Travel Adventures

         It all started the day before, when I tried to check in to my flights to return to the US from Petrolina, Brazil. The website for the partner airline providing the domestic flight that would take me to São Paulo, proved to be the untamable beast. I couldn’t fill in personal information, emergency contact, email . . . nothing. Finally, after several starts and stops I was able to get a boarding pass. I must have slipped in between algorithms.

Ok, now to check into the international flight. I opened the United Airlines app on my phone and tapped the check-in-now icon. A little pop-up window stated I needed to go to the partner airline’s site to finish the process. Back to Gol Airlines I went with no success. I could only get a boarding pass for the one flight, the first leg of the trip. That night after everyone had gone to bed, I pulled up the United Airlines chat feature on my laptop. I was determined to get my economy plus complimentary upgrade before all seats were taken.

A dialogue box opened and AI came on the line first. After a weird 30-second conversation I was turned over to a real person. "Heh, heh," I muttered. "Mission accomplished." The friendly agent with a Hawaiian name assigned an economy plus seat to me and my brother-in-law who would be traveling with me. I chose a center row with three seats and placed us on each aisle leaving the middle empty . . . hopefully. At least I had seat assignments.

The next day, I arrived at the Petrolina airport and took my rightful place in the old people’s line and waited while the family at the counter spent more time socializing than getting their bags on the scale. I watched as piece by piece was placed, weighed, taped and tagged. All the while, a two-year-old girl ran rampant around the check-in area as the adults chased after her and handed documents to the agent at the same time. I knew I was finally in business when the baby car seat was checked.

The agent called me to the counter and I rolled up one very large 70-pound suitcase, my carry-on suitcase, a backpack, and a shoulder bag. It was my intention to check both suitcases. I was prepared for the “overweight” conversation and had my email app open to the United Airlines itinerary where it stated I could check two bags up to 70 pounds at no cost. However, I soon discovered that I would only be able to check the large bag because of its weight. I was forced to redistribute a few things so I only had two items when I got on the plane.

My boarding passes took another 20 minutes. I don’t know why. My brother-in-law received his and when it became clear I would still be a while, I encouraged him to go through security. I was finally handed a boarding pass so I headed for the checkpoint.

The plane was already boarding so I got in line and headed for the plane. Now, I had paid for a comfort plus seat on the Brazilian domestic flight so I marched up the ramp with confidence. As I stepped into the aisle, I discovered my brother-in-law sitting in my seat. At this point a flight attendant slipped in, looked at all boarding passes, handed me one back and said my seat was 29D. I scowled at Tim as I walked by.

I inched my way back looking at the overhead luggage compartments hoping there would be space for my carry on. Then I looked down at the lady sitting in 29D with her boarding pass clearly stating that was her seat. The flight attendant slipped in again and asked me for every piece of paper they had given me at the counter. He took them to the front of the plane and came back with a new one. I was now in 4C, the area I had paid for. Back to the front I went. Except now, the overhead bins were full and I was forced to stick my things wherever there was room. 

After we landed and pulled to the gate, the aisle was suddenly filled with people determined to be the first off the plane. I stood at my seat and tried to gauge how far back my suitcase and backpack were. As people slowly made their way into the aisle, pulled their bags from the overhead bin, wrangled overstimulated children, and chatted with complete strangers, I looked for gaps between the disembarking passengers. As soon as a little space opened up, I hustled into the aisle and inched my way back as far as I could until the next group blocked my way. Finally, I reached the bin that held my suitcase. I struggled with the weight of it as I pulled it down. It landed in the aisle with a thud. 

I stumbled out of the plane a few minutes after the last passenger and headed for the Federal Police to stamp my passport. I had to then go through another security checkpoint, which seemed more like a gauntlet. I had packed one bottle with more liquid than allowed inside my carryon, according to the x-ray machine. The security woman unceremoniously tossed my bag onto the counter, tore through my dirty clothes, and found the bottle. Remember, my plan had been to check the bag. She grabbed the bottle, turned, walked away, and tossed the full bottle of makeup finishing spray in the trash as she walked by the can. I was left with suitcase contents strewn all over the table. I repacked, closed the zipper and went to find my brother-in-law.

Tim and I started the long trek to the gate for our international flight. This involved walking from Terminal 2 where we had landed to Terminal 3 where our next plane waited. All the while Tim asked, "Isn't there a shuttle to drive us to the terminal? I'm sure I took one the last time I was here." 

"No, Tim, there's no shuttle between Terminals 2 and 3. We have to hoof it," I huffed as I adjusted my backpack and maneuvered my carryon suitcase over the endless series of bumps affixed to the floor to guide the blind through the maze of corridors.

He looked a little bewildered as we made our way through the semi-dark walkways of the sterile area in the Guarulhos airport in São Paulo. I knew we were getting close to the Terminal 3 when the cloying scent of varying high-end perfumes assaulted my nose which started to tingle with the tell-tale sign of an oncoming sneeze. Yep! We had hit the Duty-Free shops. We scurried past the heavily made-up salesgirls armed with spray bottles eager to grace us with a sample of their overpriced smell-wells. 

Finally, we made it to the gates and realized ours was downstairs. That meant we would be riding a bus to our plane which sat out on the tarmac away from the terminal. Before we could get too comfortable, though, we had to check with the gate agent because, you guessed it, I still had boarding pass issues. I was not given one for the final leg of my journey which I knew was a first-class seat from Washington Dulles to Raleigh Durham. I had been upgraded and I WAS NOT GOING TO LOSE THAT SEAT!

The United Airlines gate agent was extremely helpful as she verified our passports and that our luggage had been in our possession the entire time. She then handed us our printed boarding passes with seat assignments. As it turned out, our row had an empty middle seat allowing Tim and me to relax and spread out a bit. We settled in for the 10-hour flight.

We landed in Washington a few minutes early and made the short walk to immigration. I have Global Entry which makes coming into the country extremely simple. I stopped at a kiosk which took a picture of my travel weary face, then headed for the agent who would officially let me through. He looked at me and said, "Good morning, Ms. Reiner. Do you have anything to declare?"

"No, I don't," I answered.

"Then welcome home and have a nice day," he replied.

"Thank you. And you as well." Just like that I was admitted into the country without having to show my passport. I was now on my way to fetch my checked bag and once retrieved, I handed it right back over to the airline to load onto my final flight.

Most breathe a sigh of relief after clearing immigration and customs. To me, those are a breeze compared to having to face a TSA checkpoint at 5:30a.m. with their new 3-D scanners that look like escape pods from Darth Vader's Death Star. Everyone goes through the same scrutiny here whether they have TSA Pre-Check or not. Out come the laptops, off come the coats and shoes and do not look at the people in blue uniforms cross eyed or you will be pulled out of line and subjected to a more "thorough" search.

Tim and I went through separate lines and I rolled my eyes heavenward as my suitcase was sidelined for closer inspection. While I waited my turn, I looked at another passenger's suitcase as the agent rubbed a wand over some candles. He then stuck the wand's cloth covered end into a machine and waited for . . . I'm not sure what. He just stood there for a few seconds, grunted, then turned to tell the passenger he could repack his suitcase. He was free to go.

My suitcase was, again, unceremoniously dumped onto the counter and rifled through with blue gloved hands. The agent had a triumphant look on his face when he came up with two blocks of doce de leite. This sweet treat from Brazil is a condensed version of the dulce de leche that comes in a can. It's made locally in Petrolina and is the best around. My kids love it so I always bring some back for them. Unfortunately, in its brick form and wrapped in plastic, it resembles some illegal substances that are often smuggled into the United States by drug dealers.

Well, I cocked my head to the side like a dog that hears an unexpected sound as the TSA agent ran his wand over both bricks and, once again, stuck the business end into the machine. At this point, another agent walked by with a third brick of doce and I smirked as I realized Tim's bag had also been snagged with suspicious looking merchandise in it. Suffice it to say, the doce de leite tested negative for explosives and cocaine residue. We were free to go.

We boarded our last flight shortly after arriving at the gate. I had just enough time to grab the Sunday New York Times for my mom and bag of Skittles. I eased into my first-class seat not feeling even a little bit guilty that my 74-year-old brother-in-law was "sweating it out" in the rear of the plane. I leisurely sipped my freshly brewed coffee while Tim, no doubt, snored in the back.

My daughter Candice met us curbside at Raleigh Durham airport and we enjoyed the 90-minute ride home. As we pulled into the garage, I observed the faces of my very relieved mother, my also travel weary uncle (he had just arrived by train from Birmingham, Alabama), and Scrappy, the neurotic street rescue dog through the window of the door to the kitchen. 

I unfolded myself from the car, grabbed my backpack and headed into the house. Candice and Tim brought in the rest of the luggage and dumped mine in my mom's room where I would spend the next week. My Uncle Peter would be in my room during the Thanksgiving holiday week. I looked around, let out a weary sigh, and realized it was good to have things back to normal chaos.