I closed my eyes and turned on the water. Instantly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the freezing cold water cascaded down my arms. The welcome chill seeped into my shirt, clinging to my back. Puerto Rico was stifling this time of night. I backed up slowly and let the water spill over the top of my head. Before long, I realized that my pockets were filling with water and I was weak with exhaustion.
Okay, I know you’re probably thinking: why in the world are you taking a shower in your clothes and when did you go to Puerto Rico?
Let’s rewind a few months, shall we?
My friends decided to get married on St. Thomas, USVI, the summer of 2016, and I wasn’t going to miss it. During the course of booking my trip, the bride connected me to a friend of hers, Alison, who would also be traveling solo for the wedding. Alison and I ended up booking an AirBnB, rental car, and a few excursions together, having never met prior.
While it was a gamble in a sense, I trusted the bride and was rewarded with a new friend/equal travel companion.
Our arrangement was simple: I would land in St. Thomas a few hours before Alison, who was coming from the Midwest, grab our rental car and swing back to pick her up at the airport, and then head to our villa that sat atop a cliff.
Seemed like a fool-proof plan, right?
Ugh.
Fast-forward to my travel date: June 14, 2016.
Don’t remember that date? Did you hear about the story involving a 2-year-old, an alligator, and DisneyWorld? Yeah. That was an omen, I’m almost positive. It wasn’t a great start to my adventure – crying at the airport, trying to block out all of the TVs tuned into CNN. Ugh.
As it got closer to boarding time, it became very apparent that our 11:50pm flight time was going to be pushed back a little bit. Bad weather in the Midwest was causing some of our flight crew to arrive later than expected. I wasn’t too worried. I learned a few years ago that when traveling, it’s always a good idea to have plenty of time in between flights. I made sure to have a 3.5 hour layover in JFK, so 20 minute delay? Pshhh. NBD. I went back to my book, still trying to block out CNN.
Every now and then the gate attendants would announce which connecting flights at JFK would be affected by the delay. The announcements came slowly at first, then, like a diesel locomotive, they slowly picked up speed. I noticed that I was flying through my book and started paying attention to the gate attendant. Didn’t I decide to take a red-eye flight so stuff like this didn’t happen? Where was our crew?
To a cheering crowd, the gate attendant announced that even though the other half of our crew was still about 20 minutes away from landing, some off-duty flight attendants volunteered to work so that we could start boarding. Bless them a million times over! With a round of applause still going strong, we all lined up to board, loudly thanking the volunteer attendants.
I boarded the airplane, elated that even though we were boarding much later than anticipated, I still hadn’t heard that I was going to miss my connection to St. Thomas. With a momentary peace of mind, I allowed myself to uncharacteristically drift to sleep for a few hours. I awoke suddenly, confused at where I was and why I jerked awake so abruptly. Next thing I knew, the flight attendant was on the PA, solemnly announcing the next bout of flights were were going to miss.
My stomach dropped.
JFK to Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas was on his list.
I’ve never missed a flight before.
What do I do? What happens to my suitcase I was forced to check? Will I ever get to St. Thomas? Will I miss the wedding?
Fortunately, my panic was short-lived. The flight attendant finished his list of missed flights and announced that Delta would be rearranging our itineraries, allowing us to make other connections. I would be taking a flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico with 2 other groups of people, with yet another connection to St. Thomas. And since our connection was going to be the tightest, the other passengers were asked to remain in their seats so that those of us bound for Puerto Rico could vault our ways to the front of the aircraft.
“Okay,” I thought to myself. “You know where you’re going.”
Again, I had a momentary reprieve.
Momentary.
I don’t like JFK.
My newfound travel buddies and I raced off of the plane, down a walkway, careening past everyone to reach the slowest moving escalator EVER, only to take 2 steps down at a time, into the “welcoming” bus that was flooring it to another terminal. I always have the best luck when it comes to connections…they’re always on the other side of the airport, whether it’s LAX, JFK, AMS, or even ATL.
(Maybe I just need to shoot for direct flights?)
Panting, sweating, and with a sleep-hangover, we sprinted off of the bus and up to our gate. The gate attendant was taking forever to get us all checked into the flight, which should have been another flag that would have saved me later in the day. And since I was the last one on board, I was informed that there wasn’t any more room in the overhead bins for my carry-on suitcase. Panic. This was the case that had my camera, spare change of clothes, and my “necessities” for the journey. I didn’t want to part with it, but had used the carry-on “valet” before with great success (read: no lost/damaged luggage), so I double-checked that my documents and wallet were in my purse, added my book, and said good-bye to my little suitcase.
Being the last one to board, I was shoved into the middle seat in the last row between 2 women that were visibly upset that a gringa was about to be placed between them, therefore interrupting what appeared to be a very important conversation. Not revealing to them that I understood Spanish, I heard them complaining about me squeezing into my seat (they were a little bigger than me, so it was a tight fit for all of us). While I was thinking of a smart retort, an angel wearing Delta wings came up and asked if I would prefer to sit in an empty row. I could have cried.
I almost did after I bade my seat mates farewell in Spanish. How do you like them apples?
Right before take-off, I quickly got a message via Snapchat to Alison, letting her know that I wasn’t going to be on time and that she’d have to find a way to get to our AirBnB location. I made sure she had the address and our contact’s information before signing off with a promise to get in touch with her again when I got to Puerto Rico.
This was it. I was convinced that the rest of my journey would be a breeze. Nothing worse can happen, right?
Oh, please someone start singing “Soft Kitty” to my naivety.
We landed in Puerto Rico and were immediately drenched in sweat with the wonderful humidity. No sarcasm here. Utah is dry and I was ready for moisture in the air. Fortunately the airport was rather small and I found my departure listed on the screens, grateful that I remembered the airline name, Seaborne. Walking the length of the airport to the far corner of the property, past the non-functioning moving walkway, through the Duty-Free stores, into the non-air-conditioned terminal, I found my gate. Checking the display behind the counter, I verified that not only did I find the right location, but that I had a few hours to kill and no gate attendants around. Cool. I ran over to the Duty-Free stores and found my traditional tacky magnet and postcards, since hey, I wasn’t planning on stepping foot in Puerto Rico.
I meandered on over to my gate again, acutely aware that I hadn’t eaten for at least 12 hours, was functioning only on a brief nap, had no idea where my luggage was, and had swollen feet. While I had a few US dollars on me for my meager souvenirs, I didn’t have enough to make any kind of food purchase and my bank cards wouldn’t work because I didn’t register Puerto Rico on my itinerary (lesson learned: carry a little more cash next time). Even if I had the cash, the food stands in my crumbling, dark terminal weren’t open. Oh well. I’ll live.
Ah…the gate attendants were back. I wanted to check in and get my seat assignment before too long, so I walked up to the counter to engage the lady behind the desk. Through broken English she informed me that I wasn’t on the flight.
I’m sorry, I think I just hallucinated.
What?
Through an argued conversation, I learned that although Delta had sent me a new itinerary, they did not issue me tickets to Puerto Rico or St. Thomas. Although there was room on the airplane and she could actually see my itinerary, she told me I couldn’t get on the flight. There were other airlines that were offering flights to St. Thomas, so why don’t I just run down to their gates and see if they have any room on their flights. Yeah, sure. I ran down a few gates to see if I could get on the flight to St. Thomas. Yes, they had one more spot, but it would cost me like, half a paycheck. What? Who am I, Rockefeller? I ran back to the gate I started at and pleaded to get on my flight.
Nope. She wouldn’t budge.
But if I called Delta and had them issue me a ticket, I could get on the flight, I was told. I looked down at my phone to Google the Delta Customer Service number…and REALIZED THAT VERIZON DOESN’T COVER PUERTO RICO!
My heart stopped beating. At this point, nothing mattered except finding a way to call Delta. I looked around for a pay phone (those archaic things that I haven’t used since 1999) and found 3 non-working ones. I frantically scrolled through the wi-fi networks on my phone, because surely the airport has wi-fi.
Nope.
Big. Fat. Nope.
Then I remembered something: I came IN on a Delta flight, ergo…there’s a Delta gate! Surely THEY can help me, right?!
I sprinted as fast as my swollen feet could carry me (believe it or not, I’m surprisingly fast when I want to be) to the other side of the airport to the Delta gate. Nobody around. I cruised along the terminal cul-de-sac, looking for someone who worked for Delta.
I struck out.
Up until this point, I had refrained from crying. No way was I going to be defeated en-route to paradise!
I went back to my gate just in time to hear the flight would be boarding soon…and just in time to see my little carry-on suitcase get loaded onto the plane. Well, at least I know where my camera is going. I looked around and saw a group of well-off-looking people with cell phones in their hands. I took a deep breath and approached them with what I hoped wasn’t a scared, wild-looking expression on my face, and asked them if they wouldn’t mind looking up the phone number I needed. They smiled and obliged. Sweet. Now that I had the number, I just had to figure out how to call. They offered me their phone, but then realized that they were boarding first and rescinded their offer. Ugh. Well, thanks for the number. At least that was a ray of hope, right?
Boarding started.
Defeated, I sat down a ways away from the group assembled around the gate. Most (if not all) of them were fully aware of my situation and were shooting pitiful looks my way. Staring dumbly at my phone, scrolling through apps, I realized that I had Skype downloaded! Oh, what joy filled my heart when I realized that I had one free call left on the app. Better make this one count.
I dialed the number and got a weak connection (I had to keep walking around) with a Delta rep. After giving my name and info to her, she asked the dreaded question I can’t handle when I’m upset: is everything okay?
I lost it. Between sobs, I communicated to her everything that happened, where I was, my concern for my luggage, the fact that I haven’t eaten in nearly 24 hours at this point, I was exhausted, and had this one phone call to fix everything. After putting me on hold numerous times to talk to her supervisors, the rep informed me that there weren’t any other flights departing to St. Thomas that day.
Numb.
However, Delta was going to hook me up with a food voucher and a room at the airport hotel for the evening. My ticket was going to be actually issued for the first flight out the next morning at 8am, same airline, Seaborne. I had her verify again that a ticket had actually been issued and I was going to be let on the plane. Call me paranoid, but I wasn’t in the best head space at this point and needed a little reassurance. Fortunately, my new best friend at Delta assured me that I was going to be on the flight. Thank you, but I’ll breathe the sigh of relief when I’m actually sitting on the plane with Puerto Rico in the rear-view.
Yet again, I found myself running over to the Delta gates, only this time to obtain my vouchers for dinner and a bed at the airport hotel. Clutching them in hand, I headed off to another far corner of the airport. 2 wrong turns and 45 minutes later, I approached a welcoming sign to the San Juan International Airport Hotel. Ah, such welcoming words have yet to be written in my honest opinion.
Checking in was a breeze and the “free wi-fi for hotel guests” sign was like a chorus of angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus. I know I’m totally exaggerating right now, but given my physical and mental states, these were completely appropriate thoughts at the time. By the time I got up to my clean room, the air conditioner was on full blast and I had already decided that the first order of business was dinner.
Quickly scoping out my digs for the evening, I located the restaurant/pub-like thing downstairs. While waiting for my food, I posted a message on my Facebook wall, asking for my friends to text my mom and let her know where I was and that I was okay.
(A few people pointed out that I could have messaged her directly and poked fun at me for not doing so. Of course, these were all people who had never dealt with a travel day like I had just finished, so I brushed it off, NBD. When you’re stressed, hungry, and exhausted, your mind doesn’t always function at full capacity and critical/logical thinking is the first to go. Plus, my mother isn’t glued to her Facebook the way that some people are, and it was long after the time I told her I was going to land in St. Thomas. I didn’t want her to worry. Fortunately, I have some really awesome friends who helped a sister out.)
After a mediocre (free) meal, I ran back up to my room, dropped my purse, and clambered into the shower. Clothes on and everything. It wasn’t until after I got sopping wet that I realized my clothes weren’t going to dry due to the humidity and I ended up having to wear wet clothes to the airport the next morning. Whatever. I was clean.
I was the first to board my flight and couldn’t wait to get to St. Thomas. The airplane was small, with one seat, a row, and then 2 seats, and was the kind of plane that you had to walk around to get to the stairs.
Of course, one would hope that was it for the most horrible travel day (to date) for me…but the saga continues with some luggage issues and the realization that you drive on the left in the USVI…but that’s for another time.
Lessons learned:
- Always carry a little extra cash…more than you think is necessary, just in case
- When itineraries change, always double check that tickets have actually been issued to prevent further issues (what I should have done at JFK)
- Get an international calling plan regardless
- Carry deodorant in my purse from now on
Have you experienced anything similar? What did you learn?
PIN ME
