Even without a black cat sighting, our trip back was a tad bit trying. Neither Rob nor I managed to get more than a few hours of sleep Saturday night despite the fact that we were both exhausted. I don’t know if it was just the preoccupation with making sure all the details were in order or just the stress that occupies air travel generally these days. I was worried about crossing the border since my status is not yet official.
The Cedar Rapids Airport isn’t very big. Small jets that contract with larger airlines mainly. Checking in set Rob’s teeth on edge within ten minutes of our arrival. The touch and scan machine they have at the counter was backed up due to a passenger who either couldn’t read or didn’t understand the concept of touch screen or both. For some reason we weren’t allowed to choose our seats prior to check in which is annoying beyond words when you are traveling with small children. The woman in question was one of those who was trying to hang onto the best years of her life and these years were clearly her twenties. She was wearing tight jeans, a leopard print shirt just as clingy and was so expertly balanced on 3 inch stilletto heels with an open toe that you knew she didn’t own a pair of flats beyond the cross-trainers she probably wore when she went to gym once a week. Too much make-up for 7:15 in the morning and a shaggish type hair-style that doesn’t really suit people our age. I say “our age” because she couldn’t have been much older than I am and was likely a bit younger but that’s what tanning beds actually do for you. Having just spent the evening before at my 25th high school reunion, I was a bit more conscious of my peers who put a lot of effort into staying young. Rob fumed openly at the woman, and I didn’t blame him. The more I watched her, the more obvious it was that she wasn’t incapable of traversing the seating situation. She was one of those women who had lived her life getting others, probably men more often than not, to do things for her. As she explained to the employee who finally gave up trying to explain it to her and just did it for her, she had paid a lot of money for this trip and she was going to sit next to her girlfriend but her daughter and son-in-law didn’t need to be near-by if that was too much trouble. It was then I noticed the young couple tying up the other kiosk. The daughter was obviously her mother’s clothing and hairstyle inspiration and she was browning herself to an older looking middle-age in her mother’s footsteps as well. The younger woman was also a graduate of the school of dumb blondes, pretending incompetence as her husband indulgently guided her through the check in procedure.
The jet we were taking was being boarded out on the tarmac. We don’t always take advantage of the right that passengers with small children have to board ahead of our seats being called but with the walk out and carrying the carseat to check this time, we did. On the smaller jets they are very strict about the one carry-on rule. Even purses are deemed carry-on which is beyond stupid as most women don’t travel with backpack size handbags and many of the purses these days are very small. Mine you might not even notice if you saw me only from the front, which is the angle the flight attendant first spied me from as I helped Katy on and we walked past the attendant and a long-haired passenger arguing about his carry-on. It appeared he had quickly moved his cameras to his larger carry-on and was folding the camera bag to stuff in the first bag as well but the attendant continued to harangue him. Until she saw Rob. He was carrying his computer case and wearing the backpack that the three of us share and which also contained my computer. The flight attendant seized upon the chance to force someone else to check a bag, having failed with Mr. Pony-Tail. Rob quickly pointed out that he did have one carry-on and was handling mine because I was taking charge of Katy. And that is when she saw my purse.
“A hand-bag is a carry-on and you cannot have two carry-on.”
So now I was blocking the aisle, which always makes one popular on any flight and Katy was getting ahead of me and the other passengers were looking on with interest to see if I would make an issue and likely get us ejected.
“Okay, can I put the purse in the pack?”
Thwarted again, and clearly unhappy about that, she replied, “Yes, because you can only have one carry-one.”
I suppose I could have gotten uber-technical and pointed out that there were three of us and therefore we were allowed three carry-on. If I had wanted to be a real smart-ass, I could have handed Katy my purse (she loves carrying it) and taken the pack from Rob. I wasn’t in the mood. I was tired and worried about getting through Canadian Customs and thinking a bit about my dad, whether or not I will ever see him alive again, and the woman was clearly one of those people who saw the world from her eyes only. Whether or not she would have been kinder if she had known my circumstances isn’t even relevant. The world at large is not equipped to deal with us all as individuals with needs and feelings. Sometimes, you just suck it up and shrug it off as best you can later.
I was most of the flight and a while longer in Minneapolis “shrugging” Brunhilda off. It wasn’t until I had a skinny chai from Starbucks in hand and finished reading the last thirty pages of The Other Boleyn Girl that I felt more like myself. When we finally hit Concourse C and Katy was happily making friends with the other children in the play area, Rob wisely sent me off to the Starbucks which was a bit of a walk. The walk helped a lot. The chai and a literary immersion got me the last little bit to my “zen” place. The man knows me pretty well.
The flight into Edmonton is about 2 and 1/2 hours. We were late taking off because the pilot waited for a few passengers whose connecting flight was late, but we still made it on schedule. There was quite a bit of turbulence early in the flight. The kind that reminds you of a rollercoaster. Stomach-dropping. I wasn’t afraid as much as physically disconcerted. I am keenly aware of motion. I can feel the floor move and the sway of buildings. Air turbulence might as well be an earthquake in terms of what I feel. Fortunately it passed quickly though the flight didn’t. If it is calm, I can write and even read a bit. Bumpy and I have nothing to do but wait.
In Edmonton, customs turned out to be a non-event, as Rob had said it would be. We did get booted over to the Immigration Office but that turned out to be a good thing because we were able to get one of the clearest explanations of my status and what we needed to know and remember to do that we have ever gotten from Immigration. It was worth the wait.
The kittens went a bit feral while we were gone but on the upside, they are eating kitten food now and we should be able to hand them over to their new owners soon. I had to make a grocery run and nearly fell asleep over my cart as I schlepped around the Safeway. But, by nine we were all ready for bed and the bags were unpacked, put away and laundry was half done.
It was a good trip, but I am so glad to be home again.
Showing posts with label air travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label air travel. Show all posts
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Black Cats
Just as we were nearing the airport yesterday, a black cat dashed across the road in front of us. Off to the right we could see a coyote paused in mid-chase in the ditch. A more superstitious person would have immediately jumped to the conclusion that the day was now a wash and gone back home to catch up on sleep before the sun came up, but though I did wonder idly about the possibility of our plane plummeting to the ground shortly after take off, I didn’t give the cat, or its hue, another thought until we landed in Minneapolis to discover our next flight was cancelled.
“Cancered?” my daughter puzzled. “Why was the plane cancered?”
Why indeed and since it was a company that contracts with Northwest, we will probably never have an answer, but there we were. It was not quite noon and our one o’clock flight to Cedar Rapids, Iowa was now rescheduled for 4:45. We suddenly had a whole lotta time on our hands.
The first order of business, after visiting the washrooms, was lunch. And, I don’t know if you’ve traveled by air lately but though there are a great many food choices from very fast to sit down and hand over your Gold Card, not a whole lot of it amounts to much more than fat and sugar and the inevitable tummy ache. For me, eating out is a quest anymore. Trying to find food that won’t upset my stomach or aggravate my allergies or even weigh me, literally, down is hard enough to do in the real world but in the confines of a TSA secure airport it is nearly impossible. Once you enter the terrorist-cleansed zone, you aren’t allowed out without penalty. That being that you have to run the screening gauntlet again and explain why you left too I would guess. I would also guess that being hungry for edible food won’t cut it as a reason.
After a search we discovered a food court on Concourse C with an Einsteins and a place that made fruit smoothies as well as Asian cuisine and an A&W. When we were all fed, we landed at the play area and settled with newspapers and Starbucks and made ourselves as comfy and at home as possible while Katy played. It was a little surprising to me how once we were fortified with reading material and beverages that Rob and I kicked back as though it were a weekend morning at our dining room table with tea and toast. I kicked off my shoes and put my feet in his lap, and we read and exchanged information of interest as we came across it. The hours passed. Not all that slowly. It was relaxing in its own strange way.
Flight time finally arrived. It was a small jet that left the gate on time but taxied in circles for so long that Rob finally asked me if we were going to drive to Cedar Rapids after all. Once up the time went by and when we arrived it looked as though we might still be to my folks at a reasonable hour. But the black cat wasn’t quite done. The flight had been full and, um, weighty. Some of the heavier pieces of luggage were removed from the cargo bins just prior to take off. We had taken the two hard shell suitcases with us. One had most of our clothes and the other the car-seat. The car-seat arrived with us. The clothes, as we were to discover after another bit of a wait, would be arriving in another few hours. Fortunately we did pack a change of colors and other essentials in the carry-on case. Still, it was past Katy’s bedtime when we headed out in a downpour to my hometown.
Today the luggage was delivered to my parent’s house and we managed pretty well without it. As I said at the beginning of this piece, if I had been more superstitious, I might have run for cover, but I really don’t think that black cats or the number 13 or any other mumbo jumbo has much to do with the mishaps that occur sometimes. Not that everything happens for a reason, but sometimes things happen for the benefit of others and we just get caught up by that. It’s not a big deal. I spent the afternoon with my feet in my honey’s lap watching my daughter have a grand time playing and making conversation with the children that came and went in that play area over the course of an afternoon, and honestly worse times have been had by us all.
“Cancered?” my daughter puzzled. “Why was the plane cancered?”
Why indeed and since it was a company that contracts with Northwest, we will probably never have an answer, but there we were. It was not quite noon and our one o’clock flight to Cedar Rapids, Iowa was now rescheduled for 4:45. We suddenly had a whole lotta time on our hands.
The first order of business, after visiting the washrooms, was lunch. And, I don’t know if you’ve traveled by air lately but though there are a great many food choices from very fast to sit down and hand over your Gold Card, not a whole lot of it amounts to much more than fat and sugar and the inevitable tummy ache. For me, eating out is a quest anymore. Trying to find food that won’t upset my stomach or aggravate my allergies or even weigh me, literally, down is hard enough to do in the real world but in the confines of a TSA secure airport it is nearly impossible. Once you enter the terrorist-cleansed zone, you aren’t allowed out without penalty. That being that you have to run the screening gauntlet again and explain why you left too I would guess. I would also guess that being hungry for edible food won’t cut it as a reason.
After a search we discovered a food court on Concourse C with an Einsteins and a place that made fruit smoothies as well as Asian cuisine and an A&W. When we were all fed, we landed at the play area and settled with newspapers and Starbucks and made ourselves as comfy and at home as possible while Katy played. It was a little surprising to me how once we were fortified with reading material and beverages that Rob and I kicked back as though it were a weekend morning at our dining room table with tea and toast. I kicked off my shoes and put my feet in his lap, and we read and exchanged information of interest as we came across it. The hours passed. Not all that slowly. It was relaxing in its own strange way.
Flight time finally arrived. It was a small jet that left the gate on time but taxied in circles for so long that Rob finally asked me if we were going to drive to Cedar Rapids after all. Once up the time went by and when we arrived it looked as though we might still be to my folks at a reasonable hour. But the black cat wasn’t quite done. The flight had been full and, um, weighty. Some of the heavier pieces of luggage were removed from the cargo bins just prior to take off. We had taken the two hard shell suitcases with us. One had most of our clothes and the other the car-seat. The car-seat arrived with us. The clothes, as we were to discover after another bit of a wait, would be arriving in another few hours. Fortunately we did pack a change of colors and other essentials in the carry-on case. Still, it was past Katy’s bedtime when we headed out in a downpour to my hometown.
Today the luggage was delivered to my parent’s house and we managed pretty well without it. As I said at the beginning of this piece, if I had been more superstitious, I might have run for cover, but I really don’t think that black cats or the number 13 or any other mumbo jumbo has much to do with the mishaps that occur sometimes. Not that everything happens for a reason, but sometimes things happen for the benefit of others and we just get caught up by that. It’s not a big deal. I spent the afternoon with my feet in my honey’s lap watching my daughter have a grand time playing and making conversation with the children that came and went in that play area over the course of an afternoon, and honestly worse times have been had by us all.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Flying
It could just be my naturally suspicious nature or it could be that the process is designed to intimidate and dehumanize, but I dislike crossing borders and security checkpoints. U.S. Customs was a non-event this time back. The last time it was just Katy and I, so I got the usual questions about where I had been and did Katy’s father know I had her out of the country. Since I always tuck her dad’s death certificate into her passport, it is right there for them to see, but they ask anyway. I guess they need to hear me say that he is dead. With Rob along however, the Custom’s official didn’t even open the certificate. Even traveling with different last names on our passports, because getting mine amended to reflect my new martial status is proving to be a hassle, the official just assumed that Rob was her father.
The TSA screenings are not as Nazi paced in Canada. After all, we are talking about Canadians who are never in a hurry do to anything job related. A marked change from the TSA at the Des Moines Airport who lacked only the snarling German Shepherds and people hollering “Schnell! Schnell!” As if it should take no time at all to de-shoe yourself and a small child while simultaneously dumping everything from your person into impossibly small plastic containers while presenting proper photo ID and boarding passes. Still, it has the feeling of one of those test dreams a person has from time to time even years past being in school. Wandering frantically up and down hallways. Searching for the right room and never finding it or arriving too late. I don’t think it would fit Amnesty International’s definition of torture but it is being brought to us all by the people who think that simulated drowning does not count because it’s not specifically prohibited by the Geneva Convention.
Once through and into the gate area the cluster fuck truly begins. Why do people rush to get into boarding lines? Boarding is a slow process that is actually made quicker by being last. I guess it is to snag all the overhead compartments rather than putting one carry on up and one under your seat. Again, a behavior based on the false assumption that disembarking will be made quicker this way. I can’t count the number of times I have waited patiently with my carry on secured and me ready to leave while nearly every one around me struggled to free their luggage from the upper compartments.
As soon as you board the plane, you are greeted by the impatient glares of the first class passengers. All twelve of them who sit grumpily with their drinks and ample leg room waiting for the rest of us peasants to please hurry up and sit our fat bums down somewhere behind them. Of course everyone glares at you when you are the last to board because it is surely your fault the plane isn’t already taxiing down the runway. We were in the dead last row. Good because it puts a person right next to the washrooms. Bad because there is no reclining. Good again because it’s a done deal that you will be the last people off, so there is no pressure to hurry.
My daughter is a jaded air traveler already. The wonder of flight isn’t lost on her but it has become routine, which I find interesting and I am hoping bodes well for the future because I have a feeling we might travel by air more and more frequently. The downside of travel for me though is the tendency towards motion sickness that has plagued me since I was a child. For some reason I can write and read but not simply read and that makes flights above two hours a tad bit tedious. On this trip both Rob and I, uber-geeks that we are, sit with laptops out. He catching up on work email and me writing this blog piece. Rob to my right and Katy on the left, engrossed in the SpongeBob episode playing on the iPod.
It’s 9:21 Edmonton time and we are due into Minneapolis at 11:30 Central Time U.S., and since the flight attendants are busily collecting snack trash I expect that within the next twenty minutes or so it will be time to begin landing. Why does landing take so much longer than taking off? Although I am still a bit apprehensive about the return trip through Canadian Customs, and I imagine it will be a lengthy sit in Immigration again, I am not going to let that spoil the trip to see my folks and extended family and friends.
The TSA screenings are not as Nazi paced in Canada. After all, we are talking about Canadians who are never in a hurry do to anything job related. A marked change from the TSA at the Des Moines Airport who lacked only the snarling German Shepherds and people hollering “Schnell! Schnell!” As if it should take no time at all to de-shoe yourself and a small child while simultaneously dumping everything from your person into impossibly small plastic containers while presenting proper photo ID and boarding passes. Still, it has the feeling of one of those test dreams a person has from time to time even years past being in school. Wandering frantically up and down hallways. Searching for the right room and never finding it or arriving too late. I don’t think it would fit Amnesty International’s definition of torture but it is being brought to us all by the people who think that simulated drowning does not count because it’s not specifically prohibited by the Geneva Convention.
Once through and into the gate area the cluster fuck truly begins. Why do people rush to get into boarding lines? Boarding is a slow process that is actually made quicker by being last. I guess it is to snag all the overhead compartments rather than putting one carry on up and one under your seat. Again, a behavior based on the false assumption that disembarking will be made quicker this way. I can’t count the number of times I have waited patiently with my carry on secured and me ready to leave while nearly every one around me struggled to free their luggage from the upper compartments.
As soon as you board the plane, you are greeted by the impatient glares of the first class passengers. All twelve of them who sit grumpily with their drinks and ample leg room waiting for the rest of us peasants to please hurry up and sit our fat bums down somewhere behind them. Of course everyone glares at you when you are the last to board because it is surely your fault the plane isn’t already taxiing down the runway. We were in the dead last row. Good because it puts a person right next to the washrooms. Bad because there is no reclining. Good again because it’s a done deal that you will be the last people off, so there is no pressure to hurry.
My daughter is a jaded air traveler already. The wonder of flight isn’t lost on her but it has become routine, which I find interesting and I am hoping bodes well for the future because I have a feeling we might travel by air more and more frequently. The downside of travel for me though is the tendency towards motion sickness that has plagued me since I was a child. For some reason I can write and read but not simply read and that makes flights above two hours a tad bit tedious. On this trip both Rob and I, uber-geeks that we are, sit with laptops out. He catching up on work email and me writing this blog piece. Rob to my right and Katy on the left, engrossed in the SpongeBob episode playing on the iPod.
It’s 9:21 Edmonton time and we are due into Minneapolis at 11:30 Central Time U.S., and since the flight attendants are busily collecting snack trash I expect that within the next twenty minutes or so it will be time to begin landing. Why does landing take so much longer than taking off? Although I am still a bit apprehensive about the return trip through Canadian Customs, and I imagine it will be a lengthy sit in Immigration again, I am not going to let that spoil the trip to see my folks and extended family and friends.
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