I suppose given that the Manaus airport has some rather silly departure times, the Ibis didn’t bat an eye at our 130am checkout. The city again smelled like it was on fire. It was a quick Uber ride to the terminal where we were just as quickly given seats together at the check-in counter for our Copa flight to Panamá City.
We were lucky enough to get another exit row with seats 17D and F, as well as stow our bags in the overhead so we wouldn’t have to go out and back in through security in Tocumen. Nevertheless, as we had miraculously drifted off to sleep during the first hour of flight, we were awakened by a very rude Texan (he announced it as people do), who without asking, decided the other exit row seat that was open in our row should belong to him. Nicole mentioned that he should probably ask the flight attendants since it’s 1) an exit row and 2) the airlines like to charge money for such things. He was taken aback by this and called us assholes. The flight attendants, unfortunately, were very passive on this very early morning flight and just let it happen. He said he was tall and needed the seat. I guess he must have been a foot shorter when he booked or checked in for the flight as this should have been dealt with then.
Tocumen International is one of Nicole’s least favorite airports, and for some reason, when flying in and out of there, we always seem to encounter really entitled white men from red states who say outlandish things and are (unsurprisingly) always traveling by themselves. We were unable to fall back asleep for the rest of the flight — hopped up by this MAGA POS who stood up before the plane had even parked, then hurried off the plane to go in the complete wrong direction. Very high intelligence obviously.
We eventually spilled out into Tocumen’s Terminal 1 and walked over to the newer Terminal 2, where the crowds thinned out only slightly. We tried to get into the Copa club, but people kept trying to buy day or hour passes which was taking up quite a bit of time. The line was out the door. We went to a different lounge and used the restrooms and had a little bit of food before having to head over to gate 217 and the insanity of the secondary screening for flights to the United States. For reasons that still defy logic, you are not allowed to bring bottles of water or any beverage onto the plane (even if you bought it after security). They also, however, don’t provide passengers with water except for the little Dixie cups during the beverage service so dehydration is inevitable. With middle seats in 29 E and 30 E for the next six hours, we were kind of over it.
And in some kind of twisted way, this flight seem to go faster. Even with both of us in an economy sandwich, our seatmates were relatively respectful of our space. We touched down (firmly) around noon pacific time and zipped on through global entry and into a taxi. Ike’s (a Cali sandwich chain) was delivered to our door shortly after we got out of the shower. As Nicole pointed out, Brazil doesn’t really do sandwiches for lunch. It’s all rice and beans and cassava or tapioca stuff. Our sandwiches hit the spot as did our Japanese iced tea. 78 degrees and clear skies meant we were back in the L.A. sweet spot of comfort.
And on that note, I really don’t think you all understand how sweltering the boats on the Amazon were. Our AC in L.A. doesn’t come on until it hits about 80 (much to the disappointment of our guests no doubt), and generally Nicole and I don’t mind the heat. But I suppose when you’re that close to the equator, it saps the life out of you a bit faster. Our goal is to get to 9pm before crashing. Reflections incoming.
