Looking Forward to Your Vacation? Read on By Andrea Downing

Ah, summer.  Lazy days on the beach, toes dipped in pools, a light breeze over the lake, or a splash in the stream.  Also, hour-long lines at security, bags going missing, four dollar bottles of water and screaming kids.  As you read this, I will just be landing in London, England, and I can only pray as I write that what happened to me recently on my return from Jackson, WY, to New York does not have a repeat performance.

Obviously, I’ve lived to tell the tale.  Only just….

Flight one on my return goes from Jackson to Denver.  Jackson airport is like a hotel lounge—it rather lulls you into a false sense of security.  And when I was upgraded to Business/First, what could possibly go wrong?  Hail in Denver was what went wrong.  And since Jackson is a small airport, taking small planes, which in turn have small fuel tanks, we couldn’t just hang about in the sky over Denver waiting for the hail to move on.  Nope, instead, we moved on—to Grand Island, Nebraska.

One and a half hours later, having been assured all flights were delayed so our connections would still be good, we got back into the air and made our way to Denver and flight two.  I had an hour first—enough time to indulge at Rocky Mt. Chocolate Factory—got my second upgrade to Business/First for the four hour flight to LaGuardia, and settled in next to a gentleman, who happened also to be going on to East Hampton.  Delightful.

Until the flight attendant announced we didn’t have a pilot, so we all had to get off once more.

Our pilot had a family crisis so United was working its way down its pilot list.  This list might have been one pilot long because none could be found in the area; either they were stuck elsewhere or couldn’t get in, in time, or had already done too many hours. Visions of sleeping forever on the floor of Denver airport danced across my tiring brain.  But, aha!  New flight put on for eight a.m. next morning, hotel vouchers available at the Customer Service desk….

Except the Customer Service desk already had about one thousand people in line, a line which zig-zagged in front of said desk before making its way down the entire Terminal B concourse.  Amazing how you get chatty with strangers in such a situation.  After considering that the line was going nowhere fast, and that all airport hotels were soon to announce they had no rooms, smarty pants (my middle name) pulled out her phone, rang United, and got through within minutes.  I checked in for the morning’s flight and got a 10% discount on a La Quinta room reachable via shuttle.  Better than a voucher, I’d say, and the shuttle was waiting when I got there.

Now there was one thing I wasn’t so smart about, and that was the contents of my carry-on:  chargers, jewelry, medications, the above mentioned chocolates, and the contents of my Jackson fridge. For some unknown reason, I had decided to transport home:  one part cucumber, one smoked trout (luckily in sealed pouch), nuts, and an apple that could have passed for a pumpkin.  Available at the front desk was a toothbrush (one row of bristles, perfect for a baby) and a sachet smear of toothpaste.  In the room was soap.  And what a room!  Giant living room, separate bedroom and bathroom.  Also, no coffee for the coffee maker, television blaring from the lobby, heater in the bedroom so you couldn’t possibly sleep with it on, traffic noise from outside, and where were the lovely, fluffy bathrobes?  Not at La Quinta!  For dinner, I rather idiotically ate chocolate and the giant apple.  Freezing to death after my shower, with no spare blanket, I wrapped myself in two dry bath towels, set the alarm for five a.m., and tried to sleep.  Who was I kidding?  Chocolate has more caffeine than a cup of coffee, dumb-dumb. And my face, which went without eye cream and face cream for the first time in fifty-six years, felt as if it might crack.  In this state, further enhanced by the pain in recovering broken shoulder, my phone vibrated at precisely 2.40 a.m.

Luckily, I looked at it.  United announcing that the 8 a.m. flight was now an 11 a.m. flight.  This meant arrival in NYC, with the two hour time difference, at 5p.m Memorial weekend Friday.

But I’m awake!  So I got myself onto an alternative flight at 8.10 a.m., one of the last 2 seats into Newark.  Sat in an exit row seat between two lovely guys who tried to convince me that, as it was now the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I really didn’t want to continue on to East Hampton via the Long Island Expressway, otherwise known as the free parking lot. 

Oh, but I did.

My daughter, bless her, made something like five different jitney reservations for me, arranged for a car to collect me at Newark, take me into NYC, have a sandwich delivered to my apartment, and I was able to make reservation Numero Dos—one hour later.  Traffic not bad on the LIE, and she had dinner waiting for me on arrival.  The angel!

Oh, and my checked bag?  Well, I knew it wouldn’t be on my flight so went directly to the luggage people on arrival at Newark and had it sent straight to my home.  Easy as pie….

And you can read far less miserable stories at

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Up, up and away I went! by Leah St. James

Last month I wrote about my extreme anxiety over an upcoming trip which required me to travel by air travel. (I suffer from serious motion sickness, especially of the up-and-down kind of motion.) The condition has grounded me for many years, it was only my best friend’s daughter’s wedding halfway across the country that coaxed me into purchasing that airline ticket. 

I’m back to report that the trip went without problems, and to share with you a few lessons learned.

1. Confront your fears but  with a plan.

My “fear of flying” wasn’t irrational, it was based on experience. I have vertigo and have lived with its effects for years. So I avoid situations that bring these symptoms to the surface. (Sometimes I just walk into walls...but that’s another story.)

This trip, though, couldn’t be avoided without a lot of heartache and unnecessary expense, in time and money.  I HAD TO get on that plane. So I did what every good author does:  I researched.  

I Googled “best way to combat motion sickness in planes” and phrases like that. I read forums and medical websites. I got advice from people who also suffer from motion sickness but who manage to travel despite it. I decided to try the Scopolamine Transdermal patch and headed for my doctor’s office for a prescription. I ended up with prescriptions for that AND another anti-vertigo medication that could be taken with the patch. 

As far as navigating air travel in the 21st century, my sister (a frequent traveler) armed me with step-by-step instructions on what to expect through the security checks, to boarding and making that connecting flight in Atlanta (a humongous terminal, it turns out). 

All that was left was for me to get to the airport and onto the first leg of the trip. Which is when I learned my second lesson: 

2. If you don’t know what to do in a situation others call "nomal," watch their behavior.

My sister had told me what to expect at the TSA check-point, but I’d never actually seen any of it except on TV, so I held back for a bit and watched a couple people navigate through. It looked pretty easy. The staff/guards were smiling (always a good sign, I think), and travelers appeared unscathed as they headed off toward their gates on the other side. I ventured forth and mimicked what I had seen, and except for a scan of my poor laptop which for some reason froze the machine’s internal clock (hmm...a suspense plot is brewing in my head), I had no issues.

After about a two-hour wait, we got the boarding call, and I learned my next lesson.

3. Don’t be afraid to admit your vulnerabilities, when it makes sense.  You never know when you’ll meet a guardian angel.

We know there are times when we have to appear strong even when we’re quaking inside. Mothers do it for their children all the time. So do friends and siblings. But standing in that jet way with the throng of others waiting to squish themselves into the “flying tin can,” I couldn’t help myself. I blurted out, “I haven’t flown in 40 years.”

Dead silence met my statement for a heartbeat, then the young man in front of me said, “Oh...great!” There was more than a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

I responded, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been properly dosed with prescription pharmaceuticals.” (See, there I was talking bravely while inside I had no idea if the drugs would work!)

He laughed and said, “I’ve been properly dosed with some liquid comfort as well!”

We scootched forward, a few steps at a time, and the man behind me, 60-ish and carrying a plastic grocery store bag in his hand (no luggage), started giving me pointers about how to manage with my carry-on. It helped. And was I surprised when he turned out to be my seat-mate.

After fumbling with the blasted seatbelt for about a minute, and by now having a small acquaintance with him, I asked him, “How do you fasten this thing?” 

He looked. “You have it backwards. The tab goes into that end.” 

D’oh. I’d been trying to stick it in the backside....but let’s not go there, okay?

 As the plane began its taxi, my new friend engaged me in small talk. He was traveling to somewhere about an hour north of Tulsa, Oklahoma, for a quick trip home to visit his grandkids. (The plastic bag held toys for them.) He told me about his job in our area, I told him about mine. As the plane lifted off, he kept talking, sharing with me his political stance on various topics. A few minutes after leveling off, he just stopped talking and closed his eyes.

Well, I thought, I guess he’s bored with me! Then I realized he’d probably been chattering away to keep my mind occupied so I would freak out. 

I occupied myself for the next hour watching the clouds from above--a glorious sight I had not expected.

When we deplaned he stuck by me to make sure I’d get my bag back (which they’d whisked away earlier...not enough room in the overheads). Once he saw I had it safely in hand, he wished me a good trip and strode off, presumably toward Tulsa and points north. I hope he made it there safely. I hope he had a wonderful visit with his family.

I’ll never know his name, but I’ll always remember his kindnesses to a skittish fellow traveler.

As for the wedding, it was a beautiful, fairy-tale event. I got to join in on the pre-wedding fun and had a wonderful visit with my best buddy. 

So what’s my bottom line? I successfully conquered my fear of flying—with the help of family, friends, pharmaceuticals and unexpected guardian angels. I’m already planning where I might fly off to next.

...........................................

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love. Learn more at LeahStJames.com.

To fly or not to fly ~ by Leah St. James

I have a confession.  I haven’t flown (on an airplane) in something like 40 years.  (Yes, I’m that old...but that’s another post.)  The reason is simple:  I suffer terribly from motion sickness. I have vivid memories of being stripped down to my petticoat and walking through an airport terminal when I was around four years old. (Please don’t judge my mom. The petticoats of those days were sturdy things and covered more than some street clothes of today! :-) 

When I was 18, I flew from New Jersey to Florida for a vacation with my friend and her little brother.  As the plane lifted off, I looked out at the horizon that was now at a 45-degree angle, and...well, let’s just say it was not a pleasant ride...for any of us.

In 1996, I went on a dream cruise with my sister to Bermuda. As soon as we cleared New York Harbor, my world tilted and I couldn’t stand upright. I spent the next three days lying on my side in bed while my sister boogied in from the lido deck to bring me one goodie or another...which I ate while lying on my side. As I envisioned myself choking to death trying to swallow in that position, I took solace that at least I’d die happy (eating).

Did I mention yet that I get dizzy watching IMAX? (Not great when you're chaperoning a class of rambunctious fifth-graders.)

About a dozen years ago I finally discovered the cause.  Seems I have something called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo—which explained why my whole life I kept walking into walls without a drop of any mind-altering substances. Who knew?

Avoiding plane travel has been easy since hubby, who doesn’t trust the aerodynamics that make machines fly, prefers to drive as well.  But my run of plane-free travel has come screeching to a halt.

My best friend’s daughter is getting married. And instead of celebrating their nuptials in the D.C. area where they live and where it would be a relatively quick (albeit probably miserable) drive for me up I95, she and her hubby-to-be have decided to marry in a “celebration barn” in the middle of Iowa!

 

Faced with the thought of a two-day drive by myself (hubby can’t go with me), plus spending tons of money on gas and an overnight stay in a hotel (not to mention precious vacation time spent in the car!), I did the unthinkable.

I booked a flight.

Then I visited my doctor’s office and got prescriptions for some mind-altering pharmaceuticals that will (hopefully) tell my brain that it’s sitting on my living room couch, not being propelled in a giant tin can several tens of thousands of feet in the air, held there by some magic of physics.

As news of my upcoming flight spread to my family, who know of my aversion to air travel, I was flooded with advice.

My sister, who travels frequently by air, is now fretting that I picked “the worst” airport to make a connecting flight (Atlanta). “Oh dear,” she said during a recent phone call, “It can be really confusing.” She mentioned something about trams and gates, departing and arriving...I don’t remember. She offered to schedule a phone call with her husband (a project manager who makes a living planning for worst-case scenarios) to help me map out my route from the arrival gate to the departure gate. Included would be step-by-step instructions on what to expect  at the outbound security checkpoint, what kind of luggage to bring, what kind of toiletries to pack, why I shouldn’t bother to lock my luggage...and I forget what else.

So now I’m not only freaking out about the plane ride itself (and what condition I’ll be in when I, God willing, reach my final destination), but getting myself from one plane to the next.  So I talked to a friend at work, a former flight attendant from Germany, who said, “You’ll be fine. Print yourself an airport map and follow it. It’s easy.”

That didn’t help. In addition to suffering from motion sickness/vertigo, I am directionally challenged. (I once got lost walking in my in-laws’ neighborhood where I’d walked many, many times because I started off in the opposite direction. God’s truth.) I can’t tell north from south from east from west unless I’m looking at the sun (but not at noon!), or standing at the shore of the Atlantic, with the water to my right...which means I’m facing north...right?

My sister was right. I do need a training session!

My trepidation worsened after I downloaded a terminal map from the airport’s website. The place is HUGE! Immediately my head was filled with an image of myself wandering aimlessly from gate to gate, blathering nonsense due to my now-prescription-drug-induced haze. 

In desperation, looking for comfort, I turned to Son No. 1 (in birth order, not preference, of course).  He travels quite frequently, too. Here’s what he had to say:

“The worst part of an airport is that everyone is in a bad mood and rushing around.  They've gotten good with big maps and directions, and if in doubt, find someone to ask - even it's the closest bartender.”

Big sigh of relief. I’m a master at asking strangers for help, including bartenders. I can do this.

If things don’t go well, though, I might be moving to Atlanta. 

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Leah writes stories of mysteries and romance, good and evil, and the power of love. Learn more at leahstjames.com, or stop by and say hi on Facebook or Twitter.