Travel War Story: Everyone’s Got to Have One

Legend tells that every true traveler must have a war story, a travel tale so horrid that fiction itself could not compare. I thought I had experienced a few of these: The Calcutta Railway story (click here to read), the time I had to sleep in a cardboard box while waiting for a train in northern Greece, the time I spent twenty days in a concrete dorm studying meditation. Sure, I had nearly run out of water on a five-day camel safari in the desert near Pakistan, but apparently those tales did not qualify for the Book of Travel Nightmares. Alas, I think this time I’ve done it.

The bad dream all started at 6:10 pm on February 27th. Air France flight 210 innocently lifted off from Atlanta, Georgia and began winging its way to Paris, France, then onto Mumbai. I watched a few movies, ate a few bad airline meals, and looked out the window at the haunting clouds hovering above the Atlantic Ocean. As the sun started to rise I knew we must be almost there. As we began our descent, the captain came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to inform you but there is a bad weather over Paris, a tempest, actually. The wind is very strong and it is not possible to land there. So, I will divert to Lyon and we will wait for further updates.”

A tempest? Well that’s just great, I thought. Who even uses that word anymore? At least we weren’t landing in the squall – a silver lining indeed. Under mixed sun and clouds we touched down in Lyon, France and sat for two hours. When I asked for a soda the flight attendant said soda was “closed.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

At long last the pilot came back on the horn.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Paris is reporting periods of storm and periods of calm. They have given the go-ahead for us to try and land there.”

Now hold on a minute. I used to be a pilot myself and the last time I checked you never “try” to land a plane. You either land it or you don’t. This ought to be interesting, or life-threatening.

In spite of my misgivings we took off, clearing the clouds over Lyon in no time. We cruised along in the sunny skies over France and I relaxed, thinking perhaps the tower made the right call. Paris was safe, right? After about thirty minutes we started our descent and I noticed a thick layer of clouds over the airport. Once we sank into them the trouble started. High winds buffeted our plane from left to right, up and down and every which way. I gripped the arm rest and looked out the window in hopes of seeing the ground, but only more storm clouds came, tossing us like pizzas in a traditional New York eatery. After what seemed like two years I saw the runway and the pilot skidded to a landing, upon which all of the passengers started clapping and cheering (never a sign of a pleasant flight).

Relief washed over me and I could not wait to get out of the plane and on to sunny India, but the nightmare was just beginning. After taxiing for a few minutes, the pilot, whose voice I was starting to dread, came on again.

“I am very sorry ladies and gentlemen, but the ground crew has informed us that the wind is too strong to open the doors. We will be sitting here for a long period.”

I looked outside and saw the tempest wind blowing the rain sideways. Had we actually just landed in this? I looked at my clock and saw that my flight to Mumbai would have already left unless it too was delayed. So we sat, and we sat, and we sat – for four hours on the tarmac. We had been on that plane for fifteen hours without real food. I was not amused.

After an eternity they let us off the plane which now looked like Woodstock after three days of love, peace, and music. We took a bus to the terminal and made our way to the transfer desk. The Mumbai flight had just left and the line for customer service went out the door. Swell. I started talking to fellow Americans who had been through similar experiences and we bonded, which was a good thing because we stood in line for…wait for it…four hours and forty nine minutes without food or a way to access the restroom. Tempers were short and a few people lost theirs. I kept it together but barely. I finally reached the front of the line and felt like shouting, “Victory! At last, sweet victory!” I refrained and pleaded with the woman to help me.

“There’s a flight tomorrow to Frankfurt, then to Mumbai from there,” she said. “We’ll give you a hotel voucher and a dinner voucher. The hotel is about forty five minutes from here and you can take a bus.”

I looked at the name of the hotel. It was called The Magic Circus. Not good.

I made my way through the maze that is the Paris airport and never found the bus, but I found out the hotel was part of Euro Disneyland and managed to find a bus headed that way. Exhausted and starving I reflected on the day, and by the time the bus pulled up to the Magic Circus I was about as grumpy as one could be. The hotel seemed to mock me with its happy clowns and creepy funhouse theme. How ironic that I was supposed to be in the happiest place on Earth. I ordered a taxi for the next day from the front desk and went to bed without dinner and completely battered.

The alarm went off at 4:30am and I feared my sanity had left me, but the thought of getting to India got me out of bed. I went out to meet my taxi which I ordered for 5:15am. 5:15 came and went; 5:30 came and went. At 5:45 I went to the desk. They called the taxi and asked me to wait ten minutes. Then they said that Air France promised a bus. It never came. The taxi never came. Time was ticking and my flight to Frankfurt left at 7:45am. What kind of nightmare was this? Why couldn’t I wake up?

Finally the hotel ordered two taxi vans and we all fought over them like Lord of the Flies. I made it onto one, got to the airport, and remembered I had no Euros. The taxi driver yelled at me and finally accepted US dollars after much pleading. I whisked through security and boarded the flight to Frankfurt. Once on the plane I heard a flight attendant say the storm was now in Germany – a “hard wind” she called it. She had to be kidding. We got buckled up to take off when the captain came on the horn, a sound that now made me wince.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to some weather in Frankfurt we will be delayed one hour. Thank you for your patience.”

What patience? My flight to Mumbai left in one hour!! Stunned and defeated I slumped in my chair.
We sat for an hour, and then took off for Frankfurt. The wind buffeted us around a bit, but after the Paris flight it felt like a tropical breeze. We touched down and I ran off the plane, bolting toward the terminal in case I had any chance of making Mumbai. When I looked at the board I discovered the flight had left ten minutes before. I wanted to collapse on the ground and dissolve into nothingness. Two Indian men saw my dismay and offered to help me find my way. We ran around for thirty minutes looking for assistance until they had to check in for their own flight. I will never forget their kindness.

The next three hours tested the very fiber of my character. I ran from counter to counter, trying to hold it together and seeking a seat on any airline going to India. Everywhere I went the staff told me I had to go somewhere else. An airport official finally took pity on me and found me a seat on a Lufthansa flight going to Mumbai that afternoon, but I had to run back to another terminal and get Air France to issue a transfer ticket! I had stood in so many lines and been without food for so long that my legs were like jelly, but I kept going. I was determined to get to India.

At long last Lufthansa came to my rescue and I boarded their clean and bright jet for my trip to Mumbai. We took off on time, they served dinner (which was actually decent) and the service was fantastic. I slept a little and before I knew it the bright lights of Mumbai appeared below me. I wanted to jump for joy!
I got off the plane and went to the luggage carousel hoping against hope that my bag had followed me through all the transfers and rebookings. Utter fatigue had set in and I watched the bags go around and around, losing hope with each revolution. After about forty minutes and the posting of the next flight I gave up. Near tears I went to stand in line at the baggage service counter. I waited over an hour, filled out a multitude of forms, and bruised and exhausted set off to find a taxi. I paid two hundred rupees for a pre-paid taxi and they assigned me cab number 3356. Why do I remember this? Because I looked and looked, and cab 3356 never came. No, I am not joking. I went back to the desk, got reassigned another cab, and finally made it to the hotel. The trip had taken almost three days.

Now I have my travel war story. I am complete. I have built character. Someday I will laugh about all this. Yeah. That’s it.
In all seriousness, people ask me if the journey was worth it. The answer is a resounding yes. First of all I learned that over fifty people died in those Paris storms, so I was not in fact cursed, I was blessed. Next I had the opportunity to work with a dynamic, energetic, functional global team. Stay tuned for my continued adventures in India!