November 17-18, 2023: Definitive Proof that Flying is Hell!
After packing up my bags for the long trip home, I faced up to the depressing task of writing emails cancelling my plans for the following week. One went to Javier Heusserd, the coordinator and national secretary for SERVAS in Chile. I was due to arrive at his home west of Santiago by bus later that afternoon. Javier had invited me to spend two days with him and his wife, Christine. The other email went to Katterina Cuesta Lepe, head of the Huara Spanish School in Pichilemu where I was to spend five days of intensive study of Chilean Spanish. (Emails to two other SERVAS members who had offered me accommodations in the Valparaíso area later in my trip followed a few days later).
One of the clerks at the hotel front desk called the police station and got the case number I needed in order to obtain a copy of the police report I had filed the previous day for the stolen camera. They got the necessary number and called me a cab. The imposing, modern, white courthouse was a 25-minute drive from the hotel. After I got out of the cab, a dignified man in a suit attempted to hand me his business card. The card said he was an “abogado” (lawyer). I smiled and told him, “No necesito un abogado” (well, I certainly hoped I didn’t!) After passing through a metal detector and into the main lobby, I was approached by a small, very dark-skinned black man (unusual, as there are few black people in Chile and I had not seen one this black). “Parlez-vous Francais?” he asked. “Oui, mais je ne parle pas très bien maintenant parce que je n'ai pas beaucoup d'occasions de pratiquer.” (Yes, but I don’t speak very well now because I don’t have many opportunities to practice.) Turns out he was Haitian (probably a refugee) and spoke French, English, and Spanish in his job helping foreigners get what they needed at the courthouse. We settled on a mixture of English and Spanish and he was able to get me the police report copy from a clerk.
After a quick lunch at a café across from the courthouse, I found a cab that took me back to the hotel. It was now about 1:30 PM and my plane to Miami didn’t leave until 10:30 that night. My bags were stored with the hotel concierge, and I could have spent a few hours seeing some sights in the city. No thanks – all I wanted was to get to the airport where I could safely hang out, drink tea, and read my Isabel Allende novel. The hotel clerk suggested I take the shuttle bus from the station across the street (the cheap and efficient transport I had used when I first arrived in Chile). Nope, I wanted a cab – no waiting around with my stuff in a crowded bus terminal.
Upon arriving at Santiago’s international terminal, I checked my heavy pack with American Airlines. I had only been able to book a middle seat on-line and asked the agent if there were any aisle seats. He found one for me! So, now I walked several hundred feet to a café and my cup of tea. After locating a seat and opening my book, something wasn’t right. Oh shit, one of the lenses had popped out of my old bifocal frames. I looked around where I was sitting and where I had walked in the café area but no lens. It was likely somewhere along the long corridor I had traversed after checking my bag and no doubt crushed by someone’s shoe by now. I had a spare pair of reading glasses and could get along without distance glasses but what another giant and expensive pain in the ass. Now, I would have to buy a new pair of bifocals when I got home.
The 8½ hour
overnight flight to Miami was torture. I
found it impossible to get any decent sleep.
The fasten-seatbelt sign was on most of the night as there was unstable
air and some turbulence along our route up the west coast of South
America. I was only able to get up once
to use the can. Yes, I had an aisle seat
but flight attendants and others walking past bumped me as did the big guy in the
middle seat. It felt like I was in a
self-imposed straight jacket trying to avoid physical contact with others. My legs were cramped, and I was getting a sore
throat.
When the flight mercifully landed in Miami before 5:00 AM local time, I was now stuck waiting until the afternoon for my flight to Denver. Southwest wouldn’t let me check my bag until three hours before the flight, so I had to schlep it around with me. I tried to read but kept nodding off. Lunch – some Asian noodles and a fruit drink cost $22.00. Once able to check my bag, I now faced a ginormous security line to get out to the boarding area. I timed it – one hour to get through. The consolation prize was not having to take off my boots since I am now over 75!
You
might ask why I don’t have TSA Pre-Check to avoid long security lines. Yes, that’s practical for frequent flyers but
what about someone like me who only takes a couple flights a year? You have to shell out 85 bucks (good for five
years), fill out an application form, have an interview with TSA, and get
fingerprinted. Also, why don’t I pay
extra to sit in an exit row with ample leg room? Frankly, it just pisses me off to have the
airlines nickel and dime me for various upgrades. To remove most of the pain and suffering of
flying, I could have flown business class – IF, I wanted to shell out about
$7,000 for the Miami-Santiago trip. No,
for most of us middle-class mortals, flying SUCKS! And long-distance flying TOTALLY SUCKS! By the way, I used to love flying.
Just another lovely day at MIA! Photo
source: https://www.theworldorbust.com/miami-international-airport-hacks/
The
departure time to Denver was delayed for more than an hour – an equipment
problem, the captain later explained. By
the time the flight left, I had spent about 11 hours in the Miami terminal
(there were earlier flights but none were non-stops). This time I was stuck in a middle seat for
the 4½ hour flight because I had neglected to check in on-line 24 hours in
advance. At least, the guys on either
side of me allowed me my space in the airborne sardine can.
When I got off the plane in Denver, my a-fib came back again, and I had to rest before making the long walk to the terminal train. Another irregular heartbeat incident occurred when I left the baggage carrousel with my heavy pack. Any exertion seemed to bring on a-fib events – I didn’t know how I would have managed another 2½ weeks in Chile.
Good luck finding your way around DIA! Photo
source: https://www.denver7.com/news/local-news/new-report-faults-dia-for-heavy-handed-oversight-that-contributed-to-breakdown-of-great-hall-project
The
Denver airport terminal is in the middle of major renovation and with partitions,
closed-off areas, and poor signage all around, I found myself unable to get to
the airport bus area.
After
two days of hell, I wanted to line up the airport managers and slap them silly
but I had to find my bus. I actually had
to ask directions in a terminal I’d been using for 28 years! I found the bus just in time (there is only
one per hour) and Judy was waiting for me at the Nine Mile Park and Ride
Station. Ain’t it good to be back home
again!
I will follow up tomorrow with an addendum about the outcome of my heart issues.
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