Days 11 & 12: Fear of Flying -US Airways Again

Our likely last day in Mexico City, I opted for a cab. The previous night I suddenly found myself with 800 pesos after a lucky slot machine win.  Despite the fact that a metro pass to the airport is 3 pesos, about 25 cents, I pictured myself struggling with bags up and down stairs, into crowded noisey subway cars, listening to more pitches for products I don’t need and cd mixes that I would rather not hear. 

The cab came almost immediately and cost 150 pesos, about twelve dollars. We were at the airport in plenty of time, and Mexican security was very smooth. They don’t even demand one to take off his or her shoes.  

Once inside the gate, Truckee drew my attention to a bottle of La Famila Tequilla, the one we tasted at the Museo de Tequilla in Plaza Girabaldi.  When I asked the vendor at the show in San Miguel, he pulled down the box and pointed to the price- 1150 pesos. ”I’m not going spend $100, even for good tequila,” I thought at the time. Now my son faced me with the same box, priced at $97 American, roughly the same price as in that store in San Miguel. Turns out that the total price came to 650 pesos and $40 American, precisely the amount I had in my pocket. (Jose Cuervo, Reserva, DE LA FAMILIA TEQUILA, EXTRA AÑEJO,  ELABORADO AÑEJADO EN TEQUELA JALISCO, 100% AGAVE, No 01320, 30-X- 12 [October 30, 2012]) They wrap it up tightly to take it on the plane and across the boarder.

We boarded US Airways flight 828 and rolled to the tarmac precisely at 10:40 a.m. about to take off.  Then there was a delay. “This is the captain speaking, I apologize, but we are going to have a slight delay. Because of the altitude of Mexico City, there is not enough oxygen to start the jet engines. We are going to have to go back to the gate and hook up to a machine and push some oxygen into the engines.” Isn’t it someone’s job to have checked this before?

We headed back to the gate. I watched several men attach a tube to the engine attached to a large white generator with exhaust and a vent.  I saw the vent open and the exhaust come out of a muffler on the top of the device. The engines began to start, then stopped. More waiting in our seats and then the captain made another announcement. “Unfortunately the gate at which we’re parked has a plane next to us leaking jet fuel. We’ll have to move the plane to another gate. We can’t risk that hazard. When it rains, it pours.” 

We moved to another gate, reattached the oxygen tubing. We waited about 30 minutes there when the captain spoke again. “We have someone coming with a part, and as soon as that gets done we’ll be ready to take off.” 

We hadn’t heard about that glitch until then. One of the flight assistants came down the corridor, explaining how the situation was not the fault of the crew and everyone should be calm and patient. "It was science, after all,” said the attendant. 

Truckee thought the words were condescending, especially since most of the passengers were Hispanic. My reaction was not so extreme. Yet a man shouted angrily from his seat, “It’s not science.” This rattled the flight attendant. 

She reacts with the last word, “If we can’t all be calm and patient, we will have to bring in security to remove anyone who is causing a disturbance."

After approximately a 100 minute wait time in all, we headed to the runway again.  Our connecting flight from Charlotte to San Francisco was booked about 2 hours ahead, we knew if we made it, it would only be by a hair’s breath.

At approximately 7:45 p.m. our plane landed on the tarmac, then stopped. Almost everyone on the plane got up. “Please stay in your seats and fasten your seat belts. The plane is not yet at the gate.” Everyone sat down, obviously like us, anxious about missing their connecting flights.  By that time I wa pretty sure that we would miss our flight. Among the inefficiencies of international air travel is the dance of customs and immigration. All passengers, even connecting flights, must pick up baggage, go out of the security zone and reenter the security zone, checking bags in a second time. 

After passing immigration Truckee sprinted to the baggage area, perhaps in hope of catching the plane, but it would be another 15 minutes before we would see our bags. In the baggage area at exactly 8:20 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Truckee and I took photos of each other, time and place stamped by the marquee behind us. We had officially missed our plane.

 Among the mixed signals of TSA and US Airways employees, we finally stood in line to try and rebook our flight.  In a rare show of anger and desperation, Truckee shouted to the ticket, “We missed our flight, and we are trying to rebook. Where should we stand?” Finally facing a polite booking agent, she told us that we could fly standby on full flight to San Francisco that leaves at 10:30 p.m.

“Standby on a booked flight at 10:30 p.m.? Was she crazy?” I thought.  “We'll take a hotel and food voucher,” I said, “and you can book us for a flight in the morning.” 

“Is this the same flight from Mexico City as last night?” Said the agent. “They waited for four hours- four hours before taking off.”

“Should I now be grateful that it was only two hours?” I thought.

The agent said, “They didn’t used to give vouchers for flights coming from Mexico and Brazil. I guess they do now.” With that she handed us our tickets, a voucher to stay at the Wingate Hotel, a ten dollar dinner voucher and a five dollar breakfast voucher. 

One other thing, I asked. “I bought this ($100) bottle of tequila at the duty free shop. It is still sealed in the bag. Can I bring it through security?”

“No, you’re going to have to put it in your check-in luggage.” 

She booked us on a Flight 465 leaving Charlotte at 7:33 a.m. Exhausted, hungry, and a bit dazed we walked outside into the frigid East Coast air.  After a bit of meandering, we found the pick-up stop for the shuttle to our hotel.  The friendly extolled the virtues of a local restaurant, Carrabba’s.  In his thick Charlotte accent he said, “I just love to roll my bread into that olive oil.” And “Chicken Daniel, that’s my favorite, with that sauce and cheese.”

My mouth watered, my stomach growled. We had not eaten since 9 a.m.- anything! The airplane ran out of food before they got to our seat. I could not even buy a meal.  I am pretty sure that a Federal regulation states that if a passenger is on a commercial airplane for more than five hours, the airline is required to feed them. We never saw even a cracker, but they did give us water. It was 9:30 p.m.

At the hotel the clerk told us that there was really no food in the immediate area. Also no restaurant would accept airline food vouchers. We could call out from a list of take-out suggestions, and she provided us with a list. The list was a who’s who of fast food joints. 

Once in our room Truckee used his iPhone to find and rate the various restaurants in the area.  Miguel’s- a Mexican restaurant –we laughed, of course- was the only real restaurant less than a mile away.  Truckee called and they closed at 10 p.m. It was 9:50 p.m.  

At the bottom of the hotel list was Carrabba’s and it was open. We looked at the menu on line and made our order for delivery to the hotel. I felt like I needed a glass of wine. I could see a Citco Gas Station from our room- actually two of them.  Again I went tramping out into the frigid air to Citco. Entered the Seven Eleven type store.  There was not even an employee in sight,  and I saw only beer for sale.  A young Black gentleman came out from the back of the store and gave me a curious look. 

“How did you get in here?”  He said, “I’m sorry we’re closed.” It was 10:05 p.m.

I asked him,” Is there a place nearby that I could get some wine?”

“Do you have a car?” he said. 

“No, I’m at the Wingate. I just got here about 20 minutes ago.”

“Well, you could walk. Just a little ways up the road is a place called ‘All Imports’. It’s a white building and you’ll see it.”

 I walked about a mile along a four lane road with highway entrances and exits. About a mile on I saw a white building that said “Nikki’s”. Upon further inspection it was actually called “Nikki’s Club.”  I sure it was not a liquor store although liquor was probably available there, along with other pleasurable enticements. 

I doubled back, crossed the highway and went into the Seven Eleven that I had seen on my walk there. Sure enough, they had only beer. I bought two Stella Artoises from the store and came out to see our driver.  He was his usual cordial self and said that he’d be happy to give me a ride back to the hotel.  I said, “Your talking about that Carrabba’s really made us want to try it.”

He said, “I saw their truck pull in just as I was leaving. Your food should be there by now.”

As we pull into the drive way, my cell phone rings. “Hey,” Truckee says. “The guy just delivered the food.”

I replied, “I know.”

The bill was $60, not including the beer.  Unfortunately, we couldn’t even use our $10 vouchers for the meal.  The food was tasty Italio-American fare. We watched the food network until we finally fell asleep at midnight. 

I woke at 4 a.m. to the sound of rain outside my window.  We showered and dressed in time for the 5 a.m. shuttle.

At this moment we are one hour away from San Francisco.