Delayed, Un-Delayed, Re-Delayed?

Wow. Let’s just talk about how things are going at the airport. Actually, I’ll just talk (type, rather) and you can listen. I’m currently standing at one of those charging stations to charge my iPad so I can write this blog (you’re welcome). I am waiting to board a plane to take me from San Diego back home to Denver. My flight was scheduled to leave at 1:25, and while en route to the airport, I got a text from Southwest saying my flight was delayed until 2:00. At least they apologized for the delay in the text. Thanks for that, Southwest. Your apology means the world to me. 

I didn’t have a bag to check, because I am just that smart, so I headed right to security. There were two lines; one for priority super special VIP types and the other line was for the remaining plebs. They were not clearly labeled by any stretch of the imagination, and there was not a soul in either line, so I picked one and walked up to the lone agent checking IDs and boarding passes. As I approached him, he informed me that I was in the wrong line and had to go back to the start for the Average Joe Non-VIP line. I turned around, rolled my eyes, walked back to the start and entered the other line. The only difference was that the non-VIP line was one of those winding lines where the ropes made me do about 20 switchbacks BY MYSELF, which led me to GUESS WHO!? The exact same dude. But this time it was somehow acceptable because I EARNED my way to security by waking through the winding rope. Gee thanks. 

After security, I arrived at the overcrowded gate where the sign informed me that the new departure time was 2:20. Super. This time, I didn’t even get an apologetic text from the airline. Ten minutes later, the screen updated to 2:30, and then I received the text about the prior delay to 2:20. Way to keep me posted in a timely manner, Southwest! As I began to accept my fate, when the screens changed back to the original departure time of 1:25, and someone announced that there was a gate change without announcing the new gate. Well, that was a first. I didn’t know it was possible to un-delay a flight. 

However, as I rushed to the line I asked another passenger why we weren’t boarding and he said that the agent at the desk said to ignore “all screens and announcements”and that we would be leaving at 2:20. So my flight went to delayed to more delayed to more delayed to back on time to delayed to the second delayed time. I’m so confused I’m just waiting for someone to tell me what to do. Oh but wait, I’m supposed to ignore what I’m told to do. The new mystery: will Marisa ever make it home? Well, there are worse places to be stranded...

There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place Like Home

On Wednesday I awoke feeling my absolute weakest physically, and completely drained emotionally.
I'll kick this blog off with a few more pictures from my trip:

My flight to Denver wasn't until 3:00, but expecting things to go wrong at the airport, I decided it would be best to get there four hours early. I packed up my bag Tetris style, checked out of the hotel, and hailed a taxi to the airport. It took about 20 minutes to get there. I made sure I had all of my belongings and then headed in. I glanced up at the list of departures, and I was so early that my flight wasn't even listed yet. In spite of my super early arrival, I was still able to check in and check my bag with United. I walked up to the self-service kiosk which asked me to insert my passport so it could fin my flight. Guess what? My pathetic temporary passport couldn't be read. I typed in my confirmation number instead and it pulled up my information. The next screen asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class for the low, low price of $768. Umm...no thanks. I checked the YES box when asked if I needed to check a bag, and then something poetically ironic happened- I had to pay $26 for the checked bag, and I had to pay with a credit card. I couldn't help but laugh- for the last ten days I needed only cash, and here I was, finishing out my trip, and now I needed a card.

I asked a United agent what to do, and he told me to walk to the additional services office on the other end of the airport. On my way there, I stopped at immigration services to show them my police report so I could get out of the country. See, in Mexico they give you a paper for immigration and you fill out the information on the top part and give it to the immigration officer and then you're expected to keep the bottom half until you depart Mexico. Of course, when my passport was stolen, so was that dumb piece of paper, which is why I needed to file a police report and bring it to the immigration services counter at the airport. I got that taken care of fairly quickly, and then went to the additional service counter for United. They let me pay cash to check the bag there, gave me my boarding pass, and I was off to security. 

I wish I had actually looked at my boarding pass before entering the security line because I shockingly ended up with TSA Pre, which is awesome because you don't have to take liquids out of your bag or take off your shoes and coats. It didn't matter much, however, since the line was pretty measly and took hardly any time to get through. In Mexico you don't have to take off your shoes which is SO nice. Once again, I accidentally left my knife in my carry-on and they let me get away with it. I felt SO secure knowing that...

So all of this, mishaps included, still left me with about three and a half hours before boarding. But I had made it through immigration; I was finally on the other side. Perhaps now, as the Argentinian man said, my nightmare had ended.

I decided I should get a smoothie to at least get something in my rumbling stomach. I got one of those insanely healthy green smoothies and my stomach instantly started to feel wonky. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Naturally, there was a massive line of people and I am not the quietest vomiter so it was a great time, puking while tons of strangers listened in. Whatever, I'll never see them again. I sat, read, listened to music, eavesdropped on the quirky conversations of fellow travelers, and ran to the bathroom once more to hurl up the remaining smoothie. The time went by rather quickly- all of a sudden, it was time to board. I felt the corners of my mouth curl upwards as I realized what was happening. My steps were leading me to the plane that would take me back home after such a trying journey. I did the weird superstitious thing I do when flying and touched the outside of the plane, then stepped on board and found my seat. 

Thankfully, my seat neighbors were silent and didn't get up in my grill. I brought plenty to do on the plane but wasn't aware that to access their free entertainment, I would have needed to download the United app which I obviously didn't. I tried to sleep, but it was one of the "new and improved" planes which basically means the seats are substantially smaller and closer together, there are no TV screens, and my seat didn't go back at all. But I was still on a plane. A plane to Denver. So none of that mattered. 

I landed and headed to the kiosks you can use to scan your passport to get through immigration. Can you guess what happened when I tried to scan my fake looking emergency passport? It read it just fine. Just kidding, it said it couldn't read the document so I had to go downstairs to the old school immigration lines and actually interact with one of the officer. He was incredibly kind though and said he was sorry for what I went through on my trip and welcomed me home. Next was baggage claim, I had to wait awhile for my bag but it eventually made its way onto the conveyor and I grabbed it, told the customs guy I had nothing to declare, and the experience ended. 

One of my friends who was helping me back home while I was in Mexico came to pick me up (that's how you know who your friends are- the ones willing to give you rides to and from the airport) and we drove home, mostly in silence as I was simply drained and felt unable to speak. The sight of the mountains made me grin from ear to ear. I couldn't wait to get back to climbing. 

After this entire epic journey, I felt like Frodo after he (and Gollum, technically) destroyed the ring. I could only think of the scene where Frodo and Sam were lying on the side of Mount Doom as lava flowed around them and they couldn't even muster the strength to stand. 

Except it was just me. 

Now comes the end of my series, and I suppose it's expected of me to reflect on the trip. When I tell the shortest version of the story, most people ask me if I am officially disenchanted by travel, but that is simply not the case. I could take the perspective that my journey was a drawn out series of unfortunate events, but I refuse to take that negative viewpoint. Instead, I just think about the people who saved me. The people who helped me and if they hadn't, I might still be in Cuba or Mexico. It inspired me to have such kindness shown to me, especially by strangers, and motivated me to try to be a better person and help others in kind by paying it forward. I also look back and can now laugh at everything that went wrong. My experience was quite like an Oscar Wilde dark comedy; a comedy of errors which are my favorite type of literature. 

It's time for this blog series to come to an end. But before I do, I want to dedicate them to everyone who helped me, especially Josh, Joel, Greg, my parents, Argentinian guy, lady cop, and Lucy. Thank you for going above and beyond to get me back safe and sound, because there's no place like home.

Some Starbuck's fails from Mexico (this I expect in the States, but my name is Hispanic. You'd think they could get it right):

Bria means wind. 

Lack of Security

So, remember that time when I said I was going to write a post about the security in the Middle East? Well, you should, because it literally happened one or two posts ago. Anyways, here we are, a week later, and I am finally ready to recount the tale.

At this point in my life, I have been through some airports with ridiculous security regulations and customs lines that rivaled those at Disney parks. For whatever reason, I assumed that getting through passport control entering Abu Dhabi would be nightmarish at best. I could not have been more wrong.

I found it curious that the flight attendants didn't pass out the customs forms to which I'd grown accustomed en route to Abu Dhabi from Bangkok. I rationalized that perhaps it was because we needed to do so upon arrival. However, when we landed and walked to the immigration counters, not only were there no forms at all, but no line. I still felt nervous when I approached the officer at his desk.

Here is a little aside: whenever I arrive in a country and have to go through the passport check, I feel instantly nervous. The scrutinizing gaze of the officers make me break out into an instant sweat and feel as if I have committed an unforgivable crime. Every question they ask incite a terrible panic and cause me to forget the answer to even the most basic questions.

So back to Abu Dhabi...
The only question the officer asked me was "what is your name?" The second this simple question left his lips, the panic reaction ensued. The sweat began to roll down my forehead. Oh crap... what WAS my name?! I finally recited the answer in a shaky, suspicious voice. He glanced at me with the most casual expression imaginable, stamped my passport, and waved me through.

Next, we grabbed our bags and walked out the door. No customs, no final bag check, nothing.

The way out of Abu Dhabi was more or less the same. No line at passport control, no questions, just a stamp and a wave through. In security, we didn't have to remove our liquids nor our laptops. Taking off shoes? Of course not! It was just like the TSA Pre check line in the States, but with even less of a line. I actually felt a bit nervous at the lax security, but we made it alive to New Zealand, so whatever.

An Afternoon in Japan

I will no longer blame any acquired food poisoning on my Delhi fast food outing, but rather on the mystery sushi I just shoveled down here in Japan. I figured hey, when is the next time I will be in Japan and able to sample their famous sushi? Since I cannot give a definite answer to that question, I decided to seize the opportunity. I wanted to go with the salmon roll after perusing the menu, since it seemed like one of the safer choices, but they were out of that one so I selected the "mix roll," which is probably the least safe option. i could not tell if the main component of the roll was tofu, a block of artificially colored cheese, or some sort of fish I could not identify. The other three parts making up the mixture in the middle looked like cucumber, caramelized onion (but potentially another sort of mystery fish), and either legitimate or imitation crab. Heck, for all I know I could have just downed some sort of endangered bottom-feeder. I hope not, because I don't need or want PETA hassling me. 

I did not think you could fall in love with a country just based on its toilets. Boy, was I wrong. Just one time plopping my bare bum onto those luxurious, heated seats with a built in bidet, deodorizer, flushing music made me never want to use another toilet again. It was especially fantastic after experiencing toilets in India, where I was thrilled if it wasn't a squatter.

Also, the Japanese airport has Hello Kitty planes and an oragami museum. Need I say more to intrigue my readers? I mean, the Hello Kitty plane alone is enough to demonstrate the magic of Japan. I guess I didn't expect any less from the land that created the Zelda video games and the Miyazaki films.

How I Love Airports

I am currently in the middle of eating my feelings in the form of a delicious veg curry from an airport restaurant. I am shoveling down this food alone under artificial blue lighting in a desperate attempt to bury my anger that sprouted from such an awful airport experience. To all of my readers who will be entering the Delhi airport in the near future, please do everything in your power to check in prior to your arrival so you have a boarding pass. If you don't because your airline specifically noted that you needed to be at the airport to do so (like mine did) they will not let you through the doors. Basically, make sure you have a print out of some sort of proof that you have a flight with your name matching my passport. I had my itinerary but it did not have my name on it, so I was out of luck.

Thank the Lord that Chris was with me- if he hadnt been there to talk to someone inside the airport about getting me a boarding pass, I would most likely still be sitting out there, glaring angrily at the guard intent on keeping me out. Finally, after poor Chris got me a pass, I was allowed inside by the evil man. If I had seen the machine  gun at his side from the get-go, I may not have been so mean to him.

I seriously felt like I was dealing with the doorman at Oz. I guess my boarding pass was the horse of a different color. So I finally stepped through the doors to part two of my horrendous airport experience. At the check-in counter, the woman assisting me told me it was fine to bring my carry-on bag onto the plane since it was not overweight. However, almost immediately after saying so, she informed me that my bag was too long to fit in the overhead compartment. I threw a fit that would rival a three year old's, rooting myself to the spot and refusing to backdown. Eventually, despite my bellowing in an inappropriately loud voice my concerns about the airline losing my precious luggage, I conceded with the white flag of surrender held high. I got down on my hands and knees and dug out the items I could simply not bear to part with. This included, of course, my saree, gifts for friends and family, and my plane reading material. The little airline witch then informed me that I could go buy a handcrafted Indian bag to put my things in. In an act of defiance, I rejected this suggestion and, looking ridiculous, tried to juggle all of my items in my arms as I waddled over to the passport check and security. 

I quickly pegged the surly customs agent hell-bent on making things difficult for anyone who dare hand over his or her passport. Thankfully, my airport nightmare began to improve when I got to the somewhat attractive customs agent who flashed me a suggestive grin which I was all too eager to return if it meant quick passage to security. I have seen airports worldwide with over-the-top security measures but this one in India takes the cake. So, at your check-in gate, the agent assisting you was supposed to provide you with a tag for all of your carry on luggage. Many of them neglected to do so, making the security agents very surly and getting angry at the tagless passengers who had no idea what was going on. My bags somehow do not incur their wrath despite their lack of tags, but when I got to the gate to board the plane, the tag issue reared its ugly head again and the agent almost didn't let me on the plane. Man, some mysterious force truly wanted to keep me in India. I wish it had succeeded.