Aeroflailing

I jogged to the check in desk breaking a sweat in exchange for a few extra minutes. As I approached, my heart sunk. Despite a sign clearly stating that the desk would be staffed up until 30 minutes before the flight took off, there was not a staffer present. I waited in line obnoxiously at a neighboring airline’s counter and told them my plight. The neighboring staffer disappeared for 5 minutes and returned with a representative from Aeroflot. She scolded me for my late arrival and told me that it would be hard to get my baggage onto the plane. That is the only hint I needed, I tossed her my id while I dropped to my knees repacking my most important possessions from my stow away bag into my carry on. Namely, I grabbed my suit and squeezed it into my backpack. As soon as this was done, I grabbed my id back (I already had printed boarding passes at home), I sprinted off to security. After apologizing as I cut into the security line and arriving at the proper gate, I was informed that the whole flight was delayed an hour. I slumped against a table and ordered some airport sushi while I allowed my heart rate to return to normal.

Despite my late arrival, I have a hard time not pinning some of this on Aeroflot. Between costing me 10 minutes by not actively staffing the check in and not communicating the likelihood (or certainty) of a flight delay, I was left in panic mode and ultimately my luggage was lost. The one hidden benefit here: I had to buy some new dress shoes in Israel. I openly negotiated the price at a commercial mall AND they have dragons on the bottom. They put dress shoe maestro Jordan Barone to shame.

'Twas the Summer of 2015

Ahhh the summer of 2015!

This year I will break my habit of executing one large annual international trip… in favor of two large international trips! It turns out my two best high school buddies both found international companions and are planning to wed them in their home countries. Although my friends will tell you otherwise, attendance for me is not optional. I have to be there to deliver the proper toasts and ensure dance floors are primed for everlasting marriages. Furthermore, instead of accept a mere long weekend in these locations, I choose to float the sunk costs of international airfare into regional vacations.

First up is a return to the Middle East, a place I haven’t visited since 2008. The wedding takes place in Haifa, Israel. Unfortunately, for the first trip in blog history, Bodds is unavailable. Luckily, my whole family was also invited to the wedding, so my parents and brothers will join me. This is the kind of man power it takes to replace the companionship and unwavering spirit of my favored travel companion.

The plan for the Middle East starts with stops in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Haifa, Nazareth, and Galilee. After Israel, my brothers and I will head to Egypt for another 6 days of fun in the sun. We’ll fly into Cairo and play it by ear.

The second wedding requires a trip to Newcastle, England which sounds substantially more exotic when referred to (as it was on the wedding invite) as Newcastle upon Tyne. I’m pairing this trip with mainland European adventure (my first return since 2005): Switzerland and Northern Italy here I come.

The trip to Israel and Egypt began with a slow and nerve racking journey to the airport. I wanted to leverage Washington, DC public transportation to avoid airport car storage fees and also prepare for a return flight that would bring me to Philadelphia (in time for another wedding), as opposed to the nation’s capital. Despite leaving 4 hours for the public transit journey (a drive would have taken a cool 45 minutes), a series of insanely late buses, traffic james, and zig-zagging transfers got me to the airport with about 45 minutes before international departure.

Relaxed Departures

I awoke for my final day in the Republic of South Africa to considerably more than a continental breakfast (eggs, toast, salty white cheese on the side) and a subcontinental sunny 70 degree day. Stumbling into this overnight stay through my tour guide clearly beat the plastic hotel environment. After a slow breakfast, my host and her morning visitors asked me what I was going to do for the day. I said I was thinking about visiting Mandela’s House and maybe seeking out a few souvenirs (why do I love wooden bowls so much?). At this they insisted on accompanying me, first the host’s 40 something year old daughter who took me to an arts and crafts market. I grilled her about how blended she really thought the various ethnicities within Soweto really were. I was pleasantly surprised when she gave several anecdotes of intermarriage and cited her own ability to speak 3 of the African languages. When she went to work in the afternoon, one my host’s friends from the neighborhood took me to Mandela’s house (the whole street has been taken over by merchants and attractions). As my flight grew near he offered to take me to the airport if I would fill his tank up with gas. I gladly obliged and we talked about perceptions and actuality of race relations in the US and SA as he drove me 75 minutes around the Johannesburg beltway to the OR Tambo International airport.