Travel is not for the faint hearted (or weak muscled)

In my opinion this is just too long a post. But my friend in India who had been tracking my whereabouts says that she wanted to read it all and that I should share it…. So here it is. 

I run across Munich airport like my life depends on it. Fed on a staple of Hollywood blockbusters, you know what that run looks like. Move over Jason Bourne, this middle-aged superstar is here to upstage you. Not only because of her speed or alacrity, but because she’s doing so with a carry-on wheelie whirling noisily (and sometimes non-cooperatively) alongside, a pink unwieldy bag on the shoulder, a bottle (that rolled out during security) under the armpit, whilst making sure she doesn’t  drop her phone or any travel documents. Yes, take that Jason Bourne - go ahead and look like you do accessorized like she is. 

No - I’m Not trying to catch any bad guys, or running away from any either, all my papers are legit and in order, (I’m boring like that) - I run only to catch my flight. 

And as in any aforementioned action movie, we must move to a day earlier. 

17 hours ago. Mumbai airport. I arrive to be told my flight is cancelled. I can wait a day in Mumbai and take the same flight in exactly 24 hours. But wait, this flight that I paid extra extra for so I would have only one connection and complete immigration etc. in my final destination operates only three days a week. Tomorrow is not one of those days. Aah… says the agent, “You’ll go via Salt Lake City” With a very tight layover, I notice as I squint at the itinerary. 

“The cockpit crew is sick, and they have no other crew here in Mumbai,” he tells me in confidence. 

“And they will all be better by tomorrow?” I ask cynically. 

“Most certainly” he assures me with his bright smile and 20-something optimism. 

Hmm… also a certified physician, I note sardonically. Did I mention cancelled flights, bring out the best, (and clearly the kindest) in me? Sigh… I decide not to grill the poor fellow about the nature of the cockpit crew’s ailment. I need to make a decision. Quick. 

He looks again at his screen. His face lights up. He has a solution. Mine does too - till I hear his plan. A domestic transfer to Bangalore or Delhi, a flight to Singapore, an 18-hour layover, then a flight to SFO and then my final destination. “How long will I be traveling?” My ears stop listening when his math crosses 45 hours. 

The key he says, taking me into confidence, is to get out of Mumbai. For all flights leaving Mumbai are heavily booked (and also overbooked, he hesitantly whispers). Move over again, Jason Bourne, my intelligence gathering skills are at an all-time high - my sources really seem to be spilling it all. 

Flights from Europe or other Asian hubs to the US are not very full. It’s the Mumbai segment that’s the problem, he shares. His face lights up again. 

“I can put you on your scheduled flight from Amsterdam to Portland.” He announces triumphantly. 

“How?” I ask incredulously. “You’ll have to hurry,” he tells me, “get on a flight to Munich and another from Munich to Amsterdam. And then catch the original second (now third) flight”. 

My brain tries to do the math. Will there be enough time to do flight transfers? “Oh yes,” assures my ever-optimistic friend. You won’t have to change terminals in Amsterdam or Munich. It’s all going to be close by. 

He sends me to a Lufthansa agent who gives me a boarding pass - but only till Munich. “Wait, what about the other boarding passes? There won’t be time…” 

“Sorry I can’t issue those here - those are KLM flights - you’ll get them at the gate” I hesitate, trying to weigh in this situation, when he hurries me, saying the flight will leave soon and that I should rush. You’re sure I’ll get them at the gate and that it will be quick? “Definitely” another smile and more optimism.

Hmmm… All those smiles and assurances from the 20-something Mumbai airline agents is probably how and why I am now running like a frenzied woman ah no, superstar, at the Munich airport. 

Munich 

The flight is late by a few minutes and I ask the flight attendants if they have information for connecting flights and gates. I am also eager to get out of my seat, as I sit smooshed between two heavy guys (thinking wistfully of my chosen perfect seats on the flight that never took off). Of course, one is coughing. As I put on my mask he tells me his father in law’s cat gave him allergies. Sigh... scratch everything they say about the journey being more important than the destination! 

The flight attendant looks at my printed itinerary “Aah you will have to change terminals; KLM flights are on terminal 1.”  Argh… never again trust a smiling flight agent. 

Not only is the next flight not easy to get to, but getting to the other terminal and my gate involves a security check, a train ride, a bus ride (which of course operates only every 20 minutes since it is too early in the am.) and running, lots of running. The bus arrives, I get on, I ask the driver if we can leave - there isn’t a soul around. He gives me a disapproving and firm, “no”. So much for trying to break the German discipline. Jason Bourne would have driven it himself. I try no such stunt. Getting imprisoned in Munich would require me to write a book, not a blogpost. 

He tells me where to go - I run like crazy trying to reach the gate  - only to arrive at a passport control. Nooooo. I wonder if I should take the flight back to Mumbai to have a chat with the agents who put me on this flight. No boarding pass, no proceeding to gate. I’m told to go downstairs - more running. 

And then finally I stop running, it’s too late. I wonder why I kept running, why I didn’t give up earlier, this tenacity is exhausting. But again, back to matters on hand and the counter in question. 

“You missed the flight” he informs me. I brace myself to not react, or weep, or call him Sherlock; instead I ask, “Is there another flight you can out me on?” 

“Oh no, I don’t do that. Call this number. After 8 am.” It is 7 am. I look at him in disbelief. He is right there. He had a computer in front of him. I ask if there is anyone else who can help me. He tells me it’s just him here and that this is a small airport. I want to scream. I don’t. 

I can’t believe it. There’s got to be another agent who can help put me on a flight. I search for information and talk to a few other people who direct me to another place that may have KLM agents even if it is only for baggage. I go to the deserted area and call out. An unhappy looking agent emerges and shoos me away from there saying that Lufthansa will be responsible for booking my next flight since their flight got delayed. “So should I call this KLM number?” I ask waving the piece of paper.

“Call if you want to,” I stare at him open-jawed, as he walks away.

Just great, I am at an airport on a continent midway from my travel origin and destination, without a boarding pass, or a plan, unsure of which airline is supposed to assist me and who and where to find any assistance. 

I look for some place to charge my dying phone and place a phone call that will probably cost me a fortune. Of course, I’m on hold. 

And did I mention, as I navigate the different counters, I hear an airport strike is going to begin in Munich the next day!! Which means all flights will be cancelled. Which means I need to get out of there pronto!!!

While still on hold, I decide to find the Lufthansa agents (back on the other terminal, of course). I need to leave that airport before the strike begins, even if it means I just buy a new ticket, I decide.

Wow. This saga is getting longer than I imagined. But I’m jetlagged and have nothing better to do at 4 am and how can I leave you hanging in suspense, right? So, continuing on…

Miraculously as my number for the Lufthansa agent is called, I reach the KLM agent as well. The Lufthansa agent chides me for contacting two airlines. But...but… I start… no one told me who would help. Reluctantly, I hang up on the KLM agent (that expensive phone call, remember?) when he mentions Tampa, Florida.

The Lufthansa agent scolds me some more and tells me she should be able to help me. Then her more matronly self emerges as she hears my saga. She scowls at the screen - they’ve booked you on a flight -  Munich to Newark then Tampa Florida and then Portland (two days later!). 

“Why do you want this flight”? She asks. 

“I most certainly don’t”, I reply. KLM has somehow auto booked me. Clearly their AI minions aren’t thinking clearly. 

She finds me another flight and sends me off to the United airlines counters and asks me to say hello to her cousin in Portland! “Come visit,” I tell her “I’ll show you around. I’ll give you my number”. Clearly she is my most favorite person in that moment. She tells me she hates to travel. I burst out laughing and say, “for sure, you see everything that goes wrong!”

And then of course, there is the matter with luggage. She tells me they do not load luggage till the passenger is on the flight. I have only one checked bag and brilliantly enough, it has an airtag in it. I can see it is still in Munich. Now whether it will get handed to the new airline in time for the flight is a matter for some suspense, but I have no bandwidth to worry about that.  

As I chat with the United airlines agent who prepares my tickets, I tell her this is my second unscheduled flight to Munich. The first was when our flight from London to Berlin got cancelled and flew via Munich and spent hours at this airport. She asked if I have ever been to Munich. I tell her I haven’t, and she laughs and says that’s why this was all happening. Sigh… now I know what I need to do to break that jinx!

And while my legs and shoulders are sore from the strange running with luggage, I’m glad to have found a flight out of there. For in the hours spent at many counters, I learn of a two-day airport strike in Munich that is to start the next day.  The odd thing is I laugh. A laugh that was accepting of the craziness and of everything that could go wrong and the realization that even when things were out of my control, that I would eventually get home. 

And just when I let go of all the trying, that’s when things start to work for me.