Transit trials and tribulations...

Big day of travel and transit. We’d booked a taxi to collect us outside our front door at 10am and take us to Quebec City Airport for our flight to the U.S. It did not arrive. This, as it turns out, was the sign of things to come…

Instead of the taxi driver we needed, some people from Coober Pedy in South Australia happened along our rue, and were delighted to hear our accents. They were keen for a big chat, which would have been fine, except we were standing there on a slope propping up our roller wheeled luggage, so it didn’t slide down to the river, anxiously awaiting our taxi, and realizing that it was probably never coming. We gave up on the taxi and our new friends by 13 past and raced up the hill, and around a few corners, heading toward the main eat street.

Fortunately, I saw an empty taxi straight away, with its windows down, and hollered ‘Bonjour!’ and he took us. Lovely man, and quite a chatterbox. The only worrying thing about that journey was that he liked to take both hands off the wheel whenever he was explaining some new aspect of his life, which was constantly.

Spent an age at check-in, stuck behind just two cohorts: a heavily tattooed dude, with nostril and ear modifications via extreme piercing, and a skateboard, who the check-in girl was clearly seduced by (as he was taut and good looking with dreamy Quebecois eyes). She kept him talking so she could flirt overtly with him for 25 or so minutes (I am not kidding). At the other desk there was a young couple with some enormous sports vehicle (like a toboggan or something in a massive case), who were there in conversation with the desk woman for half an hour before we were served by the girl at the next desk, and they still there when we left. There were people behind us as well!

We got through customs and security and eventually boarded a tiny little plane (seating 72 people only) and were set to fly from Quebec City to New York. This would have been fabulous if I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I’d get a seat on our onward flight to Charleston. They’d given L & J a boarding pass each, but said there was no seat for me, despite the fact that I booked one year ago, and reconfirmed all flights before we left Australia.  Apparently United Airlines over-book most flights… It’s their ‘policy.’

My instinct told me I would most likely be OK, because I’m told they try to prioritise putting a family together, but there were no guarantees. I did not want to be left behind in NYC, and poor L & J certainly did not like the idea of going forth without me. I am the most experienced traveler here, by far, and the ring-leader. In addition, we’d booked a car to collect at the Airport in Charleston which Laurie was to bravely drive downtown, without a GPS, and I was meant to be his navigator and moral support. We therefore travelled to Newark rather nervously, with clenched teeth most of the way, trying our hardest to think positive thoughts… 

We spent the one-hour flight nibbling incredibly good but stinky aged cheese in flakey chunks, like you see the mice eating in classic American cartoons. We’d brought this with us from Montreal five or so days ago, and did not want to give it up! I’d also bought some hickory flavoured French Sticks with the last of our Canadian coins from the Airport Lounge. They were delicious, but only after we finished the pack did we note that they were packed full of trans fats (the worst kind, and the type we normally avoid). We were only given an orange juice on the flight, and a tiny packet of Asian crackers with wasabi peas, all of which I gave to Laurie. We flew over New Jersey coming into Newark, and I was lucky enough to have a full view along the length of Manhattan Island all the way while descending. The Statue of Liberty looked tiny from where I was sitting. I took a bunch of photos, but it was fairly smoggy, so they’re not particularly good photos.

We landed perfectly on time, and naively thought that 2 hours and 15 minutes until the next flight would be manageable and that we would even have time to grab some lunch. Not so. It took an age to get through immigration. We were in that queue was for 80 minutes. Luckily I had some Hazelnut chocolate wafers with me, so we could have a bit of a sugar boost to keep us standing during that most tedious period. J was fine with the time there – She used it to play Minecraft, and enjoyed creating new ponies and foals for her virtual collection.

Next we had to find a United customer service attendant to get me a seat allocation and a boarding pass, and she managed it – Hallelujah! We were then told we had to find our way to an entirely different terminal, using a transit shuttle. We had to go through security, which took an eon for L & J, but for some reason I was whisked through, popping out at least ten minutes ahead of them. Our boarding process at the gate was almost closed when they finally made it through. For a moment it looked like I could fly to Charleston, but they may not make it.

We all made it onto the plane, only to sit on the tarmac for 45 minutes, before they announced they didn’t have enough fuel and had to go back to the gate and get more. They then told us it was due to bad weather ahead and we’d been given a new and longer route to avoid the bad weather, hence the need for extra fuel. At that point I did not mind the delay because I was just thankful to be on the same flight as my family, and still thought we’d make it to Charleston in daylight, in order to drive our hire car.

After they’d refueled, we progressed toward the take-off area then stopped there for 30 minutes, after which they said there was a problem with one of our wing flaps. They’d go back to the terminal and get maintenance. Another twenty minutes later they decided it was irresolvable, and we all had to disembark. They said they’d try to find us a plane and seemed to be negotiating to bump all the people bound for Baltimore off their flight, in order to give that plane to us.

As it was 6pm by this stage, and we’d still not had lunch, I made a mad dash to the place with the shortest queue at Newark. That was ‘Aunt Anne’s’ Pretzel Dog Stand. I spent US$20 on pretzel dogs for the three of us and US$4.50 on a small Starbucks Vanilla Frappacino, while L & J spent US$10 on sour worms and Asian crackers. We had to because we knew we’d get nothing on the next plane, if and when we ever got that plane, and that the earliest we’d make it to our place would be about 9.45pm, and even then we’d have no food in the house. So there’s about AUD$50 blown on absolute junk food.

As we attempted to gobble our (surprisingly delicious) pretzel dogs, some nutcase women became fascinated by me, and intent on asking me question after question, during the exact four-minute period I was standing there trying to consume the pretzel dog as elegantly as possible, under the circumstances, while standing amid a crowd, clutching various bags and keeping an eye on the boarding gate action all at the same time.

Meanwhile, an American woman who was sitting with Laurie on the first flight, as we were not allowed to (!), told us that the car hire place would give our car away and mark us as a no-show, because we were unable to phone them and update them (this turned out not to be true – They said they hold it for 48 hours).  None-the-less, as Laurie had been very nervous about driving, we decided to just let the car go, and rebook one to collect on Friday afternoon. He does want to do it, and we absolutely need a car to travel on Saturday, and do stuff on Sunday, so that’s our new plan. I know he will feel very proud of himself once he gets the hang of it – Driving on the wrong side of the road, that is. At least Charleston is only a small city of 130,000 – Not that that much bigger than Ballarat really.

Anyway, following five hours at Newark, we got on our new plane, took off and flew loudly, at low altitude, all the way to Charleston, to avoid a storm overhead, somewhere up in the sky. I never thought I’d hear myself say that I was delighted to be leaving New York!

After a free white wine each and a can of Sprite for J (big whoopee UA – Thanks so much!), we landed in the sleepy South at 9pm. Remarkably our luggage joined us here, and then we thought we’d simply grab a cab…

There was only one cab there, and the driver wore a classic old fashioned black shiny cap and looked at least a decade older than Morgan Freeman in ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ at the end of the film… And so we embarked on what turned out to be the most excruciatingly slow and painful taxi ride we’ve ever taken. Our driver had no idea where anything was, no street directory, no GPS, no interest in looking at the THREE maps I’d printed, no ability to hear my directions, no clue at all, and he actually drove at 25 miles an hour on the Freeway, and about 10 miles on the backstreets, drove into low hanging branches in obscure and irrelevant parts of town, mumbled incomprehensible things, tried to do text messaging while driving in a four lane freeway, then went back the wrong way on the freeway almost to the Airport, was consistently abused by all passing drivers, continuously took wrong turns, and on and on it went. It was very trying...

Never, ever, ever have we experienced anything so beserk. I could write a whole short story on this experience. I guess I just have. Eventually, however, we got him to where we needed to be, which was perfectly clear to us all the way through, and we don’t even live in this country. The poor man said Charleston ‘keeps changing all the time’ which we very much doubt. The fact is this elderly gent should be given a pension, and not required to work at all, let alone be on the road. He looked so hurt when we insisted on taking our own luggage down the street to our place. We were kind and jolly about it, but we really couldn’t take a moment longer (as we’d already spent an hour with him, on what was meant to be a 20 minute drive).

All up, it’s been a 12.5 hour journey getting here, and it’s a very late night, after a crazy long day, with no dinner. But we are here safely now, together, with all our luggage, in our darling Southern cottage, and I’m happy with that. L & J are even watching a kid’s film on Netflix.