I confess I hate travel. I might enjoy being at a destination. It’s the getting there and back that’s the problem. It’s not because I’m not a seasoned traveler. I’ve traveled the world, and as any author can tell you, book tours in multiple cities are not for the faint of heart. I’m an excellent planner and packer. I have the travel app, Tripit Pro, which alerts me to any updates in my travel plans. I keep everything I might need for a trip organized in one container, ready to go into my suitcase. I’m a member of both TSA Pre-Check and Clear for ease of getting through Security at airports. Once I board my flight, I have everything I need in my carry-on, from the pashmina shawl I use to ward off any chill, to in-flight snacks and/or meals.
None of it changes the fact that I absolutely loathe travel. Especially air travel. The long lines at airports. The increasingly difficult check-in process. The inevitable delays and cancelled flights. And, more recently, onerous COVID travel requirements. Often I wonder if our ancestors traveling via covered wagon had it better. Sure, it took longer to get to where you were going but the views were better, you ate your meals around a campfire, and you could keep your shoes on.
My husband and I recently went on a trip to the Bahamas. Scheduled as a one-day trip, it took us two days to get there due to delays caused by weather and mechanical malfunctions. We sat on our plane on the tarmac at Newark Airport for over an hour before deplaning and reboarding hours later. We missed our connecting flight and had to overnight in Ft. Lauderdale. The health visas we’d obtained for entry to the Bahamas were invalid by then. We had to get re-tested and reapply. My eyes were crossed with exhaustion by the time we completed the process sometime around midnight. The following day there were further delays. We boarded our flight, only to have the onboard heating malfunction, resulting in temps in excess of 106 degrees that required us to deplane once again, sweaty and on the verge of heat stroke. We ended up taking a later flight. Also, may I say (cough), I’m not getting any younger, so my travel nightmare took a toll on my health. By the time we arrived at our destination, I thought I’d need a month to recover. At a rehab facility.
And yet…
Once I saw the sea views and my feet touched the warm sand of the beach near our AirBnb digs…once I felt the sun on my skin and swam in the warm waters of the Caribbean Ocean… all was forgotten. All was forgiven. For the week of our stay, at least.
If you see me on another international flight anytime soon you’ll know I’m in the company of U.S. marshal.
