I’d like the court records to show that when I said I wanted to “run away to France,” I didn’t mean that literally…so Delta, cool it on your connecting flights.
Roughly 7 months ago I spontaneously purchased tickets to a concert in Berlin, Germany, to see one of my favorite German artists. I planned a three week trip to visit a family member, check out a variety of German Christmas Markets, and see the many sites I’d had on my Germany travel bucket list, in addition to enjoying what looked like what would be the craziest concert I would ever see. However, life over these past few years has molded many of us into our most adaptable selves through a series of ever-changing circumstances, and this trip was no exception.
As COVID-19 cases began to rise, my concert was cancelled first, followed by several Christmas Markets, and eventually several cultural sites. A portion of my trip in Germany would have to be cancelled due to the changes, and after talking with my family member and a few other people on the ground in Germany, I decided that it would be best to postpone my trip until the situation with COVID was better. Everything I’d booked in Germany was fully refundable (with the exception of a few 8 euro tickets into cultural sites, which I consider a minor donation to Germany’s historical preservation efforts). However, my original plan included a four-day stint in Paris, which included a few bigger ticket purchases that were not refundable. I checked out the COVID numbers in France, which were much better than the rest of Europe and considerably better than Minnesota, and after some contemplation, decided to convert my three week trip to Germany to ten days in France.
And sometimes, what’s meant for you will find you.
It was a quick turnaround time to replan an entire trip, but like I said – we’ve all learned to be a little more adaptable than we may even think over these past few years. There were many times across this trip (mostly in airports) where something went wrong, and I knew that a past version of myself would have been totally panicked or wrecked by anxiety, and the current version of myself was simply confident that I would figure it out, and was therefore calm.
And then there’s the version of me that was running across the airport. Let’s get back to her.
My flight itinerary included a brief three-hour flight to Boston, where I had a three hour layover before my connecting six-hour flight to Paris. When I arrived at my first flight’s gate, I happened to sit next to some pretty cool people who began chatting with one another. One was a family heading back home from vacation, and the other was an older woman wearing a fuzzy red vest, who told us all about the difficult morning she’d had with flights. She was supposed to fly straight home to Boston, but ended up getting rerouted from Boise to Salt Lake City to Minneapolis, where she’d been waiting for hours to board a final flight home. We were all in the same boarding zone, so we continued chatting, and eventually a young woman from the UK joined us. She was currently working in Boston doing medical research, and ended up chatting with us about the vaccine from a technical standpoint.
While much of this tale is going to be a bit complain-y about how my airlines dropped the bag – sorry, I mean ball, it’s also a bit about how my faith in humanity was restored. During my conversation with these fine folks, one of them said that it seems like this past year has brought out the worst in everyone. I definitely agree – I have seen and heard a lot of terrible things from people through my position in healthcare, and it’s certainly hard to keep your spirits up when you are faced with that on a daily basis. However, there’s some small part of me that refuses to give up my hope and optimism, and I know that even though it hasn’t always been the loudest, there is still a sector of society that has brought out the best in themselves, and I feel like this part of my adventure, as filled with issues as it was, demonstrated that.
After we had all boarded the plane, we spent a considerable amount of time just waiting in our seats. Eventually, the pilots came overhead and told us that the plane was reading an error message, and they were consulting Atlanta about it, which is a terrible sign. Why are we contacting Delta’s HQ in Atlanta when we have a crew right here on the ground in Minneapolis? After at least an hour, they came back overhead and told us that they didn’t have the equipment to fix the issue with the plane, so we would be de-planing and getting on a new flight. As soon as they said this, everyone groaned and said a variation of “we’re going to be here for hours!” I hoped that wouldn’t be the case, and was continuously calculating how much time I would have to make my connecting flight if I spent several more hours in Minneapolis.
When we arrived at our new gate, I ran into Red Vest, who said, “This is all my fault! I blame me. After my bad morning, I’m bringing my luck with me.”
I laughed and reassured her that I did not blame her even if she did bring her bad luck with her, and decided to sit next to her, where I presumably picked up her travel curse! After we’d all been at the gate for a few minutes, the Delta employee at the desk announced that we had a new plane, and our flight attendants would be able to staff the plane, however, our current pilots were not certified to fly the plane, and therefore we would be getting new pilots. This meant they had to do an all call for their reserve pilots, who had two hours to show up to the airport, and who would then have to do paperwork before we would be able to board.
With all of the delays, this meant that my three-hour layover would now be a cool forty minutes, which made me nervous. I said something about this to Red Vest, and she recommended that I talk to the gate agent about trying to get on a different flight, because she thought that would be too short of a turnaround. The woman from the UK had sat next to us, and she agreed. The gate agent ended up telling me that there was only one other flight out to Boston, and it was leaving seven minutes before ours, so she didn’t think it would make much of a difference.
Spoiler: it would have.
She then told me that if I wanted to walk down to the Delta Help Desk, which according to John Mulaney is an oxymoron, I could see if there were other options. I did so and waited in line while a Karen absolutely lost her mind about the fact that her flight took off without her after she and her family were late for their flight. Once I finally got to the desk, the employee there told me that forty minutes was plenty of time for my layover and I didn’t need to worry.
Spoiler: it was not plenty of time.
When I returned to my gate, it had gotten around that I was heading to France, and here’s where we see the best of people coming out. Someone sitting near me told me that there was another individual, a man I will call Green Backpack due to the neon green backpack he was carrying, who was also heading to Paris. He said that this man was headed to the Delta Help Desk, and if he got on another flight, maybe I could get on the same one. I told him that I’d already gone to the Help Desk and not received any help, but that if the other man had gotten a different flight, then I would definitely reconsider my options. Green Backpack eventually returned and stayed in our gate area, so I felt reassured that even if my current option wasn’t a great one, it was the best one.
Spoiler: it was not.
Another woman sitting near me told me that one of her best pieces of advice in situations where your layover is shortened is to go to the gate agent, explain your layover circumstance, and ask to be moved to a seat more toward the front of the plane. This means that your de-boarding experience will be shortened, as you won’t be waiting for very many people. I thought that was great advice, so I spoke to the gate agent, and she moved me a stellar 15 rows up in the plane, no problem.
The woman from the UK started giving me recommendations for things to see in Paris, and then told me which terminal and gates typically left Boston for international flights. Another woman nearby told me to pull up Delta’s app on my phone, because you can see a map of each airport, and then helped me figure out the route from the gate we’d be landing at to the gate I would need to board at, so I could quickly rush to my gate. All in all, about 8 separate passengers from my flight ended up chatting with me and giving me advice – unsolicited but extremely appreciated.
During our wait, the other flight to Boston that supposedly was leaving seven minutes before us took off. Certainly way more than seven minutes before us. After over two hours of waiting, a pilot had arrived and we were able to begin boarding again. Once we had all been settled in, the pilot came overhead and announced that we were still waiting for his copilot, and he should be there in a vague “soon.” After the copilot arrived, the plane started moving away from the gate, I started hearing weird noises and humming sounds. The pilot then accidentally came overhead and said something about the right engine appearing to have an issue, which is not an ideal thing to hear by accident on an airplane. I think the breath of frustration that each passenger let out upon hearing that could have in itself flown us to Boston.
To Be (in Paris) or Not to Be (in Paris)
At this point, the stress started rolling in for me. I had previously been able to convince myself that I would make it work, all would be well, and in a few short hours I would be sleeping on a plane to Paris, which is one of the best places one can sleep. However, at this moment, I realized that I would be missing my connecting flight, and wondered what I was going to do then? Would I be finding a place to stay in Boston that night? Would I sleep at the airport until a new connecting flight? Would I even make it to France at all? If my plane was delayed, I would ultimately miss out on my plans to visit the Christmas Markets in Strasbourg and seeing Versailles. I felt like I should have just turned around and said, “Well, this has been a fun seven hours at the airport without actually flying, I think I’ll go home now.” I’d been to excited to sleep the night before, so I was only running on 2.5 hours of sleep and a pack of goldfish crackers, so my decision-making skills were not up to their usual levels of spontaneity and adventure. At that point, however, I was already boarded on a plane with an issue with its right engine, heading to Boston.
We’d already left the gate, so we had to return, fix the issue, and then head back out to wait in line so our plane could be de-iced. This took some time. Eventually, we made it up in the air, and I felt like I was wasting my time. I didn’t think I would be making it to France, and felt like I was going to Boston for no reason. As we were gearing up to land, however, the flight attendants announced that there were several passengers with tight connecting international flights, and asked everyone on board to remain seated so those passengers could quickly get off the plane and make it to their flight.
My original flight to Paris had left over an hour ago at this point, but their announcement peaked my interest, so I opened my Delta app and saw that Delta had already re-booked me a (longer) flight to Amsterdam, which was leaving twenty minutes after I was supposed to land in Boston. The Amsterdam flight was followed by a short hour flight to Paris. I was frustrated that I was adding several hours of flying to my trip, and I was completely exhausted. I was nearing twelve hours of airport/airplane time, and I still had a seven hour flight to Amsterdam, a layover, and a one hour flight to Paris. I felt unprepared for the quantity of time I would still be traveling, but my older brother texted me that I deserved to go to Paris, saying that I work so hard and deserve to have that experience in France. Reading his message made me tear up, and I decided that even if I had to cancel part of my trip because of the delays, I was going to France.
When the plane landed, all of the other passengers stayed put. Knowing that I was making my final decision on where I was going next, I looked at the lady next to me and told her that I was one of the people with a connecting international flight, and asked if I could sneak by her, and she responded with an enthusiastic, “Of course, absolutely!” and jumped out of my way. As I was pulling my carry on out of the overhead bin, a bunch of people on the plane started yelling, “Good luck!” “We hope you make your flight!” “Have a wonderful time in Paris!” It was a chorus of well-wishes, and it filled me with a glow of joy. I love all of those kind people and hope they’re all doing well, wherever they are.
I ran to the gate – unfortunately, however, Delta had not given me a new ticket. Despite the fact that they’d updated my flight in the app, it didn’t issue me a new ticket, so when I arrived at the gate, I told the attendant there what had happened, and they told me to scan the app anyway. It didn’t work, so they sent me around the other side of the desk to talk to a different attendant, who helped me get a new ticket. As she was helping me, I saw Green Backpack and another man, who we will call Scarf, show up at the gate. Green Backpack was attempting to scan his ticket, but it was working, because just like me, his ticket hadn’t been updated. The gate agent began telling him that this flight was going to Amsterdam, and his ticket was for Paris. He looked very confused, repeating Amsterdam back to her, and then beginning to speak French. I saw the two of them struggling to understand each other, so I leaned over the barrier and told the gate agent that he had been on the same flight as me and was also going to Paris, so his ticket needed to be updated, just like mine. I looked at him and Scarf and tried to tell them that our plane was going to Amsterdam, and then Paris. They recognized me from the previous flight, and seemed to understand that we were being rerouted. The gate agent told them to get in line behind me, and they’d also update their tickets.
In line, we began chatting about how crazy our flight process had been up to that point. There was a definite language barrier there, but we were all doing our best to use basic phrases, and there was a lot of laughter. I think we were all relieved to finally be at the point in which we were boarding a plane abroad. It was nice to know that we were all in it together.
When I finally boarded the plane, I was seated on the outside row, which had two seats in each row. However, they only booked one person per row on that side, which was amazing – I was able to spread out, and actually lay down while trying to sleep on the plane. As I was putting away my carry on and getting adjusted in my seat, a girl about my age who was sitting in the middle row across the aisle from me tried catching my attention. She asked me if no one else was sitting next to me, if she could sit in the window seat next to me, just during take off, because she wanted to get a picture for Instagram. I admired the fact that she asked and blatantly said she wanted the pic for Instagram, because I definitely would have wanted one too, if I was in her position (there was a reason I selected the outside row when I booked my flight), but I probably would not have had the nerve to actually ask someone and then also tell them it was for Instagram. She was definitely speaking my language, metaphorically and literally, so I told her she definitely could.
She came over and sat with me, and at that point, I was on a crazy adrenaline high after running through the airport and realizing that I was actually going to Paris. Coupled with my intense feelings of relief of finally being on the plane and getting to relax, as well as my lack-of-sleep-delusional-high, I was exuding a lot of energy and struck up a conversation with her. As we were chatting, I realized I was definitely fitting into the American stereotype of having far more energy than anyone else and being super chatty, but I could literally not stop myself. As it turns out, she was visiting family in the U.S., and she actually had family in Minneapolis, of all places! At the end of the flight, I told her that if she ever visited her family again, she could hit me up on Instagram and we could hang out and go on an adventure. We exchanged info, and I was super excited to have already made a new friend on my trip.
She also had a layover, and our gates were nearby, so we ended up walking through the airport with one another for awhile before finally parting ways. After she left, I recognized Scarf at my gate, so we started chatting again. He told me that unfortunately, Green Backpack’s Visa didn’t allow him to go into Amsterdam, so he needed a new flight to Paris. I felt bad for him, because based on the FaceTime calls he’d been having with someone, it seemed like he was trying to make it home for something that he could potentially be missing. Scarf told me that this was only one portion of his own travel journey, as he was traveling home to Africa, and still had a ten hour flight ahead of him after we got to Paris.
I made a few comments in a joking fashion (that were not actually jokes) about hoping that Delta didn’t lose our luggage with all of the confusion between flights. He responded back calmly that he was sure they would take care of it, since this stuff happens all the time. I hoped he was right. Something in my gut was telling me that he was wrong, so I checked my AirTag in my suitcase, and it said my luggage was in Boston, which was alarming. However, my AirPods were also reading as being in Boston, and they were in my backpack, so I crossed my fingers that there was just a lag in updating.
We boarded the AirFrance flight from Amsterdam to Paris, which was uneventful other than the fact that the stewardess told me that I couldn’t listen to music while we landed, which could have been a strange airline policy, but I felt like it was just a strange stewardess policy, because I’ve never heard something like that before.
And just like that, I was in Paris.
But my luggage wasn’t.
I’d booked a train to Strasbourg, but I only had twenty minutes to make it there, which I had absolutely no chance of accomplishing, so I tried to just be calm in the fact that I’d arrived in Paris, and I would get to Strasbourg. I waited patiently at the luggage carousel, until eventually there were no more bags, and only a handful of people were standing around waiting. The AirFrance Help Desk was right by our luggage carousel, so I walked over and talked to this lovely French woman who had a calming voice and beautiful French accent. I knew that my luggage was lost, and my AirTag was still reading as being in Boston, so I began to stress out. However, she was so calming and wonderful that I felt like maybe everything would be fine. She helped me find the suitcase, issue a claim for it, and told me it would arrive the next day and could be delivered to my hotel. I gave her my hotel address in Versailles, and prayed it arrived on time. She also told me that I would have 100 euros to spend to replace my lost items while I was without them, and gave me a survival kit for the next night. As she handed it to me, I could tell based on her body language and tone that the kit sucked, so I didn’t hold out too much hope that there was anything useful in it. Since she’d been so helpful, I decided to ask her a few other questions about customs and finding the train station, and she was super helpful.
From there, I started the next tumultuous part of my journey, which would ultimately bring me to Strasbourg.
If you want to read about that, or any other part of my Parisian Escapades, check out the links below.
Voila!
I’ll be updating this page as I add more posts about my trip. Come back to check out new posts, or you can always visit the homepage for the most current posts.
- Ana in Strasbourg
- Should I Stay or Should I Chateau? An Evening at Trianon Palace
- This, Madame, Is Versailles
Pardon My French
My airport adventures were wildly extensive, and also unpleasant – I think they’re worth a story, but they’re also very complainy, and as such, I don’t want to mire the rest of my Parisian blogpost with them, so I’ll be sharing about my flight home below, if you’re ready to hear about it. Buckle up, because it’s about to be a bumpy (expensive) ride.
At the Airport “Four” Hours
I like to be on time. It’s one of my “things,” as in one of the things that drives me absolutely nuts if I cannot accomplish it. I prefer to be early, because I do not like to be late. So, not knowing what to expect for the check-in process for an international flight, I arrived at the airport four hours early, which at the time I thought was overkill. However, I have access to airport lounges, so I thought I would at least be able to relax and explore the lounges during any extra time I had.
Charles de Gaulle airport had other plans for me. First, the check-in process was an absolute nightmare. I was unable to check-in at any of their kiosks, but the agents insisted I try anyway. After I went through the entire process, the machine told me I needed to speak to an agent (which I already knew, and wanted to do to begin with), and printed out an error message ticket for me. I showed this to an AirFrance employee, who directed me to get into a line to the left of the AirFrance area. When I got there, they seemed to think I shouldn’t go through that line, and asked me who told me to get in that line. When I pointed to the woman who directed me there, they let me through the line, and I ended up getting to talk to a nice agent who printed my tickets for me and checked my two bags for me. One of my bags was too heavy, so I had to rearrange my items and put some of my Christmas gifts into my duffel bag, which I wasn’t super excited about, as I was worried they would get damaged. You do what you gotta do, though. It was 85 euros to check a second bag, which I was fine with, but annoyingly, you couldn’t pay for it there. You had to walk down to a separate area to make your payment. The line there was incredibly long, but I was excited to finally get through the line and pay for my bag so I could move on. At this point, I’d been at the airport for quite some time and was feeling antsy about getting through the rest of the process.
After paying for my checked bag, I made it to passport control. The line there was not too long, and things seemed to be going much more smoothly as I walked through line. Then, I was stopped by an employee who made me weigh my carry ons, which apparently were too heavy. She told me I had to check one of them, which was super irritating to me, because I didn’t know there was a weight limit. I probably should have been aware of that, but I think we can all just acknowledge that it is just a bullshit way for airlines to make more money off us. Either way, my luggage is going on the plane. It shouldn’t matter how heavy my carry on is, just how much space it takes in the overhead. Apparently they didn’t agree with that, though.
At this point I was irritated, because it felt like I had to start the whole process over again. I had two carry ons – a backpack and a bag. The backpack was far easier to carry, and held things like my laptop and camera – there was no way I would be risking those items by checking them. However, my carry on bag was brand new and made of a canvas material, so I was worried about it making the journey and getting tossed around. Additionally, it had a zip off compartment for shoes at the bottom of the bag, and while I’d been traveling through France, at one point I realized it had somehow unzipped and was dangling off the bag. I was worried it would get unzipped while getting knocked around during the loading and unloading processes, and I was also worried about losing some of my Christmas presents that I’d packed in the bag. I ended up finding a free section of the floor at the airport, and pulling out anything I couldn’t live without in my carry on and putting it in my backpack, and putting items I felt more comfortable risking losing from my backpack into the carry on. Earlier, I’d noticed a stand where two gentleman were wrapping luggage for people, to help protect their baggage during flight. I felt like that would be a good way to protect my new bag while also keeping the zipped compartment attached, so I paid a handful of euros for them to finish the process.
Then, I went back to the AirFrance area, and was again told I had to use a kiosk. I started filling out my info, and was surprised to see that it actually started working for me this time around. I was even more shocked to see that they were going to share my 240 euros to check my second bag. Which was a carry on. A carry-on sized bag that was barely over the “weight limit” for carry ons (I put that in quotes to again acknowledge it is bullshit) cost me TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY EUROS to check. I felt like I was out of options, so I ended up paying it. After it completed payment it read an error message, so I filed in the same line I’d been in before. They took my receipt from the kiosk, and printed out a label for me, and that was that. I felt nervous, given how my luggage situation had gone last time, and also very anxious about the amount of time I had left to get to my flight.
When I went back to passport control, it was absolute mania. There was a ridiculously long line, and I started to feel panicked that I wouldn’t make my flight. I had been at the airport for two hours, hauling my checked bags from gate to gate, then running around with my carry on trying to get it checked, and at this point, I will admit to you that I was very sweaty and my mask was damp.
As we went through the line, there was a section filled with tables and signage telling people about the liquid limit. Staff were present, and handed a plastic bag to everyone who came through. I saw a few people using the tables to move items into the plastic bags to prep for security, but it seemed like most people were already set to go. I thought it was nice that they had a section to help you out if you needed a quart-sized bag, as well as space to maneuver your things around. I finally made it to the front of the passport line, and went through easily. At this point, I had about ten minutes until my flight began boarding. I ran through the airport, made it to a small passenger train which brought me to the correct gate for security, and then ran up to the security line. I showed the agent my ticket and she pointed at a line, but I misunderstood where she wanted me to go, so she clarified for me in English, and I apologized for heading in the wrong lane. There was a woman behind me who also seemed like she was in a rush, and she spoke to the agent in rapid French, but the agent calmly pointed her into the same line as me. When she caught up to me, the woman asked me if I was also heading to the U.S., and I said that I was. we were on flights to different cities, but mine only took off ten minutes before hers, so we were in similar positions. At that point, both of our flights were boarding, and we still hadn’t gotten through security, which had an immensely long line ahead of it.
An American Permanently in Paris
She asked me if I lived in France, and I jokingly said, “Maybe I will now, if I don’t make my flight.” She laughed and told me she’d been living in Paris for 14 years now and was visiting home to visit family for the holidays and to take care of some paperwork, as she was officially becoming a French citizen. She was super awesome, and it was fun chatting with her as we anxiously walked through the line. At that point, I felt like there was nothing I could do but continue through security and hope that I made it to my gate before it closed. If it closed, I would simply figure out my next steps from there, but there was no use worrying about it until I got there. My new friend commended me for traveling solo at a young age and called me impressive, which made me happy, because I felt like my solo adventures had really changed me for the better. My new pal was super awesome, and we ended up chatting through the security line, and she ended up taking me under her wing a bit. As we got closer to the front of the line, she asked another agent a few questions in French, and they exchanged a few comments back and forth that I didn’t understand. When the agent left, my companion explained to me that the airport was so busy that everything was backed up, and many flights were being delayed because so many of their passengers were unable to make it to their gate. She said the agent felt confident we would make our flights, and told us to not worry.
“I’m still going to worry a little bit, but I’m glad she’s confident,” I joked, and my pal agreed.
As the security line opened up and we were finally able to pick a lane to go through, my pal started running and shouted, “Follow me!” Without hesitating, I did. She seemed like a seasoned traveller, so at this point I was going where she was going. As we ran, she was mumbling, “No children, no children, no children,” and finally we found a lane that didn’t have any kids in it.
She explained to me that she always looks for a lane without kiddos in it, as they take a longer time to get through. Ironically, we still had some issues getting through security because of our particular lane, but we didn’t know it at the time. By the time we made it to the front of our lane, there were two people ahead of me, one man and one young woman. When the man was going through security, the gate agent asked him a few questions, and then, I kid you not, the man pulled TWO GALLONS OF LIQUID out of his bag. This man had a full gallon of orange juice and a full gallon of water in his backpack. I’m not sure how long he was traveling, or if he just had a medical condition that required him to guzzle orange juice, but absolutely no one needs that much OJ. My pal behind me said, “Are you actually kidding me right now?” and the girl in line ahead of me rolled her eyes at the man.
I could not believe that any one would have that much liquid in their possession while flying – even if you lived under a rock and this was your first time on a plane, there was an entire section of the passport control area that was dedicated to telling you how much liquid you could bring and that it needed to fit into a quart-sized bag. We were delayed a few moments because of this man’s gallons of liquids, before he finally decided to throw them both in the garbage can behind him. As he continued through security, there was another issue that came up, and after the gate agent argued with him for a bit, the agent told him to go to the back of the line, because he was taking too much time. Yikes for him.
In keeping with the theme of this airport adventure being akin to an SNL skit, when the young woman in front of me got to the front of the line, it was discovered that after rolling her eyes at the Orange Juice Man, she herself did not have any of her liquids in a quart-sized bag. At that point it was comical. How did she also ignore the section of the airport dedicated to stowing your liquids in a quart-sized bag? And how did she have the audacity to roll her eyes at someone who thought the rules didn’t apply to them, when she thought the same thing?
She got her liquids pulled together and went through security successfully, and I quickly made it through the line with no issue, because I wasn’t harboring gallons of liquids and I know how to follow the rules. I turned to say goodbye to my new pal, and then literally ran up two flights of stairs to get to my gate.
At this point, I was drenched in sweat, my mask was no longer damp but instead wet, and I was out of breath and anxious. But according to my ticket, my gate was closing, so if I had any hope of making it in time, I had to run. Which I did. I booked it through the airport to my gate – my heart started racing even faster when I realized the door was still open and there was a possibility that I would actually be boarding my flight. My eyes zeroed in on the gate agents scanning tickets of two passengers, realizing that if those two could make it on the plane, I could two. It was all within reach. I was so focused that I didn’t realize I’d ran past another employee who was checking COVID-related documents. He called me back, so I ran back to him and handed him a waiver I’d had to sign, saying that I didn’t have COVID and hadn’t had contact with anyone who was COVID positive. People traveling back to the U.S. were also supposed to show negative test results to their airline, but the employee didn’t ask me for them, and in fact, I was never asked to show them to anyone, which I thought was interesting.
After he checked off my waiver, I ran to the gate agents, who scanned my tickets and told me, I kid you not, that I’d been randomly selected to be searched. I wondered if it was really random, or if it was because I was covered in sweat and had been running to the gate, and had ran past one of their employees – but honestly, can you blame a girl? Had they seen the airport that morning? It was a disaster.
In any case, they sent me to a special area where someone scanned me and my bag, and started wiping down my bag with a sample collector. They also checked all of my passport documentation and tickets. Finally, I was allowed to board the plane.
My flight was uneventful for the most part, except for the man who was coughing nonstop a few rows ahead of me, and who refused to wear his mask during the entirety of the flight despite his coughing fit. It was constant, and I kept thinking about how despite the testing requirements, we weren’t actually required to show our test results, so I wondered if he’d actually received a test result. Also, it is recommended to test five days after symptoms appear, because you could falsely test negative in the first four days of being sick – I wondered how many days he’d been coughing.
It’s Going to Be a Bumpy Ride
When we arrived in Boston, I felt calmer. I was stateside. Anything at this point would be a minor inconvenience instead of a major rerouting. My family told me there was a huge snowstorm ready to hit the Midwest, and they were worried my flight would be delayed, but I didn’t care. I went through customs, and for once was happy to know that my luggage was at the Boston Airport! I re-checked my bags, made it through security again, and bought myself a salad. I was tempted to buy a t-shirt that said “WICKED SMAAHT” on the front, but when I texted it to my friend she responded with a simple, “Ew, Boston.” (Let the records show that I do not share the same opinions about Boston. I have never personally toured the city, but it’s on my bucket list, and a goal of mine is to visit in the Fall and make a side trip to Salem. You never know what 2022 will hold, my friends!)
As I reached my gate, I heard the sounds of coughing once again, and as I got closer I identified that the sounds were coming from a small elf seated near the restrooms. We were only a week out from Christmas, so a mother had dressed her child in an elf costume, and for some reason decided that the best place they should sit was directly near the entrance to the restrooms, one of the most highly trafficked areas, while her child hacked up a lung. I thought about how children are rapidly contracting and spreading COVID and kept my distance from her, because she was also unmasked. While I was sitting at the gate, the child started throwing a hissy fit about wanting candy, and when her parents told her she could eat her candy when they got on the plane, she screamed at them that she said she wanted it now. Charming little elf.
However, as we began the boarding process, her parents handed her a bucket of candy canes, and as they paraded down the aisle of the plane, she handed a candy cane to each passenger. Everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed at her, taking a candy cane and telling her how cute of an elf she was. From my seat I thought about how she’d been coughing into her hands for the last twenty minutes while sitting on the floor outside of the bathroom, and now she was passing out candy canes to everyone on the plane. “You’re all getting COVID,” I thought. I thought about pulling a Larry David and announcing that this child had been coughing into her hands nonstop just moments ago, but I’ve seen Curb far too many times to know how that would end, so I instead politely declined her candy cane when she came my way.
I was worried that we would have turbulence on the flight, since we were apparently heading into one of the worst snowstorms in the Midwest so far this year, but the flight was uneventful until the thirty minutes before we were supposed to land, when suddenly, things became very eventful.
I began reflecting on a terrible flight I’d once had from Denver to Minneapolis, in which the entire three hours was filled with rocky turbulence and a flight pattern that can only be described as “up-and-down” as the pilot dodged and weaved patches of rough air. Just as I begin to think, “I’m glad we didn’t experience anything like that,” God went, “Oh no, this will be much worse,” and we struck turbulence.
I remained calm, because my tumultuous travels and the terrible pandemic we’ve been living through have taught me to calmly adapt to any circumstances. I listened to music, focused on the lyrics, and reminded myself that in just thirty minutes, we would be on the ground and this would all just be a memory. As we got closer to the ground, things got worse, but eventually we were so close that I thought we would be hitting the runway in any second. However, we did not.
Abruptly, the plane skyrocketed down, and then rapidly upward as the engines began roaring again. As quickly as we’d dropped down and then back up, the plane veered steeply to the right. As this happened, I reached out and grabbed the seats in front of my and closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing to ignore what was happening around me. We were immediately launched back into rocky turbulence that shook the whole plane as we continued to climb higher into the air again, leaving Minneapolis behind us. The maneuver was something straight out of an action film, and I was unsure why we’d done it – we were so close to landing, what happened that made us drop so quickly and then pivot straight back up? All around me, people were throwing up from the extreme maneuver we’d just experienced. Normally, the sounds of people throwing up also makes me want to throw up, but I think I was too shaken to even care. I wasn’t sure if we had almost crashed when we dropped so suddenly, or if we were still in danger, but I was holding on to the seat in front of me for metaphorical dear life.
The next few minutes were rocky, but finally the pilot came overhead and apologized to us, not describing what exactly had happened, but that we were rerouting to Madison, Wisconsin because of the storm. He made it sound like we would simply be looping around Madison and returning to Minneapolis, but said they didn’t have more information now, and they would keep us updated.
A few minutes later, he informed us that we would be landing in Madison, and they would again give us more information when we knew more. A flight attendant was seated a few rows ahead of me, and made a comment that perhaps we would just be stopping for fuel in Madison, and could return to Minneapolis, which planted a new fear in my mind that I didn’t previously have. Did we have enough fuel in the plane?
At this point, the turbulence had lessened enough where I’d loosened my grip on the seat in front of me, and I turned to the two guys next to me and made some comment about how crazy it was. One of them was super nice and began talking to me, asking me random questions, I think in an attempt to take my mind off the crazy flight we were experiencing. It definitely helped.
As we neared Madison, the air once again became rocky, and I felt the plane change direction in the sky. The pilots came overhead and announced that the storm had beaten us to Wisconsin, and we would be heading back to Minneapolis. The other many next to me said that his wife was in Minnetonka and told him planes were overhead, taking off, so that seemed to indicate that landing would now be possible. The map on his screen showed that our flight was rerouting South, over Rochester, which I’d heard on the news was experiencing a freak tornado during the winter due to the crazy storm, so I didn’t feel reassured about flying overhead. However, after some time, the rough air passed, and our landing ended up being relatively smooth. As we came down the runway, I saw the flashing lights of ambulances on the runway and hoped everyone else flying was alright.
I told my seat neighbors that normally I hate people who clap when flights land, but given that we all almost died I would give everyone a free pass to clap when we landed. No surprise, everyone clapped the second we were safely on the ground, and my neighbors started laughing at the predictability.
I’d never been happier to be in Minnesota, and though I was already missing Paris, after that flight, I was happy to be done traveling. At least for now.
You know there are always more adventures ahead.
Click here for more adventures.
Let’s Connect:
