I hate to travel. General Sherman said, “War is hell,” but I say, “Travel is hell.”
The problem in my 62-year marriage to a wonderful husband is simply that he loves to travel. Why this fundamental difference did not come out during our pre-marriage conversations, I have no idea but it was a cruel twist of fate.
So, I live in perpetual fear of the next trip listening for that tell-tale sign of him rustling about in the closet looking for a suitcase. I know he is suffering from that dread disease that comes every few months or so … wanderlust … and I gear myself for his next suggestion for a trip.
A cruise to the “idyllic West Indies?” It sounded good especially because of the extreme cold this winter. Freezing weather does something to a person’s sanity. If one is cold enough, the brain can easily forget the horrors of modern day travel and agree to board an airplane and fly somewhere.
It had been 40 years since I had visited the charming islands in the Caribbean. I thought of the swaying palm trees, natives playing on their handmade steel drums and crooning Calypso music as I lay on white sands looking over sparkling aqua seas. Yes. Let’s go.
Which meant a drive to Dulles Airport in February in heavy traffic and possibly very bad weather, two octogenarians who always get lost going to Dulles, to make connection to a flight to Miami to board a ship bound for the West Indies and return two weeks later.
The flight boarded at 8 a.m. and one should get to Dulles three hours before boarding in case there are long lines which meant we would have to leave for Dulles in the dead of night to make the four-hour drive, get parked by 5 a.m.
It did not take long for us to realize we would have to drive to Dulles the day before and stay overnight in an airport hotel. Then we could simply park our car on a package deal with Hilton that let us keep our car at the hotel and take their van to the airport at 5 a.m.
Did someone say 5 a.m.? I was tired just thinking about the vacation and I hadn’t even started. I began my usual round of worry. Would I meet up on the flight with a “seat squatter,” the latest plague on airplanes today, which is a person that claims your seat and refuses to move?
Would a blizzard hit on take-off, a wind shear strike on landing, the pilot’s wife announce that morning that she wants a divorce, a flock of birds be sucked into the jet engines, a madman sneak a bomb onto the plane, or one of the controllers call in sick that day … the usual things that those who fly wonder as they fasten their seatbelts and prepare for takeoff.
Then the “check-in process.” A traveler no longer stands in long lines and then meekly presents an I.D. to an agent who provides a boarding pass and weighs luggage.
Today’s check-in is a mass of harried passengers descending on a dozen or so kiosks from which they use computers for “self-check-in.” The computer, if satisfied with answers, spits out a boarding pass. Then one weighs one’s own baggage and, again, if you answer all the questions correctly, you get a baggage ticket to attach to your luggage and then stand in long lines to hand it in.
Unfortunately, at 6:30 a.m., whereas I think I was awake and standing, my brain was not. After several hopeless attempts to satisfy the computer, to my surprise, I burst into tears. Which turned out to be a brilliant idea because then United came running to assist me and even called a wheelchair to carry me through the long lines of security and to a bus that took me to faraway gates.
I now believe that the only answer to technology is to cry, which seems to be the best way to get immediate help as no business wants to see their customers weeping. Especially when on “friendly skies” and on vacation.
At 8 a.m. we were all 300 plus of us bunched into our stretch Boeing 737 jet, every seat taken, for what we hoped would be our non-stop flight to Miami.
Our seats were what I would describe as teeny tiny. I felt sorry for anyone who was even slightly overweight (me), and especially those who were sitting next to such a passenger.
After our lectures on what to do if we crash land or end up in the water, how to get oxygen if the plane suddenly loses a supply, and how to put on our life jacket tucked handily under our teeny tiny seat, we took off.
But not before I cast a suspicious eye over those passengers I could see just in case there was a lunatic nearby. If I spotted one, I could save us all from a possible catastrophe by simply reporting him to a passing stewardess. I looked over the group and decided we were safe enough for the time being but that I should keep an eye out throughout the flight just in case. Wary passengers like me are big help to safety on aircraft.
As the plane gathered speed on the runway I prayed to God who must have known I was about to take off on a jet. He gets a lot of attention from the takeoff and landing crowd.
The plane ran down the runway with increasing speed for a very long time, to the point I was worried we would run into a cornfield. Finally, we lifted into the air. I sighed a great sigh of relief.
I settled in for the 2.5 hour flight thinking I might have been cozy at home in front of the fire, with a cup of tea, doing my morning crosswords with my beloved “Dandy” asleep at my feet.
My advice to those who wouldn’t care to repeat the first day of my vacation? It’s simple and easy to understand. Stay home.
(To be continued.)
