What we euphemistically called an adventure two days ago can now only be called hell.
We didn't get on the flight to Pisa.
We had to buy a new one-way ticket to Milan for tomorrow with Lufthansa.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Update
We got on the flight to JFK! And if that wasn’t enough, we got to ride in first class! My inaugural first class flight!
Good things about first class: breakfast included (coach only got drinks), unlimited drinks… in real glasses and mugs! In fact, everything came in real dishes. Also: a complimentary selection of movies (Lindsay and I were watching Nights in Rodanthe, but we didn’t finish by the time we landed), hot towels, tiny water bottles, and huge seats.
It was quite luxurious. The one bad thing was that the plane really dips up and down when you’re that close to the front, and the turbulence was pretty bad. I still feel a little airsick.
Now we’re sitting in JFK, awaiting our flight to Pisa, which we are definitely on. Ok, we’re definitely on the standby list. Allegedly.
Good things about first class: breakfast included (coach only got drinks), unlimited drinks… in real glasses and mugs! In fact, everything came in real dishes. Also: a complimentary selection of movies (Lindsay and I were watching Nights in Rodanthe, but we didn’t finish by the time we landed), hot towels, tiny water bottles, and huge seats.
It was quite luxurious. The one bad thing was that the plane really dips up and down when you’re that close to the front, and the turbulence was pretty bad. I still feel a little airsick.
Now we’re sitting in JFK, awaiting our flight to Pisa, which we are definitely on. Ok, we’re definitely on the standby list. Allegedly.
Nothing like five days in airports to spur me to write...
...and I though an 11-hour layover was long. It’s 6:15 am on Wednesday (is it Wednesday? I can’t remember at this point). Unless my calculations are wrong, Lindsay and I are heading into Day 4 of our great adventure. We left Grandma’s house at 6 am on Sunday morning to make it in time for our 8:50 am flight. Sure, we were non-revenue standby passengers, but we had no doubts we’d get on flight. After all, we had gotten on both flights we wanted on the way to California. It would be easy, right?
Wrong.
When we went up to the Delta counter, we were immediately told that two of our bags were overweight and that we’d have to either pay $150 each, throw some stuff out, or redistributed the weight. We opened up all our bags… and opted to redistribute the 18 pounds. Puh-lease, we worked too hard eliminating stuff already; everything we had was coming with us. Ok, save for my fabulously large umbrella. Sigh.
But that should have been a sign. We got through security and sat down to wait.
By 9am the plane was backing away from the gate and we were still waiting.
Ok. That’s fine. There are plenty of other flights to Atlanta, we thought. Plenty.
But soon it was 11am and we had missed our third (overbooked) flight. Our names kept getting pushed down the standby list until eventually we were numbers 37 and 38.
Spirits were still high. There were still six more flights to Atlanta on Sunday. We ignored the fact that we had already missed our connecting flight to Milan; we’d deal with that later. We geared up to get on the 12:45pm flight, but when they started asking revenue passengers, yet again, to volunteer to switch to the next flight, we knew no that no standbys were getting on this one.
Yet, we were too stubborn to admit defeat. We were going to Milan, dammit! And we were going to do it today! First, we needed beers. Big ones.
We missed the 12:45pm flight… then the 2 pm… and then the 4 pm. At this point, we were about ready to give up, to go back to Grandma’s and try again tomorrow. But wait! Suddenly a 10 pm flight appeared on the departures board. There was hope!
Six hours later, we watched the 10 pm flight leave LAX. Two more flights had popped up, so we rushed over to the 11:15 pm gate. It was overbooked, but the standby list had shortened considerably; it seemed other people were finally giving up. But we would not be broken!
At 11:15, the employees asked all the standbys to come to the desk. There were about 9 of us, each as haggard as the next.
“You guys been here since 6am?”
“5 am,” they replied.
Ouch.
We stared at the employee, imploring him to let us on the flight.
“Well, we’re still missing about 19 revenue passengers… it looks like they’re all tied up in security. So I think you’re all getting on this flight!”
We erupted in cheers. Those poor rev passengers. They had hit a cloud, but we had found it’s silver lining.
We rushed onto the plane, where I fell asleep before take-off. I little while later, I woke to feel some terrible turbulence. The plane shuddered violently. Gripping the armrest, I pried my eyes open and peered out the window.
Oh, wait. That wasn’t turbulence. We were landing.
Hooray! We were in Atlanta! As soon as we could, we talked to someone about getting on a flight to Milan. There were just a few teeny, tiny problems.
There was only one flight to Milan per day. And they were all overbooked until who knows when.
Great.
At that point, we were too tired to worry. We headed to some armrest-free benches and went to sleep.
Twelve hours later, we had missed that day’s only flight to Milan. Still undefeated, we weighed our options. We talked to employees about getting a flight to somewhere – anywhere – in Italy… in all of Europe, even.
Everything was overbooked.
We considered getting a hotel, but that seemed too expensive.
“We must know someone in Atlanta… Think!” I said.
Suddenly, Lindsay’s eyes widened.
“Oh my gosh! We do know someone!”
“Who?”
“Adeline. Adeline works for CNN in Atlanta now!”
This was too good to be true. Sure, we hadn’t kept in regular contact with Addy, but she was very kind and sociable… She wouldn’t mind impromptu guests, right?
Lindsay sent her a quick facebook message about how we were stranded in Atlanta and how if she was there right now, maybe we could “hang out.”
My phone rang a minute later. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Jackie? This is Adeline! So… I hear you’re stranded in Atlanta…”
Sweet, sweet relief. Adeline instructed us to take the MARTA to a station near her where she picked us up and took us out to an amazing Southern food restaurant. After that, we went back to her apartment where we took hot showers and slept on an air mattress. After almost 48 hours in airports, it was like heaven.
In the morning, Adeline took us out to breakfast as The Flying Biscuit, where they – surprise, surprise – had incredible biscuits and where I tried grits for the first time. Ok, so maybe this little flight delay wasn’t so bad.
Then Addy took us to CNN for a behind the scenes tour. Lindsay and I felt like we were intruding as we followed Addy behind live news shows, dodging cameras and wires. We met a few of her coworkers, including a few anchors.
Adeline took us back to the MARTA – thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Adeline! – and we headed back to the airport. We were growing quite fond of Concourse E.
After waiting in the check-in line for 40 minutes, we headed to security. Even though I felt refreshed, I almost cracked when I dropped my 20 pound purse containing my computer while juggling my coat, my 30 pound carry-on and my baggie of liquids.
“I’m cracking, Lindsay,” I said. (See, I wasn’t lying!)
“Don’t crack!” she commanded. She was right. We couldn’t afford to crack until we were on a plane to Milan.
Turns out, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
We didn’t get on the Milan flight on Tuesday. That was our last chance to make it back by Wednesday when we were both supposed to go back to work.
We headed to talk to an employee, yet again, and begged her to get us anywhere in Europe. She told me the stats of flight after flight; every single one: overbooked. Except—
“What if you go to JFK and then fly to Pisa?” she suggested. “That one looks booked, but not overbooked.”
“We’ll take it!”
With some kind of a plan (however flimsy) in mind, Lindsay and I felt like we could actually relax. We headed to the local T.G.I.Friday’s to let loose.
A margarita later, we were ready for a night out on the town! Unfortunately, in airports, everything closes at 10 pm. It was 10 pm. We left the restaurant and noticed a few people still at the circular bar in the middle of Concourse E.
“Are you still open?” I asked.
“No, but we’ll still serve you a drink if you want.”
Um, hello!?
We ordered some beers and swapped hilarious anecdotes with two Brits from Burmingham about our traveling “adventures.”
We drained our beers and headed to our new gate (in Concourse A) to turn in for the night. But we weren’t really tired. We got ready for bed (yes, pj pants, tooth brushes, face wash – the whole nine. Just because we’re stranded doesn’t mean we have to give up hygiene. That’s just good sense).
The terminal was deserted. We were literally the only customers there – everyone else was an employee, and there were only a few of them (and oddly enough, most of them rode by on segues…) Evenually, I laid down for a nap… at 3am.
Lindsay shook me awake at 5:45 am.
“They changed the gate! We’re leaving from Concourse B now!”
I could barely open my eyes. They felt like they were glued shut. But I quickly put on my shoes and coat and followed her to the next terminal.
So here I am. It’s 6:15 am and my eyes are tearing up as I watch the news. Whether from sleep deprivation (I’m running on 2.5 hours) or because those third graders exceeded their $10,000 goal and raised $14,000 to build that well in Nicaragua. Sniff. Probably a combination of both. I know I’m making this sound bad – and it has been pretty frustrating – but still, we’re in amazingly good moods, considering.
Stay tuned.
Wrong.
When we went up to the Delta counter, we were immediately told that two of our bags were overweight and that we’d have to either pay $150 each, throw some stuff out, or redistributed the weight. We opened up all our bags… and opted to redistribute the 18 pounds. Puh-lease, we worked too hard eliminating stuff already; everything we had was coming with us. Ok, save for my fabulously large umbrella. Sigh.
But that should have been a sign. We got through security and sat down to wait.
By 9am the plane was backing away from the gate and we were still waiting.
Ok. That’s fine. There are plenty of other flights to Atlanta, we thought. Plenty.
But soon it was 11am and we had missed our third (overbooked) flight. Our names kept getting pushed down the standby list until eventually we were numbers 37 and 38.
Spirits were still high. There were still six more flights to Atlanta on Sunday. We ignored the fact that we had already missed our connecting flight to Milan; we’d deal with that later. We geared up to get on the 12:45pm flight, but when they started asking revenue passengers, yet again, to volunteer to switch to the next flight, we knew no that no standbys were getting on this one.
Yet, we were too stubborn to admit defeat. We were going to Milan, dammit! And we were going to do it today! First, we needed beers. Big ones.
We missed the 12:45pm flight… then the 2 pm… and then the 4 pm. At this point, we were about ready to give up, to go back to Grandma’s and try again tomorrow. But wait! Suddenly a 10 pm flight appeared on the departures board. There was hope!
Six hours later, we watched the 10 pm flight leave LAX. Two more flights had popped up, so we rushed over to the 11:15 pm gate. It was overbooked, but the standby list had shortened considerably; it seemed other people were finally giving up. But we would not be broken!
At 11:15, the employees asked all the standbys to come to the desk. There were about 9 of us, each as haggard as the next.
“You guys been here since 6am?”
“5 am,” they replied.
Ouch.
We stared at the employee, imploring him to let us on the flight.
“Well, we’re still missing about 19 revenue passengers… it looks like they’re all tied up in security. So I think you’re all getting on this flight!”
We erupted in cheers. Those poor rev passengers. They had hit a cloud, but we had found it’s silver lining.
We rushed onto the plane, where I fell asleep before take-off. I little while later, I woke to feel some terrible turbulence. The plane shuddered violently. Gripping the armrest, I pried my eyes open and peered out the window.
Oh, wait. That wasn’t turbulence. We were landing.
Hooray! We were in Atlanta! As soon as we could, we talked to someone about getting on a flight to Milan. There were just a few teeny, tiny problems.
There was only one flight to Milan per day. And they were all overbooked until who knows when.
Great.
At that point, we were too tired to worry. We headed to some armrest-free benches and went to sleep.
Twelve hours later, we had missed that day’s only flight to Milan. Still undefeated, we weighed our options. We talked to employees about getting a flight to somewhere – anywhere – in Italy… in all of Europe, even.
Everything was overbooked.
We considered getting a hotel, but that seemed too expensive.
“We must know someone in Atlanta… Think!” I said.
Suddenly, Lindsay’s eyes widened.
“Oh my gosh! We do know someone!”
“Who?”
“Adeline. Adeline works for CNN in Atlanta now!”
This was too good to be true. Sure, we hadn’t kept in regular contact with Addy, but she was very kind and sociable… She wouldn’t mind impromptu guests, right?
Lindsay sent her a quick facebook message about how we were stranded in Atlanta and how if she was there right now, maybe we could “hang out.”
My phone rang a minute later. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Jackie? This is Adeline! So… I hear you’re stranded in Atlanta…”
Sweet, sweet relief. Adeline instructed us to take the MARTA to a station near her where she picked us up and took us out to an amazing Southern food restaurant. After that, we went back to her apartment where we took hot showers and slept on an air mattress. After almost 48 hours in airports, it was like heaven.
In the morning, Adeline took us out to breakfast as The Flying Biscuit, where they – surprise, surprise – had incredible biscuits and where I tried grits for the first time. Ok, so maybe this little flight delay wasn’t so bad.
Then Addy took us to CNN for a behind the scenes tour. Lindsay and I felt like we were intruding as we followed Addy behind live news shows, dodging cameras and wires. We met a few of her coworkers, including a few anchors.
Adeline took us back to the MARTA – thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Adeline! – and we headed back to the airport. We were growing quite fond of Concourse E.
After waiting in the check-in line for 40 minutes, we headed to security. Even though I felt refreshed, I almost cracked when I dropped my 20 pound purse containing my computer while juggling my coat, my 30 pound carry-on and my baggie of liquids.
“I’m cracking, Lindsay,” I said. (See, I wasn’t lying!)
“Don’t crack!” she commanded. She was right. We couldn’t afford to crack until we were on a plane to Milan.
Turns out, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
We didn’t get on the Milan flight on Tuesday. That was our last chance to make it back by Wednesday when we were both supposed to go back to work.
We headed to talk to an employee, yet again, and begged her to get us anywhere in Europe. She told me the stats of flight after flight; every single one: overbooked. Except—
“What if you go to JFK and then fly to Pisa?” she suggested. “That one looks booked, but not overbooked.”
“We’ll take it!”
With some kind of a plan (however flimsy) in mind, Lindsay and I felt like we could actually relax. We headed to the local T.G.I.Friday’s to let loose.
A margarita later, we were ready for a night out on the town! Unfortunately, in airports, everything closes at 10 pm. It was 10 pm. We left the restaurant and noticed a few people still at the circular bar in the middle of Concourse E.
“Are you still open?” I asked.
“No, but we’ll still serve you a drink if you want.”
Um, hello!?
We ordered some beers and swapped hilarious anecdotes with two Brits from Burmingham about our traveling “adventures.”
We drained our beers and headed to our new gate (in Concourse A) to turn in for the night. But we weren’t really tired. We got ready for bed (yes, pj pants, tooth brushes, face wash – the whole nine. Just because we’re stranded doesn’t mean we have to give up hygiene. That’s just good sense).
The terminal was deserted. We were literally the only customers there – everyone else was an employee, and there were only a few of them (and oddly enough, most of them rode by on segues…) Evenually, I laid down for a nap… at 3am.
Lindsay shook me awake at 5:45 am.
“They changed the gate! We’re leaving from Concourse B now!”
I could barely open my eyes. They felt like they were glued shut. But I quickly put on my shoes and coat and followed her to the next terminal.
So here I am. It’s 6:15 am and my eyes are tearing up as I watch the news. Whether from sleep deprivation (I’m running on 2.5 hours) or because those third graders exceeded their $10,000 goal and raised $14,000 to build that well in Nicaragua. Sniff. Probably a combination of both. I know I’m making this sound bad – and it has been pretty frustrating – but still, we’re in amazingly good moods, considering.
Stay tuned.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Nerves
I’m in Washington D.C. on the tail end of an eleven hour layover. Our flight to Rome leaves in 2 hours. I’m excited, but almost more than that… I’m nervous, to say the least.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been having the same conversation with countless people:
Me: I’m quitting my job and moving to Italy!
Person: Wow, how exciting! What do you plan to do there?
Me: I’m hoping to teach English.
Person: Oh, so you have a job there?
Me: No, I’m taking an outrageously expensive class to get certified to teach English… then I need to find a job.
Person: So they place you in a job?
Me: No, it’s just like here – I need to find my own job.
Person: Oh, but you have a visa, right?
Me: No, they’re really hard to get.
Person: But you’re going to get one?
Me: Probably not.
Person: So… you don’t have a job and you don’t have a visa? Do you have an apartment?
Me: Yes, but only for one month.
Then the person looks at me like I just told them I love to drown kittens and blurts out:
Person: So why do you want to go to Italy? You have a perfectly nice apartment and a wonderful job here in the States!
Well, if “nice” and “wonderful” are used as loose and relative terms, then I suppose that is what I had… although I might have selected more precise terms, such as “shoddy” and “mind numbing.” Why wouldn’t I want to try something new?
I love Italy. Even though I chose to learn Italian out of desperation for an easy A, I fell in love with the language as well as the food, the culture, the history, the pop sensation, Nek… you name it. If it’s Italian, I probably love it (with the possible exception of the mafia and Berlusconi). I’m leaving for Italy because I want – and I say this with the utmost, albeit clichéd, sincerity – to have an adventure. I want to solidify all that I have learned about Italy and immerse myself in the culture. This is something I’ve thought about doing for a long time. What better time to do this than when I’m young? Right now, nothing says adventure to me like illegal work and the imminent threat of deportation!
Of course, that’s also the exact reason why I’m nervous. I guess it wouldn’t really be an adventure without a bittersweet amalgamation (right?) of excitement, apprehension, happiness and fear. I don’t know how this will turn out and there’s a good chance I’ll be back in California by November, casting dignity aside and begging for my old job back. But with just a smidgeon of fortuna, I’ll find a job and fulfill my dream of living in Italy for a year.
I’ll miss everyone, to be sure, but I’ll be back soon… provided I’m not seduced by a mammone.
(Just kidding, Mom!)
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