How 18 Hours Turned Into 56

I know- I haven’t written in here for quite a long time. I’ve certainly had plenty to write about, but I made the conscious decision not to spend any time writing while I was home on vacation for 2 weeks. But I’ve been back since Tuesday night, and it’s time I get back into the thick of things, wouldn’t you agree? I would have started sooner, but I’ve been fighting some major jet lag and fatigue the last three days. It’s Saturday, so I got to sleep till 1 in the afternoon, and boy, did that make a world of difference.

I was leaving Turkey on late Saturday morning and I was supposed to arrive in NYC Saturday night at 9:30pm. On Sunday, Nick was hosting a giant Patriots/ Welcome Home Geoffrey party Sunday night at 6:30 when the Pats played the Steelers in the AFC Championship game. Getting home to watch the Pats in the playoffs with my brother and a bunch of American football fans was the big carrot I dangled in front of me for the past month whenever I got discouraged or down. Nick told me about an impending snow storm that was going to hit NY. I had an 18 hour cushion from when I was arriving and when the game started, so I thought that even if I got hit with a delay or two on my way home, I’d still make it home by game time. That’s all that mattered. I was NOT going to miss that game, especially after I got to watch the Pats-Colts game in my Izmir apartment last week by nothing short of divine intervention.

On the Saturday morning I was leaving Turkey, I woke up early and got myself and my bag outside next to the big mall across the street from me by 9am. I’d heard that a big white “Havas” comes by there at 9 and picks people up who are en route to the airport. I was a little nervous because I didn’t know what side of the mall it would drive by, or if it kept the same schedule on the weekend. Once the clock hit 9:15 and it still hadn’t arrived, I decided to walk to the main road to try to catch a dolmus taxi that would take me to a ferry. Using those methods, it would have been a long shot to make my flight 11am flight. Luckily, as I was on the main road trying to hail a cab, the Havas bus drove by. I thought to myself that this must have been a good omen, that all my travel troubles were over, and that everything was to go smoothly. Boy, was I wrong!

My 45 minute flight from Izmir to Istanbul was fine. After a 3 hour wait in the Istanbul Intl. terminal and the most expensive Burger King meal of my entire life (Come on, 13 million lira (around 10 bucks) for a value meal???), my flight from Istanbul to Amsterdam was a piece of cake.

Then my troubles began…

11 hours into my trip, I touchdown in Amsterdam and walk over to the connections board to see from which gate my flight to NYC takes off. Not only is my flight delayed, it’s outright cancelled. It was starting to look like that snow storm the northeast United States was supposed to get was more than just a dusting. It’s around 7pm Amsterdam time. I went to the KLM Help Desk to see if they could get me on the next available flight to NY. Yes, they can, but it doesn’t leave until 9am the next morning. They apologized by giving me a 50 Euro KLM coupon for the next time I fly with them, along with a 10 Euro food voucher and a 3-minute international calling card. What am I supposed to do and where am I supposed to go for the next 14 hours? Well, that’s up to me.

I booked a hotel from the airport, costing me $75 for the night. It was only a 10 minute shuttle bus ride from the airport, which was very convenient. Actually, the entire Amsterdam Schiphol Airport was extremely convenient and well designed. I wished more airports could be like that one. I got into my room by 8pm and thought, “Well, I could get a long night’s sleep, but how often do I get to spend a random Saturday night in a cool city like Amsterdam?” I didn’t want to spend a night here and say the only things I saw were the airport and the Ibis Hotel. I caught the shuttle bus back to the airport and caught a train from airport station into Central Station, downtown Amsterdam.

The Amsterdam train system is a very well oiled machine, much better than any public transit system I’ve seen in the United States. The trains have very specific arrival and departure times and they are ALWAYS on time. When you’re on the platform waiting, they tell you when the train’s going to arrive and when it will leave. Very helpful information, something I wish cities like Boston and NY would pick up on.

I hopped on the train, but I didn’t realize how quickly we were moving and I didn’t know how many stops it was to Central Station, so like the dumb foreigner I was, I missed my stop. I asked a ticket taker how to get back to where I was going. She whipped out this fancy PDA (they all have them) to see how I could get back there. She was working on that thing for a while, so I feared it was going to be complicated. The trip back involved 1 or 2 train switches, and of course I didn’t make the correct switches. After asking 3 other train passengers and 2 other ticket takers, I found my way to Central Station. Time it took me to backtrack to Central Station? Oh, only a mere 70 minutes! Not a good way to start the night. But if you had to decipher those Dutch train maps with umpteen different rail lines going in every conceivable direction, I think you’d cut me a little slack.

I made into downtown Amsterdam (finally!) and walked all over. It was a very beautiful city, and I even noticed a few major buildings from “Ocean’s 12.” They filmed a couple scenes on the Central Station platforms and another directly outside the station, so it was easy to recognize. I walked down the Dam, which is the main downtown drag. All the canals throughout the city were beautiful. I just walked around with no central purpose. I had a map of the city in my pocket, I was self-conscious about whipping it out and gawking at it on a crowded sidewalk. Nothing’s more of a red flag than that.

I stumbled upon the famed Red-Light District, which was quite a trip. It was almost like stumbling onto a different planet. A long, thin canal splits the street. Both sides of the street are lined with “coffeeshops” selling marijuana (well, they’re everywhere in the city, actually) and scantily-clad prostitutes looking out at you with their sexiest bedroom eyes from glass doors. They had women there for every conceivable taste. Giant 350lb women, old women, women who are really men, women of all races and nationalities, and certainly plenty of universally hot women as well. All the windows to the brothels are lined with red or pink neon lights, and the girls, they just stand there in the doorways trying to get your attention. If you stop and gawk for just a moment, they knock on the glass or they’ll even open the door a crack and say something to try to get you to come inside. While the whole operation is for real, it’s also the city’s major tourist attraction. The neighborhood wasn’t entirely filled with dirty old men looking for a “suck and a fuck for only 50 Euros, baby” as several girls quoted to me on their own volition. Along with the groups of guys who looked like they were out on bachelor party binges, there were married couples and even families walking around, taking in the scene. If John Ashcroft ever walked into this neighborhood, I think he’d have a heart attack.

Most of the girls would try whatever they could do to get your attention, and if you happened to make eye contact, well, then you were in their vice grip by then. But the funniest girl I saw, she stood in front of her door with a blank look on her face, staring somewhere out into space as she shook her breasts back and forth. And that’s all she did. She looked more like a robot or an eerie Stepford Wife. And when I walked by the building again an hour later when I was leaving, she hadn’t moved or missed a beat. Hysterical.

The city definitely had a marijuana scent to it. While it’s completely legal there to sell and to use marijuana, it seemed very cheap as well. I haven’t the slightest idea what marijuana is sold for in the United States, but they sold it here by the gram or in individual joints and it seemed like quite a bargain.

On my way back to the train station, I managed to get myself lost yet again. Yes, I am the worst tourist ever. There were so many little side streets and alleys in Amsterdam, I couldn’t re-trace my steps, and I simply forgot to remember where the major landmarks were. Plus, it was night out. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t even find myself on my city map, no matter how many times I looked. After 45 minutes of confusion, I found the station and went back to my hotel.

I got around 5 or 6 hours sleep and made my way back to the airport. Bear in mind, I wasn’t allowed to get my bag back at the airport the night before, so I had to wear the same clothes, which I have to admit were getting a little gamy at that point, but there was nothing I could do. I procured some deodorant at the airport, which helped a little. On the way out of the hotel to the airport, the hotel’s giant revolving door decided to stop working. And they didn’t have ANY regular doors. Everyone has their luggage in their hand, anxious to board the bus, and there’s no way to get out. We stood there like dumbstruck cattle for a good 5 minutes before the concierge opened up a small service door on the side of the building. Yikes.

I arrived at the airport only to learn that my 9am flight to New York was CANCELLED AGAIN. 15 hours later and planes still couldn’t land in NY?! By now, I was getting worried about making that 6:30 Patriots game. I talked to KLM and they put me on a 2:30 flight to MONTREAL, but they told me that flight could very well be cancelled as well. But even if the Montreal flight were to take off and land successfully, I still wouldn’t even be in the United States!

Dejected and upset, I didn’t want to spend another 7 hours waiting around in an airport, so I caught the train back to downtown Amsterdam and walked around the city some more (in daylight this time!) and took all the pictures I would have snapped the night before if it were light outside. I also used my 10 Euro food voucher at Burger King, which got me a large fries, a large soda, a large milk shake, and the Big King XL, which had to be the biggest fast food burger I’ve ever eaten in my whole life. And I still had some of the voucher left to spare, but I could only slob it up so much.

Note- it seems like Burger King has the fast food monopoly in a lot if airports, or at least all the ones I flew through. Istanbul, Amsterdam, Montreal, all exclusively Burger King. Where’s the variety, airport people?

When I returned to the airport, I noticed KLM had a flight to Boston which was somehow leaving on time (even though Boston got hit much worse by the storm than NY). I tried to get off my Montreal flight and onto the Boston flight, but they didn’t have any room for me. Well, at least I tried. My Montreal flight ended up leaving on time, though, so at least I made my way across the Atlantic onto North American soil. Time spent in Amsterdam- 20 hours.

Arriving in Montreal, my trip was already 38.5 hours long and it was 4pm on Sunday, eastern standard time. And believe me, by this point I was feeling every hour of it. I spoke to American Airlines, which was in charge of flying me from Montreal to New York on the last leg of my journey. They informed me I just missed the day’s last flight to NY and the next flight is 6am tomorrow morning. Super! Another 14 hours hanging out in an airport terminal! And this was my vacation? AT least I got my luggage back at this point (with all the plane switches and cancellations, I was amazed it didn’t end up somewhere else halfway across the world) and I was able to change my clothes. I felt a thousand times better, and I was even able to slip into my lucky 2003 AFC Chmaps Patriots shirt (neither the Red Sox nor the Pats have ever lost when I wear this shirt, so it was key to have it on for the game).

So, while I missed the Pats party at my brother’s place in Brooklyn, I got to watch the game in a deserted airport bar. By 8:30, the entire terminal was more or less empty, and the bar I was in decided to close up shop. Luckily, there was another bar nearby showing the game, so I got to see the whole match in its entirety. And man, what a game! Watching the Pats beat the Steelers like that sure lifted my spirits out of the gutter for a while. Onto our 3rd Super Bowl in 4 years, this one to be against the Eagles in 2 weeks!

I bought a phone card and called Nick and then my Mom. I got a first-hand account of how terrible the blizzard was. My Mom was actually stuck in her house. It had snowed so much and the wind and blown so much up against the house that my Mom couldn’t open up her door more than 3 inches. And the front door was somehow frozen shut. It took a neighbors BLOWTORCH to open up the door the next day, and my Dad got some of my younger cousins to shovel my Mom out of the house Monday afternoon. Crazy stuff.

After the phone calls, I was ready to pass out at any moment. I started losing my sense of balance, and the floor started looking like it was moving around underneath me like a wave-pool. I took that as a clear sign to lie down and get some sleep. Even though the terminal was dead empty, I was paranoid about falling asleep there. I didn’t want to have my luggage stolen in mid-slumber, and I didn’t want to oversleep and miss my 6am flight. After much searching, I found a couch in an upstairs lounge to stretch out on. I wrapped my arms around my backpack and my legs around my bag, and Nick reminded me on the phone that my Ipod had an alarm clock function (God Bless you, Apple!).

Certainly not the best sleep I’ve ever had, but I got around 5 hours of shuteye. I woke at 4am to check in with the airline, and hooray!, the 6am flight wasn’t delayed or cancelled. I had myself a little breakfast (Burker King, what else?) and made my way down to the gate. Well, 6am came and went, and still no boarding call. I’m thinking by now, :What on Earth is the problem?!!! Get me the hell home!” After much grumbling and many inquiries by all of the passengers, at 6:20, an attendant announced that while the plane was at the gate ready to go, someone forgot to tell the pilots and the flight crew that they had a flight this morning. We’re all waiting at the gate and they were still at their freakin’ hotel! The flight’s delayed for another hour and I officially take up residence at Exasperation Central.

Eventually the crew arrived, apologies abounding, and we took off at 730am. I boarded onto this really tiny jet where there’s 1 seat on the left-hand side and 2 seats on the right side. I traipsed down the aisle to my seat and discovered that I’m seated next to a young woman weighing at least 350 lbs. She got up, let me into my aisle seat and then she sat back down again. Now this women was extremely big and wide. She took up her seat and over half of mine, squishing me up against the side of the plane in a rather uncomfortable fashion. God, could anything else go wrong at this point?! The thought of spending the last hour of my trip like this almost made me cry. Or laugh. I think I almost broke down into a crying laughter, actually. Fortunately, after a few minutes we realized the plane wasn’t going to fill up, so the woman moved back to sit in a row of her own. I never said anything, but I don’t think she was too comfortable either. Potential disaster was narrowly avoided and I thought the breaks were finally going my way.

Time spent in Montreal: 15.5 hours. Total trip time so far: only 54 hours!

I arrived at JFK Airport and proceeded to collect my bag. I walked outside into a blinding cold and saw snow all around me. I managed to find the Airtrain (a new light rail system that goes from the airport to the subway system or the Long Island Rail Road) without a problem. I boarded the Airtrain towards the Howard Beach A-Train subway stop and everything was going smoothly until the Airtrain just stopped in the middle of nowhere. And we just sat there. And sat there some more, the train not moving an inch. A few minutes later a voice came over the PA system telling us there was a problem with the trains. Fabulous! And not only will we be stalled for a while longer, but we actually have to go BACKWARDS.

Can you believe this? Neither could I when it was happening. So we go backwards for a while, stop again, and after a few more minutes, we started going forward again. What should have been a 15 minute trip turned into a 45 minute torture session. I gladly got off the Airtrain at the A-Train stop and walked downstairs to the subway platform.

The platform was outside, it was very cold, and I wasn’t feeling too great by now, but I figured a train would come by soon and in a few minutes I’d be in the warm confines of Nick’s apartment. Well, I waited on the platform. And waited some more. I saw 2 or 3 trains come by going the other way. 40 minutes later, the train pulled up to the platform. I had never waited 40 minutes for a NY subway train my entire life, but today felt like the day for new records like that to be broken.

Apparently some homeless guy started a fire in a subway station to keep warm and he ended up burning down a very important engine control room, or something like that. The fire messed up all the subway systems and apparently it will take 5 YEARS for the C Train to run again. That’s not a typo folks. 5 YEARS!

I eventually made it to my subway stop without further incident (Really, folks, at this point, is there really any sort of incident left that can happen to me? Hit by a car crossing the street? Robbed at gunpoint in front of Nick’s place?). I dragged my bag through the snow and made it to Nick’s apartment. He walked downstairs and opened the door as I pretty much collapsed in his arms. I had never been so happy to see him. It felt like I was never going to get home, but there I was. I made it.

Time in NY- 10am. Total trip time from door to door- give or take 56 HOURS.