TWO SHOTS AND A NARROW ESCAPE TO SOUTH AMERICA
MIAMI "Hey, you found your lost suitcase," the TSA officer observes.
"Yes," I beam.
"So what are you doing now?" He's curious why I'm loitering on Concourse B of Miami International Airport. Because terrorists routinely await orders from Osama smack in front of a security station...
"I need bag tags. Someone's bringing them."
"Good luck," he says, striding away and chuckling audibly.
Turns out I'm at the wrong Starbucks. (Maybe that's the curse of the Americas, rather than pan-pipe music?)
Nonetheless, the airline still locates me and my bag, then hustles us aboard the Colombia-bound plane, all in 40 minutes before takeoff. Impressive.
And so, I'm headed for Medellin, once epicenter of Pablo Escobar's cartel, now famous for flowers and fine women.