Neighbors, today’s note is a tragicomedy (please do laugh at my expense) about my recent, utterly preposterous travel woes. It is not meant to get you thinking and is irrelevant to anything important happening in our world. I just think laughing is a key ingredient in real community, and hope this story will be good for some of those laughs and community-building.
Quick Thank You
Before we get started, I hope you all enjoyed the recipes last week, and I want to sincerely thank you for being supportive while I stepped away for a breather earlier this month. I actually took a long-planned trip to Sweden and Finland with my husband, best friend, and her family, but when the trip was put on the books, I intended to still publish notes during the time away. I hadn’t anticipated (obviously) at the time that we’d be five months into sustained activism against an unfolding genocide. It turned out that a full pause was much-needed and well-timed. So, thank you again.
Setting The Scene
Alright, let’s begin at the beginning . . . The scene is Dulles-Washington airport, just outside DC. My husband, Dave, and I are checking in for an overnight flight from DC to Amsterdam on KLM, where we’ll have a layover for a few hours and then go to Stockholm. Along with saving and budgeting, we’ve been able to make this trip happen thanks to getting one ticket in miles. Dave is concerned that our tickets may not be linked because one was purchased with miles, so he asks the counter agent to confirm that our tickets are linked. She confirms . . . (yes, this is indeed foreshadowing).
We drop off our bags, breeze through security, and waste a little time until boarding. After we get on the flight, we learn that it’s not full—it’s not even close to full! This means passengers can spread out during the night if they’d like and lay down across whole rows, actually getting a little sleep. Short of being able to spend several thousand dollars for a first-class ticket, this is an international traveler’s dream come true! It seems like an auspicious start to our trip. (Yes, the word “seems” is foreshadowing.)
Act One: Flight Cancellation
The next morning, after landing in Amsterdam, we turn our phones back on and immediately receive notifications that our flight to Stockholm has been canceled and automatically rebooked. Dave will depart Amsterdam later that evening, arriving in Stockholm around 8 PM. I will stay the night at Schipol airport, then leave at 9 AM, fly through Helsinki, and arrive in Stockholm around 8 PM the next day. Our tickets, dear reader, do not appear to be linked. Sigh.
We go to the transfer counter and successfully get rebooked again for a flight together late that night that will arrive after midnight in Stockholm. This means we’ll have about 12-13 hours in Amsterdam, though, so we get a hotel room at the airport so we can at least sleep for a few hours and shower. We are resilient; we have endured much crazier scenarios with West African air travel, and we remain in good spirits despite missing our first day with our friends who are already awaiting our arrival in Stockholm. Oh, resilience.
Act Two: Lost Luggage
When we arrive bleary-eyed in Stockholm after midnight, something totally unsurprising has occurred. My luggage has been lost.
Now would be a good time to mention something very important . . . I look like I have selected the oldest, rattiest jogging suit from my wardrobe, intentionally fluffing it with lint added in the dryer as my Swedish travel outfit.
In reality, I had purchased a $38 soft, comfy-looking, new jogging suit from TJ Maxx for the trip (so sorry to have to call out my favorite store). Now, $38 is nowhere near the high end of leisure wear, and one could argue that we get the quality we pay for, but A) I just cannot be convinced that I should spend over $200 on a jogging suit, and B) I had not expected a never-before-worn outfit to literally disintegrate during the (only overnight) Trans-Atlantic voyage. What in the world is going on?!
It’s pitiful how ridiculous I look. My husband has made one comment under his breath and now seems to be choosing to stand a bit apart from me, maybe so he can claim we aren’t together (you know, like the unlinked plane tickets).
Also, for my fellow menstruators . . . I’m on my period. As we all know, periods appear out of nowhere any time public transportation is involved. Cycle be damned, a period wants to be included when you must take a trip. This is true at all points in one’s menstruating life, but especially so during perimenopause, where a period may not only show up unexpectedly for a plane ride but also might try to make itself the center of attention.
Believe me, as I was filing the “Property Irregularity Report” about my bag (can you believe the audacity to name the report “irregularity”??), I was thinking exclusively about all the fresh underwear and period supplies I had packed and how now, at 1 AM, there was nowhere open to buy extras. Good job getting all the attention, drama-queen period!
ALSO, it’s below freezing in Sweden, and all my winter gear is in my bag. If you are wondering, no, the lint-covered, quickly fading jogging suit wasn’t adequate for the weather, but gratefully, perimenopause was providing me with hot flashes. Compensation for the untimely period? Thanks. I guess.
When we made it to our shared Air BnB, our good buddy, Ross, was up to let us in the house and greeted us with some Kalles (a Swedish caviar paste nightmare) and a shot of vodka. Offense intended to the Swedes, Kalles is awful, but it was a fitting welcome, and, indeed, the vodka was necessary. Thanks for waiting up for us, Ross! Despite it all, I slept well the rest of the night.
Act Three: Shopping Spree
The following day, my BFF, Calley, and I headed to the Mall of Scandinavia so that I could buy clothing. You guys, people do not take trips to Sweden for shopping sprees! According to an EU price level index I found on goods, such as clothing, Sweden is among Europe's most expensive countries. Gawwwwwd. Did I mention we could take this trip through careful saving and budgeting? In that budget was not replacing all my cold-weather clothing and winter gear at premium Swedish prices!!!
I did my best to find bargains and strategically pick a few pieces to last maybe 3-4 more days, but I was also under the gun, mainly because my BFF was like, “Girl, you need to get out of that jogging suit, stat. I can’t be seen with you.” And honestly, her reaction was warranted. Compliments to the Swedes for being so stylish it hurts!
I bought clothes in one shop and then changed into them in the dressing room of another shop, stuffing the linty, pilling jogging suit into a shopping bag, and then stuffing that shopping bag into a trashcan in the mall's center court. It felt symbolic.
Okay, so you know how I just said I picked out enough stuff for 3-4 more days? That was me being optimistic that my bag would be found by that point. You all should know I am not an optimist; I am a realist. It’s foreshadowing that I tried to take on another persona.
Act Four: Fake Out
We enjoyed the next few days with our friends but made little headway trying to track the bag with KLM. Then, on the morning of our last full day with our pals, before they headed home and my husband and I took an overnight cruise to Finland, I got an email stating my bag was found and would be on the next flight to Sweden. A few hours later, my husband got a phone call from an airport rep saying, “Good news! Your bag is in Stockholm, and the courier service will deliver it to you in 48 hours.” LOL! Wut!?
Dave asked if he could just come to the airport and get the bag himself. They said sure. He and Ross drove to the airport (an hour away from the city), navigated a gauntlet of multiple annoying conversations, only to discover that the bag was not actually at the airport—or even in Sweden.
I know, I know. I know you’re screaming right now. We were also screaming. Dave and Ross drove an hour back to our Air BnB, three hours of our final night with friends wasted. Mad face.
Act Five: Cruising
The next day, our friends headed home, and Dave and I headed to another mall. Eyeroll. I didn’t actually have enough clothes to make it for the rest of our trip or a heavy enough coat for a Baltic Sea cruise and exploring Helsinki (which were fantastic, btw!). Sweet Lord Above, the prices. Oh, we also had to buy a new bag because now I needed somewhere to cart all these new clothes around on my shopping tr . . . I mean vacation.
This is getting long. You might think that the resolution is indeed close now, but that’s optimism, and in my experience, optimism never pays off.
On the morning that our cruise was returning to Stockholm, Dave got a phone call that my bag was delivered to the hotel that we were checking into before departing from Sweden. He called the hotel; they said there was no bag.
We gave up and had more vodka for breakfast. I’m kidding. We did give up, but we just had cappuccinos and went on the observation deck of the ship to contemplate whether my bag had perhaps been tossed into the Baltic Sea in lieu of ever returning it to me, which based on their “process” thus far seemed like a logical choice on the part of KLM.
Miraculously, when we got to the hotel, my bag was actually there . . . with 1.5 days to go. If this was The Office right here you could imagine me as Jim, staring straight-faced directly into the camera. Going into the spring/summer seasons, I was now the proud owner of two full winter wardrobes, double long puffy coats included. Thanks. I guess.
Act Six: Clown Car
We got up at 5 AM Sweden time on Thursday, March 14th, to start our trip back home, and this, Neighbors, is where the story gets preposterous. You thought we’d already been there, but this tragicomedy has a truly clown car ending.
At the check-in counter, we again confirm that the tickets are linked (you guessed it, foreshadowing!), to which we are given an enthusiastic confirmation. We enjoy a coffee at our gate and buy a beautifully illustrated book on Norse mythology by the famous Swede Johan Egerkrans as a souvenir. We loved the trip, even with the bag debacle. We board our flight feeling grateful and eager to get home.
After landing in Amsterdam, we turn our phones back on and immediately receive notifications that our flight to DC has been canceled and automatically rebooked. My husband will depart (in a half hour!) for a flight home through Iceland! I will take a flight to London . . . with no onward flight to DC. I’ll be like that Tom Hanks movie and live in the airport in London from now on. Fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.
We go to the transfer counter and this time, Dave says, “Take it away, Baby.” I begin the conversation with a huge smile and a measured and polite, “Sir, I’d like to start by letting you know I am extremely angry right now . . .” We successfully get rebooked again onto a flight together later that afternoon, going through London, and making it the final lag to DC on a Virgin Atlantic plane. I also manage to get the KLM desk agent to call the IcelandAir desk and rescue my husband’s bags before they are loaded into infinity like mine had been.
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Final Scene: Utterly Preposterous
There’s one little issue that worries me, though. I say to the desk agent, “That connection in London is too tight.” He assures me they will make arrangements for us to make the connection. Foreshadowing.
When we land at London-Heathrow, in the top five busiest airports in the world, we learn that we are among 90 other passengers that were supposed to be on the canceled Amsterdam to DC KLM flight and are now in London and supposed to get on the too-tight Virgin Atlantic connection. The “arrangements” I was assured would be made can be heard as we exit the air bridge. It’s a woman in a KLM uniform bellowing, “Washington, DC? Washington, DC? RUN!! Look for the purple vests! RUN!!”
Reader, I swear to Gawd, this is real. I know you’re thinking, “Please stop. This is crazy,” because I was thinking, “Please stop. This is crazy.” The utterly preposterous method for getting all 90 of us onto the next plane begins with this woman, followed by a series of people in purple vests along the route, shouting at us, “RUN!!” And we are all running--for our lives and away from KLM.
Eventually, we are herded into an area where a bus (not one fucking big enough for 90 people, I can tell you that!) is waiting to take us on a high-speed chase through secret Heathrow underground tunnels because it is not physically possible for us to run fast enough to make it to ANOTHER terminal in this giant airport in time to catch our flight. We then make our way through a ludicrous passport control process and arrive at the Virgin Atlantic gate drenched in sweat, just in time to be sternly dealt with by beautiful flight attendants with British accents, all smartly dressed in matching red outfits, because we’ve all arrived with totally nonsense bookings from KLM.
On the flight home, a pleasant 22-year-old getting his master’s at Cambridge tells Dave and me that he thought we were no older than our late 20s, which was so darling of him as we sat there gasping and disheveled.
I get a rum & Coke, and a bad white wine and spend my seven-hour flight time reflecting on how I will now be dedicating the remainder of my life to getting compensation out of KLM, but first I’ll tell my neighbors about my utterly preposterous travel woes in the hope that they laugh and our community gets a little more connected.
LOL. I'm glad that despite the many, many, many mishaps on the trip that you got to enjoy it. That's one for the books :-)
Ohhh noooo! I would also become the Indigo Montoya of demanding compensation!