Travel Roulette
Saturday, December 20, 2008
We awoke Friday morning at two. Our flight left Caracas at nine, but one needs to be at the airport at least three hours early here in order to ensure that you will make the plane. Our car arrived at three, Miguel is always prompt. We loaded our five bags and our sleeping child into the overly air conditioned car and headed off for Caracas. The drive was shorter than normal and we arrived at the airport just after five.
We made our way inside, battled through the crowds and stood in line to check in. That went off without a hitch so we blazed a trail for security. Well, first we had paperwork and airport taxes to take care of (it cost us about $125 just to leave Venezuela!). The thing I notice the most about Venezuela is the lack of instruction. There are no signs pointing the right way, barricades are not necessarily in the correct spot, and the personnel are certainly not there to help. We headed for a line that we thought was the right one, but it turned out to be all wrong.
The first soldier turned us around and sent us back the way we should have gone. The second, more senior soldier stopped and berated us in front of a crowd. He was loud enough so that everyone could hear him insult the gringos. He spoke slowly and repeated himself several times so that all those present would be sure to understand. Once he was assured that we had been thoroughly humiliated, he excused us back to the ever growing line.
After X-rays and metal detectors, we waited for passport control. Eventually we made it to the gate. We got there around eight fifteen for our nine o’clock flight. The plane loaded late and took off late due to security restrictions and general Venezuelan craziness. As a result we landed in Atlanta with less than an hour to get our bags, go through customs, go to the domestic terminal, and catch our connection to Seattle. The plane was delayed leaving so we missed it by a scant ten minutes. We were stuck in Atlanta.
That was last night. Friday night, the last weekend before Christmas, and we have just missed our connection. On the bright side, we were no longer in Caracas. This meant that there were actually people there who would help us out. Of course there were also about a billion travelers who needed help so the employees were a little haggard, but we were re-routed, given overnight kits, and sent off to the Red Roof Inn for the night with promises of a flight to Cincinnati and subsequently Seattle the next day.
There was a spot on the check in form for a wake up call; I wrote down 4:00. I joked with the lady at the desk about that early hour and headed off upstairs. We had a nice dinner at a little bar and grill across the street, complete with two pints of Guinness. After dining, we turned in early. We were all tired and we knew we had a big day ahead of us.
Our plan was to rise at four, catch the 4:35 shuttle to the airport, and begin the process of checking in for our 6:30 flight. Things did not go exactly as planned. Our wake up call never happened. Carrie awoke at 4:42 and started jumping around and waking us up. We were in the lobby by 4:47, but the shuttle was gone and the next one would not come until after five. The desk called a cab. Fortunately, it arrived quickly. The driver wasted no time in delivering us to Delta.
The line at the counter was at least an hour long. The first attendant told us we had to wait there. We tried self-check, but that didn’t work. I waited in line while Carrie went to the first class desk to ask. It was good she did as the papers we had turned out to be boarding passes. We raced through security and O.J. Simpsoned to the gate. We didn’t relax until we had seats and real boarding passes in our hands.
In Cincinnati, we had an hour to find our gate, get checked in, and relax once more. Now we are aboard that final craft, racing through the sky towards the frigid land of Lattes. We are tired, but happy that we are closing in on our destination. It’s crazy too, as Carrie and Z had an Alaska flight last night to San Jose. After about thirty minutes on hold, she learned that weather problems in Seattle had cancelled that flight and they would be re-scheduled for today at no extra charge. I guess it all worked out in the end.
It’s pretty amazing how well oiled the whole air travel machine is. I mean it seems like there is so much that could go wrong. Even in the face of adversity, however, things generally work out. We have always gotten where we need to go and we have always gotten our luggage. Sometimes we are later than we wanted and sometimes it takes a few days for the bags to get there, but they always manage to get there. It’s good to remember that as you watch the plane you were supposed to be on push back from the Jetway and take off.
MJR
We awoke Friday morning at two. Our flight left Caracas at nine, but one needs to be at the airport at least three hours early here in order to ensure that you will make the plane. Our car arrived at three, Miguel is always prompt. We loaded our five bags and our sleeping child into the overly air conditioned car and headed off for Caracas. The drive was shorter than normal and we arrived at the airport just after five.
We made our way inside, battled through the crowds and stood in line to check in. That went off without a hitch so we blazed a trail for security. Well, first we had paperwork and airport taxes to take care of (it cost us about $125 just to leave Venezuela!). The thing I notice the most about Venezuela is the lack of instruction. There are no signs pointing the right way, barricades are not necessarily in the correct spot, and the personnel are certainly not there to help. We headed for a line that we thought was the right one, but it turned out to be all wrong.
The first soldier turned us around and sent us back the way we should have gone. The second, more senior soldier stopped and berated us in front of a crowd. He was loud enough so that everyone could hear him insult the gringos. He spoke slowly and repeated himself several times so that all those present would be sure to understand. Once he was assured that we had been thoroughly humiliated, he excused us back to the ever growing line.
After X-rays and metal detectors, we waited for passport control. Eventually we made it to the gate. We got there around eight fifteen for our nine o’clock flight. The plane loaded late and took off late due to security restrictions and general Venezuelan craziness. As a result we landed in Atlanta with less than an hour to get our bags, go through customs, go to the domestic terminal, and catch our connection to Seattle. The plane was delayed leaving so we missed it by a scant ten minutes. We were stuck in Atlanta.
That was last night. Friday night, the last weekend before Christmas, and we have just missed our connection. On the bright side, we were no longer in Caracas. This meant that there were actually people there who would help us out. Of course there were also about a billion travelers who needed help so the employees were a little haggard, but we were re-routed, given overnight kits, and sent off to the Red Roof Inn for the night with promises of a flight to Cincinnati and subsequently Seattle the next day.
There was a spot on the check in form for a wake up call; I wrote down 4:00. I joked with the lady at the desk about that early hour and headed off upstairs. We had a nice dinner at a little bar and grill across the street, complete with two pints of Guinness. After dining, we turned in early. We were all tired and we knew we had a big day ahead of us.
Our plan was to rise at four, catch the 4:35 shuttle to the airport, and begin the process of checking in for our 6:30 flight. Things did not go exactly as planned. Our wake up call never happened. Carrie awoke at 4:42 and started jumping around and waking us up. We were in the lobby by 4:47, but the shuttle was gone and the next one would not come until after five. The desk called a cab. Fortunately, it arrived quickly. The driver wasted no time in delivering us to Delta.
The line at the counter was at least an hour long. The first attendant told us we had to wait there. We tried self-check, but that didn’t work. I waited in line while Carrie went to the first class desk to ask. It was good she did as the papers we had turned out to be boarding passes. We raced through security and O.J. Simpsoned to the gate. We didn’t relax until we had seats and real boarding passes in our hands.
In Cincinnati, we had an hour to find our gate, get checked in, and relax once more. Now we are aboard that final craft, racing through the sky towards the frigid land of Lattes. We are tired, but happy that we are closing in on our destination. It’s crazy too, as Carrie and Z had an Alaska flight last night to San Jose. After about thirty minutes on hold, she learned that weather problems in Seattle had cancelled that flight and they would be re-scheduled for today at no extra charge. I guess it all worked out in the end.
It’s pretty amazing how well oiled the whole air travel machine is. I mean it seems like there is so much that could go wrong. Even in the face of adversity, however, things generally work out. We have always gotten where we need to go and we have always gotten our luggage. Sometimes we are later than we wanted and sometimes it takes a few days for the bags to get there, but they always manage to get there. It’s good to remember that as you watch the plane you were supposed to be on push back from the Jetway and take off.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 9:23 PM
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