Comalapa International Airport is now officially called Monseñor Óscar Arnulfo Romero International Airport. Flying into it can take you on a huge turn out and over the sea to approach the runway in the correct direction. The airport staff are lovely and take their job very seriously.
Leaving from the Airport to fly home was an experience not easily forgotten. Perhaps it was just a bad day for everyone.
Our son got us there on time and saw us safely through check-in where they take your bags to the hold. This involves a 'bags and feet' search. Why one needs to take off one's shoes remains a mystery, especially since it happened frequently on this exit trip. One's toes remain the same length throughout, nothing changes.
So. We had at least two more 'bags and feet' searches before we arrived at the scanners. Even though we had confessed all our airport sins at this point, they did not like either my husband's green book bag or the camera case. The airport was really crowded and my husband likes notebooks with wire spiral bindings. He packs these into every pocket and then pats all his pockets to find them at each search.
We snorkelled off to the regurgitating table where the lady with the glove went through everything, finding the used stick of shaving soap the most suspicious item of all. On the suggestion that she break it in half, she finally satisfied herself be confiscating his penknife, parting him from a lifelong companion, almost.
Having exhausted us emotionally, we snorkelled some more, this time to the duty free area where we bought body cream. Having always wanted to buy something from thr duty free area, it is no longer a desire. It was not a good idea. One can only reach the duty free once one's main luggage has been dispatched leaving hand luggage as thr only permissable item.
The next stop was the gate check-in. More regurgitating and more husband's feet checks. (They seemed not to ne concerned by my feet).
My guy though was thrown off balance by the duty free. He read and re-read the receipt, but try as he might, it kept saying the same thing. An English speaking guard joined us. The issue was that the cream could not be taken onto the plane in the hand luggage. Can anyone see the oddness of this?
There was more to come. The seating area in Gate 9 is cordoned off with a rope. Got that? With a rope, singular. Those inside the rope area must not talk to those outside the rope area, so a guard with a walkie talkie informs you.
If you leave the rope area to go to the toilet or buy a drink, you have to be body searched to get back in. The two of us shared a coke which meant I was body searched to get out and having had my share, was body searrched to get back in. Same with my husband but while he was outside the rope area, they
began boarding our flight. I was with the luggage so my husband made his way back first going through two more regurgitating of body but not feet. This time the searcher did not like my husband's eye drops or the two tiny inoffensive underarms. (What do they do with this confiscated stuff?)
Why did we share the coke? Mostly to help pass the time.
Next, the intercom wishfully asked for my husband's upstairs presence. We never found out why because the security guard told us to ignore it and board the plane to leave the airport, which we did though slightly lighter than our arrival.
No doubt there are good reasons behind all airport security though.
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