Even though it's past Christmas and we're into 2023, I figured it'd be fun to put down in writing my epic travel story that will haunt my dreams and impress people who have traveled as much as I have, and even those who have traveled more than me. I tell this story to people who want a good travel story, and this one never disappoints. So here you go. My travel story from hell.
Post-9/11 anyway. Maybe one day I’ll do my best to recall the worst pre-9/11 travel story from what I can remember (perhaps my mom can help me fill in the blanks).
If there’s any “goal” to posting this it’s to let everyone know that you should never leave your holiday travels to the last minute if you can help it, especially if you live in a place where the holidays are cold and your particular area extremely so. Not like this trip was saved until the last minute; it had been planned for months. But given the weather most of the US experienced in Christmas of 2022 and the subsequent air travel fiasco that ensued, just traveling really close to December 25 is basically an issue of a level of risk-taking even frequent fliers try not to engage in. You’ll see what I mean. Ohhhhh, you will see. what. I. mean.
First, a bit of backstory. When I transferred from community college to a 4-year school I specifically chose Spanish as a major because of the study abroad requirement. By that point, I’d realized how much living in Spain as a tween and my parents being based there as a teenager made me who I was, and really wanted to go back. I applied for the program in early 2007 so I could be approved to go for the Spring Semester in 2008 and was accepted. I got a new passport in the summer of that year (my passport photo has a halter bikini top peeking out from my shirt OMG 🙈), had it expedited, so I could drop it off at the office that handled all the documents for the study abroad programs and they would handle my visa. I had to get a letter allowing someone else to handle my document for me notarized so said passport could be brought to the Spanish consulate in Chicago (I was living in Wisconsin, and the closest consulate is in Chicago) by someone else.
Why is all this relevant? Because it alllllllll factors into how much of a fiasco this entire travel experience was. From beginning to end.
As my parents were living in Spain at the time (in a small town about 30 miles west of Sevilla), my dad had booked my tickets for a full six months. I’d fly out on Christmas Eve so I could spend Christmas with my family, and fly out the next June. As the official study abroad program started on January 1, this meant I wouldn’t be handed my passport at O’Hare in Chicago with the rest of the group and I had to handle all those logistics on my own. I remember going to the study abroad office (whatever it was called) to check if my visa had been approved. According to my LiveJournal (which I obsessively updated… I wish I could blog now like I did back then, TBQH), as of December 10, and 13 of 2007. My flight was booked for the 24th. That’s how close the government was cutting it. Finally, on the 18th, I got the update it had arrived in Chicago. Six days before my flight out. On the 21st, we went down to Chicago to pick it up.
I was “staying” with some family friends from our church at the time while I wasn’t in class and as I had no transportation of my own, they offered to drive me down to the consulate in Chicago to pick up my passport. It took 3 hours to get from where I was staying in Wisconsin to Chicago, and because they didn’t really want to drive me down, we left at 6 am so we could get to the consulate when it opened at 9. They opened at 9:10, I signed for my passport and drove all the way back up to Wisconsin. Very efficient.
Three days later, on the 24th, I had to be at the Appleton airport by 8 am to catch an 8:55 flight to Cincinnati, where I would connect to Newark (Appleton is a regional airport, so they don’t fly all the way out to the East Coast) for my flight to Madrid, where I would then get a train to Sevilla where my parents would pick me up. As I sat at the airport waiting for the boarding announcement, I instead heard a flight delay announcement. Due to a missing crew member on another delayed flight (weather issues in the Upper Midwest, yayyyyyy), they had to delay until 11:55. Then noon rolled around, and the flight ended up being canceled. Everyone who had that flight could go to the desk to rebook any flights and connections, and I ended up being the last person in line, insisting that I had to at least be in Newark by that evening so I could get on my flight to Madrid that night. As the flight to Madrid was on a different carrier, they told me they couldn’t change my booking but they’d notify the airline of the issue so they could handle it themselves. I agreed, and while they tried to get me out of another regional airport, I couldn’t do that because I didn’t have a car and I could only fly out of Appleton. Delta ended up putting me on the flight to Cincinnati that evening and rescheduled my flight to Newark for the next morning, and then I could talk to Continental which would be taking me to Madrid about switching my flight.
I updated my dad in Spain about the issue, and he made sure to make sure I knew about Continental being updated about the change since there was no way I’d be able to fly out that evening out of Newark. I told him the ticket agent had confirmed that Continental would be notified (I’d asked, and insisted, that they notify the airline even if there was nothing I could do).
So I got on that plane to Cincinnati at 6 pm.
I was the only passenger on the plane. I was booked on the flight so the airline was legally required to fly me, and I got a flight attendant and the two pilots all to myself, plus all the airline snacks and my first-ever seat in Business class. For all of an hour and a half, it was fun. I wish I remembered more of the details, but oh well.
Once I landed in Cincinnati, the airline put me up in a Holiday Inn right across the river in Kentucky because it had been their issue when the flights were canceled, so I took a shower and went to bed, ready to get on my flight to Newark, even if it meant sitting in the airport for a few hours. On Christmas Day.
I got to Newark the next morning, where to my surprise (but probably not to yours), I had been marked as a “no-show” on the previous night’s flight to Newark. Delta hadn’t notified Continental that I wouldn’t be on the flight because of the issues getting out of Appleton, so they canceled the booking. Not only that, but I couldn’t even get on the flight that night at all because it was full. Now I was stranded, actually stranded, in Newark on Christmas. I frantically got on a Skype call to my dad in Spain at the food court, and about 2 hours later after talking with Continental (I had a total of 8 hours before the flight was supposed to leave), he got me back on to explain to me that while they couldn’t guarantee that I’d be on that flight to Madrid that night, I should fly stand-by and be prepared to spend the night with my aunt in Upstate New York (For those unaware of Metro NYC terminology... "Upstate New York" is anywhere in New York State that isn't the City or Long Island. So like... 90% of the state) an hour and a half away since I had no other contacts in the NYC area. I agreed, and went back to the check-in desk, ready to ask for a standby ticket. I spoke to the same woman who’d told me the flight was full, and somehow she’d recognized me. I distinctly remember her looking at me and saying “Did you get everything sorted out?” I told her I hoped so, and I’d like to at least get on standby.
She types my information into the system, then looks over at me, and, I remember this clearly, she tells me “You’re in luck. Someone canceled, Window seat okay?”
YES.
So, despite the fact that I was already supposed to be in Spain, celebrating Christmas with my family (who ended up postponing theirs so I could get there), I at least had a guaranteed flight to Madrid and I was going.
Once I landed in Madrid, I just had to get to Atocha where I needed to get an AVE train down to Sevilla so my parents could pick me up.
I got to the ticket counter around noon, but because it was the day after Christmas, everyone and their dog was traveling, and the earliest train they could get me on was at 6 pm. There I was, stranded yet again in a transportation terminal, waiting. Just waiting.
At least that time I was actually able to get on the train, and 3 hours later I was with my parents at the train station.
My travels began at 7 am Central Time on Christmas Eve, and ended around midnight on December 26 at around midnight Central Europe Time.
This is why you shouldn’t travel on a holiday. Especially one in winter.
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