My wake-up call comes at 4:48. I'm having a verrrry strange dream. It has to do with a basement that's divided (by stone walls) into three room/stall like areas. It was really interesting at the time. I took notes and even drew a picture. It had something to do with where you sleep. The first year you sleep in one section. If you're "good" (whatever that is) then you go to the House of Representatives then, if you're good the second year, you move on to the Senate. There was also someone scrambling around on the floor like a monkey. I asked someone who he was and they responded "That's a Senator". Whatever - analyze it yourself. (I actually have a theory along these lines but it isn't relevant here. Perhaps I'll get into that when I publish my previously mentioned "Bazooka Method of Traffic Control")

I'm out on the streets at 5:30 AM looking for a taxi. Not a car in sight. I optimistically head off to the taxi stand, which I had previously located. There's taxi there. The driver asks me if I'm going to the airport. I agree to L50 too easily. I'm just happy that there's a taxi here and he has no competition. He wants to talk on the way but I can't take part. There's little traffic and we're at the airport quickly. We arrive behind a U.S. Govt. van. My driver does not have change for a L100 note and goes to get it broken. There's something to remember for the next trip.

Inside I get in the line for Taca. There's some little kid giving out bag tickets. He seems to be serving in some official capacity. I keep my eye on him. It turns out that he's moving the bags using "his" tags from the line to the counter. It's about a 6 foot move. Then he expects a tip.

I get in line behind a group that reminds me of Mission Impossible - I name them: Sarge, Killer, Tex, Sparks, Dougie, and Legs. I suspect that they're in the military. They've got the haircuts, the attitude, and the luggage. No, not duffel bags but there's just something about the whole set-up that smells like the military. It's 6:00 AM. The electricity goes off. I mean in the entire terminal all electricity is off. You can hear their generators start up behind the walls. In about 5 seconds about 10 percent of the lights are back on. Perhaps more importantly, the computers used for tickets/reservations etc. are back on-line. We're checked in quickly then move over to the customs area. There's no electricity for the x-ray machine and they check passports by candlelight. "Killer" stiffs the little kid. We move on up the stairs to the departure lounge.

There's no electricity for the shops and no coffee anywhere. For entertainment I watch the "Mission Impossible" group. "Sarge" is the grizzled old-timer in charge. Looks like the guy who played John Glenn in "The Right Stuff". He sits down and keeps an eye on their luggage. "Killer" is an average to short red-headed, muscular guy who probably uncaps beer bottles with his ears. "Tex" is a big gangly guy who smiles a lot more than the rest of them. He seems a little goofy. "Dougie" is kind of a blond guy who always looks like he's trying to find a present for his mother. "Sparks" is a black guy, studious looking with wire-rimmed glasses. "Legs" is the female of the group; nice looking with shorts, athletic legs and tattoos on both calves and halfway up one thigh. "Dougie" is bouncing around making friends with everyone in the terminal. We wait for the flight. I’m tempted to try to take their picture. I resist.

There's never an announcement in English. Fortunately we're the only flight heading out so there's no confusion. There's a slight delay after we board the plane. I hear "Sarge" addressed as "Sir" by both "Killer" and "Legs".

The entourage. A couple of high-ranking officers and some expensive suits. Another of my "Brushes with greatness".

It seems there's some official type person who's late. I see a group approaching the plane on foot. It looks like a typical inspection/tour group. There's a few heavy guys out front in suits, a high ranking officer or two, and the usual group of hangers-on. A few of them board the plane. About 6 suits. They sit in the two rows in front of me. The guy in the middle of the front row stands up to take his coat off. I recognize him from his picture. It's the President of Honduras. As soon as he turns around the two suits next to me start schmoozing. They stand up. Hand shakes and hugs all around. He doesn't hug me. He doesn't shake my hand. I don't think that he realizes who I am. Oh well, maybe next time.

He gets off in El Salvador. I remain impressed by the El Salvador airport. There's not enough time for a tour of the place. Also not enough time to track down the place that has my watch for sale. My experience tells me that the announcement may not be in English and may not occur at all. I hang around and keep my eyes on the attendants and passengers. There are a few passengers in the terminal that are eminently eye-keep-on-able. They aren't on my flight though.

The flight to Houston in uneventful. Now for the real test: will my car start after sitting for a week. YES! Yes, my car starts.. I stop at Spec's downtown for a pound of espresso. I've really gotten to like their house espresso. I need it in preparation for work tomorrow.

Home at last! I go to bed early to get some rest. Ahhh - a firm bed. I lay back and relax. As I drift off a mosquito buzzes through the darkness.