up on a bench listening to the radio. i asked to use the telephone, which required him to ask his superior, which first required extracting him from his office deeper in the building, only to recieve a nod "sure, whatever". i had my suspicions about the effectivity of the phone, which quickly proved valid. i was thinking it was local use only, but it turned out it wasn't even able to call off the airport, effectively ruling out calling my taxi driver. i tried calling the tower instead, but even that didn't work. possibilities exhuasted, i "dashed" to rejoin my luggage standing by the civilian guard.
reaching it with the dignity becoming a gentleman and a scholar of my status (which being very low fortunately requires very little dignity), i was pleasantly surprised to see Javier, our taxi driver, careening up to the gate.
fastforward one week.
this time i stood eyeing the central air vent for only about one third the time of my previous visit, although this time i clambered up on the table below it to eye it closer. then i skipped the stammering conversation with the civilian guard, waved to the military guard, and "dashed" up the hill towards the comandancia. once out of site of everybody, i quit with the dashing nonsense and fell to merely wishing i was wearing decent clothing instead of a uniform. it was about a quarter mile walk and quite enjoyable. especially after sitting in an airplane for six hours. i took my carry-on off roading for the first time and am pleased to report that it handled the terrain (a rough lawn) fairly well, in spite of being severely overloaded (i had three week's worth of laundry in it instead of just one).
fortunately for me, the commandante was rather well-versed in english, or well-versed enough for us to get our respective points across with minimal misunderstanding. point A, i needed to call my taxi driver. point B, his number was a celluar one, and the commandancia only had a line for calling land-based telephones. go figure. so i called enrique, or rather, the comandante called enrique, enrique called javier, javier kicked his passengers out the door and headed over to pick me up. i meanwhle had thirty minutes to kill so i sauntered out into the parking lot to kill it.
when i walked onto the lot, i was sharing it with one pickup in the far corner. by the time i reached the middle, i had it all to my lonesome. i took a few pictures of the surroundings, then bemused myself by taking a few pictures of me sitting in the shade of one of the potted trees drinking a pepsi imported from jamaica (give me a camera, and i'm fairly easily bemused/amused). the time passed by quickly while i quietly surveyed the extremely empty, but very nicely kept grounds. with no commecial traffic (except on the two or three times a year occasion when terran is closed and san juan is open), san juan has all the apperance of a ghost town (er, airport). it's probably safe to say, "taxpayer dollars at work".
fastforward one week.
this time javier showed up and the fuel truck didn't ... go figure.
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