A Tale Of Travel Trials and Tribulations
I have been sort of a travel vagabond for the last four and a half years, living in Central America most of the year. I spent the first seven months in Costa Rica and the remaining months in David, Panama. During that time I have traveled back to North Carolina to visit family, friends (and my doctor) twice a year – in the spring when it warms up and again in the late fall before the cold weather arrives.
During this period I have also traveled to a number of countries including Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela, the Dominican Republic and a laundry list of Caribbean island locations as a passenger on about a half dozen cruises. In addition, in the past both Costa Rica and Panama required people in their countries on tourists visa to exit the country every 90 days, which necessitated a trip to the Costa Rica/Panama border and processing in and out of the two countries’ border immigration offices. (Panama recently changed their requirement to 180 days, Phew!)
I also traveled extensively during my Air Force career, including a two-year tour with the Air Force IG. As the team chief of a traveling inspection group, I averaged traveling over 220 days of the year all over the world. Those experiences taught me that, if you did enough of it, travel was not fun! And those experiences were before 9-11 and the resultant security measures and the major changes in the travel industry that have evolved over the years.
My point in providing this history is that I thought I was a pretty seasoned traveler – had seen it all. I had become numbed to changing requirements, new regulations, different processes and new travel related discomforts administered by hordes of different officials in various colored uniforms, speaking various languages and often flavored with individual idiosyncrasies based seemingly on what mood that official was in at the moment. But my recent trip back to the U.S. made me realize that just about the time you think you have the system figured out, some sadistic element, either human or natural, will interject a new trauma and, in this case, roll them all into one trip.
First Stop – North Carolina
My journey starts with a hop on an Air Panama regional flight to San Jose, Costa Rica were I catch a non-stop to Charlotte on U.S. Air. This is the first hold-your-breath hurdle because the Air Panama flight is the only flight to San Jose and it only goes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. In short, if that flight does not go today, you have to reschedule the U.S. Air flight, a $200 rescheduling cost right up front. Luckily, it went as scheduled. So far so good!
(Admittedly I do have to survive the ‘price shock’ every time I spend the night in San Jose. Prices have almost doubled in the four years I have been going through there (as they have in Golfito where I lived in Costa Rica). Come on - $130/night Holiday Inn Express and $13 breakfasts at Denny’s!)
Arriving in Charlotte I got my ‘normal’ greeting from U.S. Customs and Immigration – a grilling! I don’t know if it is my age, the fact that I am traveling alone, or a fit some profile or it’s just my charming good looks, but I watch people ahead of me being literally waived through and then when it is my turn, we play 20 questions. I play along until they get to the question, “What are you going to do in the States?” (normally that is Question #5). I repeat the question as if I am confused and then say, “Whatever we Americans do.” This usually gets a smile and a ‘Welcome back.” (When asked what I do in Panama, I wanted to say, “I broke up with my fiancé. Just put her on the school bus and left the country.” But I bit my tongue and kept quiet, responding only that I was retired.)
I had been monitoring the weather in Charlotte for several weeks and liked the 75-80 degree weather they were experiencing since my body has become acclimatized to constant 80 degree weather. I was not prepared for landing in Charlotte on a dark, drizzly and windy Saturday night about 7PM, met by 55 degree weather. My son noted cheerfully, not to worry, that it was forecast to be sunny and back up to 80 the next day, perfect for us to enjoy the tickets he had procured for the Charlotte Panthers football game. Wow, back in the USA and ‘Hello NFL’ all in just 24 hours!
Sunday did dawn warm and sunny and we had a great time in a downtown office building parking lot near the stadium that becomes a great tail-gate party site on game day Sundays. However, in the 2nd quarter of the game it suddenly clouded up and it rained. No, it RAINED like I have never seen it rain and that observation comes from someone who has weathered typhoon storms in Asia, hurricanes in the Caribbean and tropical forest downpours in Latin America. One report on Monday reported eight inches of rain in an hour and twenty minutes. They had pictures on CNN World Weather News the next few days of the water cascading down from the stands that looked like Niagara Falls. We also managed to prove conclusively that modern football stadiums are not designed for everyone seated in the stadium to collect undercover in the vending and restroom areas.
When we finally got back to my rental car in the parking lot, we discovered a dead battery. Sure, I know, just call this 800 number the rental car company provides and they come and rescue you. Yeah, right – they will charge right into a post-game traffic grid-locked downtown, in a section that is about four blocks square made up of small un-named parking lots that all look alike. Luckily, we got a jump start and topped off our wonderful afternoon with a two hour side trip to the airport to swap cars. The agent at the rental counter was very helpful, but I was not too happy to hear him ask his co-worker, “I thought they said they fixed the electrical problem on that red Honda?” Grrr!
I should also mention that I normally make my fall trip to the U.S. for the month of September since I am trying to avoid any semblance of cold weather. This year I delayed it until October at my daughters’ request. They wanted me to celebrate my birthday in Kansas City this year. So I had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably get a taste of cold weather before I escaped back to Panama. I did not expect a cold snap to hit in the first days of my visit.
Monday morning found me in various department stores. I needed a pair of jeans (summer-weight slacks didn’t work), some sneakers (socks with sandals weren’t working either), a sweatshirt and a jacket. For the next three weeks, in both Charlotte and Wilmington, I walked around wrapped up like an Eskimo while people dressed in T-shirts and cut-offs tried to explain to me that a windy 50-60 degrees wasn’t really that cold. I, on the other hand, tried to explain to them that those readings were roughly the temperature settings for the beer coolers in Panama.
On To Kansas City
After three weeks spent splitting my time between family and friends in both Charlotte and Wilmington, it was now on to Kansas City. Even though I had never flown with them before, I booked flights with Air Trans based on a combination of price, departure time from Charlotte and arrival time in Kansas City. Even though I was born and raised in K.C. and am generally familiar with the area’s layout, I have not spent much time there since I left to go in the Air Force a couple of centuries ago. So I wanted to time my arrival to keep me out of rush hour traffic. In addition, I wanted to be searching for my hotel while it was still daylight.
The first flight took me to Detroit on time and on schedule. I had intentionally passed up a booking that only gave me 50 minutes to change planes, and had opted for a two hour layover, trying to reduce the stress level involved with worrying about the flight being delayed and missing the connecting flight. Well it was the connecting flight that was late, so the two hour layover became three and a half hours. That delay put me into K.C. so that I caught the tail end of the rush hour and it turned dark before I found my hotel. Good plan, Matthews.
Getting to Fort Lauderdale
My flight from Kansas City to Fort Lauderdale (to catch my cruise) was also my first time on Southwest Airlines. It was actually two flights, but on the same aircraft, so at the stop in Atlanta I did not have to deplane, so that sounded good. I also paid $10 extra for preferred boarding since Southwest does not assign seats. Good plan, right?
On departure day I got a early hint that this was not going to be ‘my day’ when I came out of the hotel to find the car covered with a sheet of frost - just enough frost that I had to sit and warm up the car enough to clear the windshield. I had not figured on road crews working on the interstate before 8AM or a backup at the rental car return. I still arrived in plenty of time to make the flight, but into my normal ‘stress reduction’ time pad. But then there was TSA.
In addition to Immigration and Customs officers, I seem to be a favorite of TSA people as well. So as I exited the X-ray machine and started to the conveyor belt to retrieve my personal belongings, an officer directed me instead off to the side and positioned me with my feet on the markings on the floor with directions to stand with my hands at my sides. He would be “with me in a moment”. I could then hear him behind me talking to other passengers. A lady, all decked out in the ‘military dictator’ uniforms the TSA now wears, parked herself about three feet in front of me with instructions to look at her. We then started a ‘stare down” – I guess they read in a book that is how the Israeli security people profile. I guess I was supposed to look anxious or furtive, but I was having a hard time keeping a straight face.
I heard the agent behind me say that he was coming over to take care of me, so I said to her, “Do you know who you look like?” Her response was a snarled, “No talking.” No talking? Which gulag is this? So as the guy walked up and dismissed her, I told her anyway, “Tina Turner.” (Which was true). She snapped, “I think Tina Turner is ugly.” I couldn’t resist. I answered, “So do I.” If looks could kill!
Anyway, when I got to the gate I discovered that my early boarding purchase was a waste of money. Even though it was about 45 minutes before departure time the aircraft was already about half loaded. I ended up in a middle seat, which was what I was trying to avoid. To make matters worse, the aisle and the window seats where occupied by a couple traveling together, but neither likes the middle seat. So they talked across me for the entire flight. And as usual, if there is one person on the flight who is going to recline his seat back, he will be (and was) sitting in front of me!
The good news is that most of the people on the flight got off in Atlanta, so I got my seat of choice for the flight on to Fort Lauderdale. I parked in the aisle seat at the front bulkhead where I had plenty of legroom and no seat in front of me to recline. Phew! My celebration did not last long. Shortly after a fellow took the window seat, the stewardess asked us to save the center seat for one of ‘her passengers’. That is when the bad news got delivered. You have heard the stories of people so large that the airlines require them to buy two seats. This guy should have had to buy three seats. I really didn’t think he could get in the seat, but he did. But he oozed out under the armrests taking up half of my seat. The guy at the window raised so much hell, they found him another seat. They did it by exchanging seats with the fat guy’s wife who was approximately the same size. I decided rather than raise a stink, I would put up with it for the 45 minute flight, but vowed never to fly Southwest again, Which I won’t!
At this point I want to interject that the airlines need to get a handle on the carry-on baggage thing. It has gotten totally out of hand. I read only later that the primary reason that people pay a premium to board early is not for seat selection, but to insure overhead bin space. And many of the bags people carry on (or more precisely roll-on) will not fit in those sizing models on display out in the airport. Many people get onboard rolling a suitcase, carrying a computer bag and often with a big shopping bag of some kind. There are people who can not get there collection of baggage down the aisle. For example, there was a trio of people traveling together, sitting across the aisle from me on the flight to Atlanta, that had nine bags between them. I am certain that on both the Southwest flights there was more baggage in the passenger cabin than there was in the cargo hold. I can not believe all that junk in the cabin doesn’t present a safety problem in case of emergency. I think Spirit Air has the right idea in charging for carry-on bags.
On To The Cruise
I have reported previously on the ‘cruise turned nightmare’ that my Carnival experience turned out to be, so I won’t put you through that again. If you missed it, scroll down to the 9 November posting, ‘Cruising Can Be Dangerous.’ In short, I was not going to be getting off when the ship made a stop in Colon, Panama because a hurricane was causing us to re-route. I was going back to Fort Lauderdale like it or not.
I should mention that changing travel arrangements while you are on a cruise liner is neither easy nor inexpensive. The Wi-Fi internet connection on ships is extremely slow and the cost on Carnival was $.75 a minute. By the time I researched available flights to Panama, made reservations, paid for them, printed out confirmations and boarding passes, made hotel reservations in Panama, changed my flight from Panama City to David, etc., I had close to $100 in internet costs alone.
The best flight arrangements I could find where out of Miami, so I had to also make bus reservations to get from the port in Fort Lauderdale to the Miami airport. I was able to make those arrangements with the customer service on the ship. The only problem was that the bus expeditor out on the ramp did not have me on the list. Luckily I had my receipt and she accepted that. Phew.
Now to Miami
I had intentionally booked a mid-afternoon departure from Miami, again to reduce the ulcer factor, so we arrived at the airport well before I had to be there. And, these bus companies that routinely operate from the cruise ships to the airport have it down to a science.
The bus driver explained the system as we pulled into the airport complex. About a dozen of those on board where going to depart on American Airlines, which would be the first stop. The rest of us, half a dozen people, were going either on Copa Airlines or United which would be the second stop. He asked that everyone stay on board when he made the first stop. He would pull all the baggage out and then call the American passengers off. He would then reload the remaining bags and we would proceed to the next (and last stop). It went like clock work except that my bag was not there when we stopped at stop #2. Oops! Although he was certain that there were no bags left at stop #1, I was equally sure that my bag was on the bus initially. So off we go to search for my missing bag.
Like every airport on earth, every thing is one-way, so our travel back to the American gate required winding around and exiting the airport and then re-entering. The entire trip probably only took 15-20 minutes, but it seemed like days. I tried to figure out how my missing bag would ever find its way from Miami to David, Panama. Not likely, I decided. And I am trying to stay optimistic while simultaneously making a mental inventory of what is in the bag. When we pull up to the American entrance, no bag! About the time my heart had sunk I realized, although the driver did not agree, that is not where we stopped, it was on further up. Sure enough, there the bag was lying on its side at the curb. Why no security alarms went off with an unattended bag sitting around, I do not know.
My trip through Customs and Immigration was uneventful and the only other excitement in Miami was when we boarded the airplane. The loading ramp that leads onto the airplane was suddenly full of police both in uniform and plain clothes, other officers with DEA vests on and two drug dogs. They waived some folks by and stopped others. I can’t believe I wasn’t on their profile. Kind of felt left out. “Hey, what about me?”
¡Bienvenido a Panamá!
The flight on Copa Airlines was uneventful and mercifully short (a little over two hours). But the fun started anew when we arrived at Tocumen International in Panama City. For starters, it was raining, and the airport doesn’t have the walk-on ramps common in U.S. airports. There was an agent at the bottom of the aircraft stairs holding an umbrella over your head as you stepped on to the bus. But you had already walked down the stairs in the rain. And then there was customs and immigration!
I don’t know whether it was because it was a Sunday night or whether the monstrous backup at the immigration stations is common (I usually return into San Jose, Costa Rica). There were four lines and they were so long you could not see the immigration stations even though they were straight ahead. And, to put it mildly, immigration officials here do not have a record of being fast or efficient. Forever, is not a philosophical concept.
By the time I worked my way through immigration, baggage claim and the agricultural station I was in the airport almost as long as I was on the flight down. And then I find that there is some kind of dispute going on between the airport and taxi companies. The result is that taxis that bring people out to the airport from the city can not (legally) pick up arriving passengers destined for the city. Only ‘airport taxis’ can haul arrivals – and they are in short supply, at least on a Sunday night. So a cottage industry has sprung up – the airport taxi expeditors ‘farm out’ passengers to private auto operators. The driver was friendly, understod my 'Spanglish', and had a nice car, but it was not a taxi and he was not a taxi driver. The expeditor gives you a card with his name and employee number on it to ally in concerns you have about this arrangement.
The ride to my airport downtown was as uneventful as can be expected when you travel down a unlighted freeway on a dark rainy night and about every 4th car you overtake has no (NO) tail-lights. I was wound up like a clock spring by the time I got to the hotel. My mood did not improve any when I got to the bar downstairs and discovered that my Cowboys were trailing the hated Philadelphia Eagles by 21 points and it was still the first quarter. Grr….
The next morning I hailed a cab early so I did not have to worry about getting to the airport on time, but my cabbie decided to jump off the main drag when traffic backed up. I noticed that he locked the taxi’s doors as we turned off, and I soon saw why. In my years in Asia I thought I had seen all the world had to show in terms of slums and squalor. Wrong! I now know where the hose goes when someone decides to give the world an enema. It almost defies description. And was not comforting that every block or so the driver assured me he could some more police up ahead. He also ignored each and every stop sign if there were people standing at the intersection - just honked his horn and kept going.
I did finally make it to Albrook, the regional airport to take my 45 minute hop back to David. When you enter the airport, you turn left to go into the Air Panama section or right for Aeroplas Airlines. But, what’s going on here? They are doing a big remodeling so both airlines’ ticket counters, baggage and departure gates are now crammed into the right side. Which was nothing more than a little crowded and confusing, except at the boarding area.
Normally the agent just steps to the front of the boarding area and announces that flight number so-and-so is now boarding for David (or where ever) and you just walk out to the airplane, give the agent at the bottom of the stairs your boarding pass and climb on. But with both airlines boarding from the same area, some genius decided it was necessary to have a roll call each time a flight was ready to board – reading off the names of, and accounting for, every passenger. Since my flight was almost two hours late departing, I got to see this exercise many times.
What I did not realize until my flight was called (finally) was that the airlines had consolidated operations inside the terminal, but not on the ramp – aircraft parking areas were still the same. So my aircraft was about a 100 yard walk down to the other end of the ramp. And, yes, it started sprinkling as we walked.
¡Bienvenido a David!
The flight to David, other than being late, was uneventful – at least till we got there. It was not sprinkling – it was raining. The agents did meet us at the bottom of the aircraft stairs and gave each of us an umbrella for out walk to the terminal building.
And, there was a taxi available outside the terminal to take me to the hotel - a short 15 minute ride. Well it would have been if the taxi had not had a flat tire just as we left the airport grounds. I hailed a passing taxi, but then taxi driver #1 decided I should pay him for the portion of the trip we had made. Needless to say I did not agree so, after a short discussion I suggested he just sue me and gave him my card. That seemed to satisfy him, but I will bet he was not happy if he called that phone number on the card and discovered that Jorge Edgars is not a gringo tourist, but was a taxi expeditor at Tocumen Airport and had not been in David in months.
In Summary
I am seriously considering never leaving town again. And I have decided that experience is not a good teacher as it only reminds you how things use to be. I have been home for three weeks and have still not finished unpacking. I may not because I may not need that suitcase again. Well, not until April anyway.
Larry Matthews
My Book – ‘Angels in Panama’
My book is still available at a reasonable price from the publisher. Both Amazon and Barnes & Noble are in the process of making it available in e-book form as well. I will update you when it all gets sorted out.
The link below is for the paperback version of my book from Publish America (the publisher) I have also included a link to my website where you can read excerpts of ‘Angels in Panama’ if you want.
Paperback from the Publisher $9.95
'Angels in Panama' Web Site
Till Next Time. Pura Vida.
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