I should have had an inkling things were starting strangely when the guy in front of me at the check-in queue turned around and stared me in the face.

I gave a little smile, out of politeness - what's the normal reaction in those circumstances? He probably thought he was being all smouldering and sexy - sleazy git!

I was on my way to Buenos Aires, via Miami, and travelling alone. Being the gateway to South America, flights to Miami are full of Latinos. Having been in a relationship with El Gordo for years means I'm well used to them, so El Sleazo wasn't bothering me that much...until we were on board and he kept sauntering past my seat and winking at me - yuk! Did he think I was going to follow him to the tiny toilet and join the Mile High Club? He's watched one-too-many adult movies, methinks!

I turned my attention to the dapper gentleman sitting next to me. He was in a suit and tie, originally from Cuba he informed me. He should probably have opted for the ubiquitous tracksuit as traveling attire, because his trousers were apparently proving a bit uncomfortable after lunch - the belt was off and the zipper open as soon as the trays were cleared!!

I was beginning to think someone had spiked my Chanel perfume with pheromones! The worst thing was, he was about 70, had recently been widowed, and was on his way back from scattering his wife's ashes!! Well, at least that's what I thought he'd said, although I was half-afraid that at any moment he'd produce an urn from his hand luggage and introduce me to ‘Maria'!

I had a feeling it was going to be a long flight....old airplane, lousy inflight movies and wide-bodied stewardesses to match the wide-bodied aircraft. It was an airline from the USA, not renowned for their service. The crew looked like they'd all be returning to their trailer park when they got off duty! There was Patty, in her 50s, with hair dyed a red colour that hasn't been used since ‘I Love Lucy' went off the air, pink blusher, blue eye-shadow and a look that could reduce a man to tears if he asked for extra ice in his drink. Then Hank who looked like he was on parole, skinny with lank hair, and was that a prison tattoo on his knuckles? We also had the delightful Joanne, a ditzy blonde with a voice so squeaky she could have done voiceovers for cartoons and a lapel full of premature ‘Happy holidays!' badges and mini Christmas trees complete with lights. And last, but not least, also gracing the Economy cabin was Roger, who looked like a 70's porn star, complete with moustache and coiffed, highlighted hair. None of them were on the right side of 40 and they could have been in an ad to encourage kids to stay on at school and get some qualifications...'cos this is what you'll end up as if you don't!

I was getting a bit stir-crazy and beginning to think we'd never get to the U.S. when the captain finally announced that we were beginning our descent into Miami International Airport. As we landed I wished the elderly Cuban all the best and scurried off to immigration, hoping to avoid El Sleazo on the way.

It was the first time I'd been photographed and fingerprinted at U.S. immigration - all quite intimidating. However, it was a walk in the park compared to what happened next! The chunky, monotone but not unattractive immigration ‘awficer' hummed and hawed and then called over a supervisor. They mumbled back 'n' forth and then decided further action was needed, and to my horror I was escorted to a holding area! The door was locked behind us, my passport was taken and I was told I couldn't use any mobile ‘phone or laptop, nor could I have access to a public ‘phone. I was wondering what on earth could have shown up to have them worried?...had I inadvertently opened a link to some subversive website? Had I not paid my taxes? Had I walked on the grass in a ‘Please Stay off the Grass' park? I had concluded I must have worn white shoes after Labour Day, and waited for them to realize their silly mistake and apologise. However, as the Al Akbars and Sanchezs were called forward, there were no Irish names called out. There were rows and rows of subdued people, every now and again someone would get angry and shout about how outrageous it was (OK, my Arabic is a bit rusty but I got the gist...).

Eventually they called me to the desk, asked me my date of birth, and my height and weight..I mean, please! How to push a girl on the verge of a nervous breakdown over the edge! Were they using wireless lie detectors? Should I risk it?!? I replied (with reasonable accuracy and my most engaging smile) and inquired as to how long I could expect to have to wait. A polite but firm ‘No idea' was the answer, so I returned to my seat, with a room full of dark eyes watching me.

Have you ever realised how many countries in the world are full of brown-eyed people? I imagine they would normally have been jealous of my baby-blues, but right now we were all in the same boat....crikey! Were they going to send us home in a boat?!?! I was beginning to regret having drunk all that water on board the flight as my bladder came under pressure.

Every now and again the door would open and some more ‘threats to the Homeland' were ushered inside, followed by some airline baggage agents asking if anyone was due to fly onwards with American Airlines, United, Continental, etc. Basically they were going to get your bags off their flight, implying that you, my friend, weren't going anywhere!!

After three agonizing hours (I hadn't the nerve to ask for the loo!), I was called again and told I was free to go. They couldn't tell me why I had been flagged up, and couldn't guarantee it wouldn't happen again the next time I entered the U.S., so with an insincere "Y'all have a good day now!" I was being turned loose. By this stage I was really bursting so had to ask for the bathroom but soon wished I hadn't - for security reasons there were no doors on the cubicles, no seats, no windows (obviously!) and large metal rings where you could be handcuffed to the wall while you sat on the loo! I didn't hang around, grabbed my hand-luggage and headed for the door. As I stood clutching my duty-free vodka waiting to be buzzed out, I was tempted to turn to my comrades in arms and give a Che Guevara-esque salute, but I felt a bit guilty and couldn't look them in the (brown) eye, so I just hurried off to take the shuttle bus to the Intercontinental Hotel, slightly more Evita than Che!

To be continued...