Monday, 31 March 2014

When passing through O'Hare

Several years ago I arrived at the ticket counter in the early hours of the morning, for an interview fly-out only to be told that, while the agent could see a reservation had been created, it hadn’t completely been processed and I was, therefore, not actually on the flight. For $900 we could all correct this matter and I’d be on my way. I could not reach anyone there to ask what happened and so  plunked down my credit card and hoped that my separation from $900 was only temporary. (It was. The hiring team was admittedly more than a shade embarrassed when I explained the issue to them later that morning.)

For the duration of my visit, wave after wave of ferocious storms swept across the Philadelphia metro area. The weather was no different when it came time to leave; not surprisingly the blue lights that signaled a full ground stop were in full view when the cab pulled to the curb. “You’re going to have a long night,” the cab driver told me, helpfully, before speeding off in a driving rain. Indeed. Naturally, however, it would be hours before the flight would be canceled. After waiting for an hour for the gate agent to rebook me on a flight the following morning, I was faced with the option of sleeping in the terminal or queueing for a room at the airport hotel. Obviously I opted for the latter, hoping again that my prospective employer would not honestly expect a job candidate to sleep in the terminal. (At the time I was correct; nearly a decade later, I’m not so sure that equation still holds true.) 

In the wee hours of the morning, on one of the first flights down the runway, I headed toward home, via O’Hare. Here I was met with a mechanical delay – one of the seats was broken and, although this was not a full flight, we could not board until the issue was resolved – followed by one of the inexplicable delays for which that airport is notorious. Settled into 1C the flight attendant facing me shrugged her shoulders and said, “You know what they say about this airport, don’t you?” I did not. “Time to spare, fly through O’Hare.” She smiled and opened her book.

Saturday, 29 March 2014

Northworst



For years my father dreamed of visiting Alaska. In 2004 he would finally realize this dream. Naturally, however, it would not be without more than a few glitches.

For starters, Northwest Airlines had absolutely no record of my ticket. The fact that my mom waved papers from the airline itself attesting to the reservation seemed to perplex the ticket counter agents rather than spur them to action. Eventually, time growing short, a seat was found. Unfortunately, we were only allowed to check in as far as Seattle, where we were told we would need to visit an airlines service center  to check in for our flight from Seattle to Fairbanks. Despite our misgivings about this highly unorthodox practice, our options quickly dwindled to 1) stay and argue or 2) actually make it to Seattle. 

We might have rather stayed to fight, for in Seattle the line was dozens deep: the airport was experiencing problems with their jet fuel lines and numerous flights had been cancelled; what wasn’t cancelled was delayed. Our flight was not cancelled, however, for we learned that it did not even exist. 

I have tried now for going on a decade to understand how we could have been ticketed on a non-existent flight, but occasionally the tangled webs of airline lies are too great for my mind to master. Mercifully, this snafu occurred in the days when airplanes were not normally filled to 112% capacity and the woman at the desk, probably the most helpful airline employee I have encountered to date, worked diligently to find four seats on the same flight. Granted, my sister and father would fly first class, while my mom and I jammed into the last row of coach immediately adjacent to the toilet, but we would sleep in the Great White North that night.

Except that the Great White North was experiencing a heat wave and the accompanying forest fires filled the air with an acrid, brown smoke. Our flight, in fact, consisted largely of fire fighters from the lower 48 states who were traveling north to battle the flames. Had he known this our captain might have worried less, but perhaps he did not, for the voice that addressed us as we descended into Fairbanks had more than a hit of nerves to it.

“I have an important announcement to make. You may be aware that Alaska is experiencing major forest fires right now. As we make our descent, this smoke may enter the cabin. Do not panic. The plane is not on fire, nor are we in any danger. I repeat, you may smell smoke in the cabin. Do not panic.”

On cue, the smell of smoke permeated the cabin. 

We may have made it to Alaska that night, but our bags did not. Or rather, my bag did not. Miraculously, the ground workers at Seattle found the completely mis-tagged bags that belonged to my sister and my father and routed them onto our flight. This was probably a minor act of heroism on their part, as the bags had been tagged in Detroit with both a wrong flight number and wrong destination (Anchorage). My bag, along with that of my mom, was nowhere to be found. As I griped to all who would listen - and I have learned over the years that nothing unites strangers like airline horror stories - one man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and said, "What can I say? That's why we call it Northworst." 

(Not, of course, that it was any worse than the others. Some days now I even miss it.)

Thursday, 27 March 2014

When in Cuba, Do As Cubans Do

And Cubans generally do a LOT of waiting. If it were an Olympic sport, they might sweep the medal stand. A 3:00pm charter to Miami? How's 6? 7? 8? When we were eventually wheels up at 11:30, everyone who'd ever been on the flight before was thrilled, but it's not often that it leaves before midnight. Two and three in the morning is not unheard of.

Not that you should expect any explanation, charter or no. Or food. The Jose Marti (HAV) airport is remarkably scarce of food. If you act quickly, a few of the most non-burger burgers you've experienced can be had, but if you delay, peanut M&Ms (yes, they sell those in Cuba, embargo or no) will be your lot. Or Pringles - you choose. Of course, after a week of waiting and delays and general confusion, I'm not really surprised. As my husband pointed out, every time we visit Latin America, I insist it will be the last, but we keep coming back. I've yet to detail those adventures you, though - you can look forward to that another time.

Monday, 24 March 2014

Welcome to Miami

The entire impetus of this blog is that I spend a lot of time in airports. Some, like Detroit and Denver, are really great. Others, like Atlanta, are entirely forgettable, but not overly objectionable. And then there is Miami. In my experience, Miami is 1) constantly under construction, 2) dingy, and 3) an experience in controlled chaos bordering on anarchy. Take the hotel shuttle set-up, for example. At most airports, there is a designated pick-up location. You go, you wait, you're on your way. The process in Miami, as explained to me by airport employees, the hotel, and a shuttle driver or two - and as I witnessed - is thus: go out to the curb, any curb, watch the vans for the one you want, and then run out into the lane and flag it down. The shuttle then stops, right there in the middle of the road, or sometimes it might pull to the curb, and you board. The process repeats itself length of the terminal. Controlled chaos.

Sunday, 23 March 2014

A few of my favorite things...

I could wax on about any of the many indignities of flying, but I have an especial dislike of the airplane blanket. Why? Let me count the ways. 1) It's so thin that you can just about see through it; 2) it's often only slightly less scratchy than, say, sandpaper; 3) likely a result of 1 & 2, it clings like crazy to any article of clothing resulting in 4) crazy static electricity. Also, the airplane blanket is not exactly a paragon of cleanliness. I spent ages, or at least months, searching for the perfect airplane blanket, and I'm happy to report that I've found one. Brookstone's convertible travel blanket has quickly become one of my carry-on essentials. They're not paying me to say this, I promise. I love this blanket because it's incredibly soft, incredibly warm, generously sized, and it folds into its own little pouch - with a handle. It's $40, but worth every penny.

As long as I'm raving about Brookstone, I should mention one of my other favorite travel accessories is their napform eye mask. Now, the woman in the picture looks absolutely ridiculous, and I think the photo is advertising fail, because I would not want to own this. The bottom half is not nearly as bulky as it looks here, and also, it doesn't cover my so much of my face, but it is incredibly soft and also it really does block out the light. Completely. Most eye masks - and I've owned a lot of them - don't. 

Last but not least, I really must mention my Bose earbuds. Not just any earbuds, noise cancelling earbuds. And they really, really work. (Bose isn't paying me either.) Now, these babies are not cheap.  If you're curious, you can click on the link, but consider yourself forewarned that you may suffer a minor (not so minor?) case of sticker shock. Yes, they're expensive, but I cannot tell you how amazing they are. The roar of the engine becomes a quiet hum, music comes through beautifully, and the noise cancelling feature works for about 16 hours once it's charged - and it charges very quickly. Plus, unlike most noise canceling headphones, the headphones will still play music even if the noise canceling part isn't charged. For anyone who travels frequently, these are a serious must-have. Just don't leave them in the seat back pocket.

So you see, three products later and you will be snug as a bug in a rug, which is about as much as anyone can ask for on an airplane these days. You'll also be fully prepared in the event that you have to sleep in the airport. (Especially if you also have the Brookstone pillow.) Happy napping!

Friday, 21 March 2014

What happens in Vegas...

Of course, it can only stay in Vegas if you actually make it there. And on the day of my departure this past February, winter weather advisory number 702 called for rain, freezing rain, sleet, snow, and 50 mile per hour winds. (Less a winter weather advisory than an end-of-days one it seemed. But I digress.) Flights from the regional airport to the major one were canceled one-by-one, leaving me wondering if I might actually fly that day or not. Fortunately, for once the travel gods smiled and the airline agreed that I could drive the 80-odd miles to DTW and forget about the connector. A good thing, too, because ultimately my flight was delayed such that I never would have made the connection.

Thursday, 20 March 2014

In the Beginning

I'm in an uncharacteristically fallow period, travel-wise, so now seems as good a time as any to relate my earliest travel experiences.

I was 10 the first time I stepped onto an airplane. I was with a class of fifth graders, part of a fantastic exchange experience organized by AFAC. We flew into Paris, where we had a truly extended layover of six hours before connecting to Nice. Having now traveled with students on my own, I can confidently say that if you were two teachers with 25 10-year-olds in tow, you'd want six hours, too.  Anyway, somewhere in that time while we were chowing down on PB&Js, the ingredients for which our teachers had brilliantly packed in their carry-ones, it began to rain hard. This wouldn't have mattered except that for reasons entirely unclear to my young mind, we had to go onto the tarmac to identify our bags. And thus ultimately departed for Nice a couple of hours late and more than a little soggy.

From this in auspicious beginning began my love-hate relationship with airplanes, airlines, and - if I'm honest - frequently travel itself.

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Can We Get a Jet Bridge?

Have you ever sat in your seat and watched the gate agent steer the jet bridge out to the plane? It’s a tedious process that involves a joystick straight out of a video gram control set and also a lot of dinging and beeping. Frequently the jet bridges edges out toward the plane, then left a bit, then backward, now right, forward again, left, right, left, backward, until finally we have contact and it’s safe to deplane without plunging onto the tarmac below. Not this time. The jet bridge would swing forward and then immediately backward, never making any real progress.

Fortunately, we had a tenacious ground crew. They attempted this futile exercise for 30 minutes before declaring the jet bridge broken. I had a 45 minute layover. This left 15 minutes for passengers to restow carry-on luggage and retake their seats, flight crew to ensure we were all safe and sound for the five minute drive to the gate on the opposite side of the terminal, ground crew to secure cargo compartments and unhook the fuel lines, and the plane to leave one gate and arrive at another. Never. Going. To. Happen. I should add that it had been an entirely smooth trip up to this point, with smooth connections in the midst of winter weather. My enterprising colleague reserved us a rental car at that point as, naturally, there were no other flights that day or the next. The drive was only 80 miles. Punctuated by a multi-mile backup caused by a massive RV fire. The gods were having a good time that day, the travelers not so much.

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

Flying to the Middle of Nowhere


As I said in my previous post, this blog began when I was bound for California with colleagues and couldn’t get farther than Salt Lake City. We were headed to Merced, California, whose nearest airports are Modesto and Fresno. Delta does not fly to Modesto and offers two flights each day from Salt Lake City to Fresno. We had missed the first flight; the second was full. For an hour the customer service rep tried to rebook four of us onto a flight that would get us somewhere in the vicinity of Merced. One-by-one he tried the airports in California, checking the mileage as he went. There is no quick and efficient way to do this, unfortunately. As the airports became farther and farther from our destination he grew frustrated. “My God, you’re going to the middle of nowhere!” he exclaimed, then thought better of it. “I’m so sorry,” he added quickly, but not to worry – so were we. There were no flights to northern or central California that day. We could fly into San Jose at 6am the following morning. Jackpot!

Monday, 17 March 2014

Introducing the Tenacious Traveler

I have never been in a plane crash. It’s probably fair to assume that you haven’t either. I begin with that statement, though, because I have encountered what seems like every other possible travel tie-up. In fact, a series of this-only-happens-to-you delays and missed connections is directly responsible for this blog.

A few weeks ago I was in the Salt Lake City airport with three colleagues. We had missed our connecting flight to Fresno because of a defect in the floor of the cargo compartment. Does this mean suitcases would have rained down on Kansas? I can’t say, but in the time it took to fix the defect, our connection was sunk. My colleagues were miffed, to say the least. They had wanted to cancel before we began. The trip came on the heels of a monster winter storm and they were not unjustifiably concerned about our connections. And the beginning was inauspicious. We took off from the airport only after the ground crew was able to thaw the deicing equipment. (You know it’s cold when…) I assured my colleagues temperatures of 25 below were no reason to cancel.

I was right, of course. A defective floor could happen any day of the year, obviously. My colleagues were a bit on edge. I, however, was rather zen: this sort of thing happens to me all the time. Really. Tales of my mishaps filled our time and my (frankly dumbfounded) colleagues declared 1) they were never traveling with me again and 2) I really, really needed to start a blog.

So here I am. This space is where I will share my travel woes (misery never loved company more than on an airplane where every last passenger has missed their connection), my travel tips, the occasional travel-gadget-review, and a few of my favorite places. Some stories will be old, some will be brand spanking new, but for better or worse all will be true.

Happy travels!