alanw
Sep 29, 02, 12:07 am
I’ve been writing this report in fits and starts since the flight home nearly nine months ago. At last, I think it’s ready to post. It’s long, rambles a bit, and contains a whole lot of stuff like yachts, debauchery, and sunburn that has nothing specific to do with flying. But it all happened on my trip, so I’m including it. If it turns out that this type of report isn’t interesting to other FTers, I’ll stick to the Menus And Lounge Furnishings Formula after this.
About a year ago, my good friend Frank, who moved to Boston from Seattle (and has since returned to his senses and moved back), and I decided that we needed a winter trip to someplace warm and beautiful. And not too touristy. We hate tourists. Last time, it was two weeks in Belize. When we lived in Seattle, he and I would flee to southern California for the weekend once a month or so to escape the endless rain of our beloved Emerald City. Being sailors, a cruising trip to the Caribbean sounded like the perfect thing.
After much hemming, hawing, switching dates, switching significant others, and wondering how we would pay for it all, we settled on ten days in the BVI, island-hopping on a nice bareboat yacht.
We have a close-knit group of friends with a long history of having fun and getting into trouble, and we attempted to include as many as our boat would hold (eight total). We got two more, a stray girlfriend, and some friend-of-friend types, and wound up with a party of six.
January 5 was the day the adventure began. My travel agent found me a cheap fare on CO to SJU, with a ride in an AA puddle-jumper to EIS where we were to meet and collect our yacht (note that this is the last time I will type that word without quotation marks around it).
January 5, 2002
CO764 SEA-IAH
Seat 2C
I got to Sea-Tac my typical 30 minutes before our scheduled departure, dumped the car with the valet and ran full-speed to the terminal at 5:45AM. I had decided to carry-on this trip, and had everything crammed into an enormous dayglo-yellow North Face duffel. Walked right through security and up to the gate just as pre-boarding began. This was my first flight on CO, and I must say I was impressed. This plane was much nicer than most of the NW and AS stuff I usually fly. Leather seats! IFE! On a domestic flight! Who knew? I was definitely dressed for vacation, but didn’t detect any disapproval from either the FAs or the other passengers in F.
Nobody next to me to IAH, and the flight was uneventful. Got OJ before takeoff and an offer of free headphones for the IFE. Since I was sporting a brand new set of Bose NC headphones from Christmas, I declined.
As soon as we were in the air, the FA came by to take drink orders. I never drink on flights, but considering the way my next ten days were doing to go, I decided to make an exception. I had three bloody marys in rapid succession.
I have no recollection of the rest of the flight except for having something for breakfast.
January 5, 2002
CO1212 IAH-SJU
Seat 2C
I’m sure we landed more or less on time in IAH, because I managed to make my next flight. It went much the same as the first, only I switched to Gin and Tonics. This time it was a 737, but still nicely appointed with leather seats and (it seems) slightly more room than NW has in F. Again, friendly cabin crew, and nice passengers. Several of us were headed for various VIs, and spirits in the F cabin were definitely high in more way than one.
Dinner was served, but I passed. The guy next to me had some kind of steak that looked…brown. He ate it all.
We landed right on time in SJU and I was the second one off the plane. I had about an hour before my flight to Tortola, so I decided to head for the gate.
This is where things got ugly. Somehow I managed to miss the long passage from the CO gates to the hot, smelly, crowded hellhole that is the AE gates on the lower level of SJU. The first thing I knew, I was standing outside, in front of the airport on the upper level. I started looking for a way back in, but the doors I could find were locked. Here it was 9:15 at night, and I’m three sheets to the wind lugging my huge duffel and a briefcase with laptop and projector (more on that later) around in circles outside an airport I’ve never been to before trying to catch a flight that leaves in 45 minutes. And I can’t get back inside. I walked almost the entire length of the airport in the grass, turned around and came back. By this time, a door had mysteriously appeared where I swear there was none before.
January 5, 2002
AE5154 SJU-EIS
Seat 5A
I went back through security after a five minute wait and found the departure lounge for my flight to Tortola. So far, the day had been pretty pleasant. SEA and IAH are both nice enough airports, the planes were nice, the service good, and the other passengers were friendly and in good humor. None of that was to be on AE5154.
The departure lounge for the inter-island flights from SJU is a smallish room with many gates serviced by a couple of doors that lead to busses. This room was crammed beyond capacity, with throngs of people and no air conditioning. Somehow I was the only person who missed the announcement that it was “Bring Your Ill-Tempered Screaming Child To The Airport Day”. Not just screaming, but running, fighting, crying, smearing food all over the place. And there were several delayed flights stacked up before ours so it didn’t look like we were going anywhere anytime soon.
None of this mattered, because I was on my way to a carefree week-and-a-half in a sun-soaked island paradise! What did matter is that I had begun to sober up, and that just would not do. I went off and found a bar, returning about 45 minutes later. As luck would have it, my bus had started boarding and I was able to walk right on with no wait at all.
The flight itself was the best kind in an ATR: short. We landed 35 minutes after we took off, an hour and a half late.
The EIS terminal was—how do they say it in the real estate ads? – charming. Pretty much like any other institutional building from the 50’s in that part of the world, but very dilapidated and dirty. Evidently there is a very nice new terminal that is perpetually under construction and may open soon. I filed through the “non-belongers” line at immigration and got my stamp. While I was waiting, one of the fore-mentioned demon-spawn was entertaining himself by running up and down the moving (but empty) luggage conveyor while mumsy and dad looked on disinterestedly.
My friends, who came from the East coast, Europe, or elsewhere in the Caribbean had arrived much earlier and agreed to collect me at the airport. I was only a little surprised when none were there. I decided to have a five-dollar Red Stripe and wait for them to show. After maybe 30 minutes, a man approached asking if I was Mr. Alan. It turns out they had sent a cab for me, and he had been waiting for almost two hours. I guess he didn’t think of a sign or anything.
We negotiated $30 to take me to Trade Winds, where my friends and vessel were waiting.
More to follow shortly. Next installment: eight days of paradise.
-alan in seattle
About a year ago, my good friend Frank, who moved to Boston from Seattle (and has since returned to his senses and moved back), and I decided that we needed a winter trip to someplace warm and beautiful. And not too touristy. We hate tourists. Last time, it was two weeks in Belize. When we lived in Seattle, he and I would flee to southern California for the weekend once a month or so to escape the endless rain of our beloved Emerald City. Being sailors, a cruising trip to the Caribbean sounded like the perfect thing.
After much hemming, hawing, switching dates, switching significant others, and wondering how we would pay for it all, we settled on ten days in the BVI, island-hopping on a nice bareboat yacht.
We have a close-knit group of friends with a long history of having fun and getting into trouble, and we attempted to include as many as our boat would hold (eight total). We got two more, a stray girlfriend, and some friend-of-friend types, and wound up with a party of six.
January 5 was the day the adventure began. My travel agent found me a cheap fare on CO to SJU, with a ride in an AA puddle-jumper to EIS where we were to meet and collect our yacht (note that this is the last time I will type that word without quotation marks around it).
January 5, 2002
CO764 SEA-IAH
Seat 2C
I got to Sea-Tac my typical 30 minutes before our scheduled departure, dumped the car with the valet and ran full-speed to the terminal at 5:45AM. I had decided to carry-on this trip, and had everything crammed into an enormous dayglo-yellow North Face duffel. Walked right through security and up to the gate just as pre-boarding began. This was my first flight on CO, and I must say I was impressed. This plane was much nicer than most of the NW and AS stuff I usually fly. Leather seats! IFE! On a domestic flight! Who knew? I was definitely dressed for vacation, but didn’t detect any disapproval from either the FAs or the other passengers in F.
Nobody next to me to IAH, and the flight was uneventful. Got OJ before takeoff and an offer of free headphones for the IFE. Since I was sporting a brand new set of Bose NC headphones from Christmas, I declined.
As soon as we were in the air, the FA came by to take drink orders. I never drink on flights, but considering the way my next ten days were doing to go, I decided to make an exception. I had three bloody marys in rapid succession.
I have no recollection of the rest of the flight except for having something for breakfast.
January 5, 2002
CO1212 IAH-SJU
Seat 2C
I’m sure we landed more or less on time in IAH, because I managed to make my next flight. It went much the same as the first, only I switched to Gin and Tonics. This time it was a 737, but still nicely appointed with leather seats and (it seems) slightly more room than NW has in F. Again, friendly cabin crew, and nice passengers. Several of us were headed for various VIs, and spirits in the F cabin were definitely high in more way than one.
Dinner was served, but I passed. The guy next to me had some kind of steak that looked…brown. He ate it all.
We landed right on time in SJU and I was the second one off the plane. I had about an hour before my flight to Tortola, so I decided to head for the gate.
This is where things got ugly. Somehow I managed to miss the long passage from the CO gates to the hot, smelly, crowded hellhole that is the AE gates on the lower level of SJU. The first thing I knew, I was standing outside, in front of the airport on the upper level. I started looking for a way back in, but the doors I could find were locked. Here it was 9:15 at night, and I’m three sheets to the wind lugging my huge duffel and a briefcase with laptop and projector (more on that later) around in circles outside an airport I’ve never been to before trying to catch a flight that leaves in 45 minutes. And I can’t get back inside. I walked almost the entire length of the airport in the grass, turned around and came back. By this time, a door had mysteriously appeared where I swear there was none before.
January 5, 2002
AE5154 SJU-EIS
Seat 5A
I went back through security after a five minute wait and found the departure lounge for my flight to Tortola. So far, the day had been pretty pleasant. SEA and IAH are both nice enough airports, the planes were nice, the service good, and the other passengers were friendly and in good humor. None of that was to be on AE5154.
The departure lounge for the inter-island flights from SJU is a smallish room with many gates serviced by a couple of doors that lead to busses. This room was crammed beyond capacity, with throngs of people and no air conditioning. Somehow I was the only person who missed the announcement that it was “Bring Your Ill-Tempered Screaming Child To The Airport Day”. Not just screaming, but running, fighting, crying, smearing food all over the place. And there were several delayed flights stacked up before ours so it didn’t look like we were going anywhere anytime soon.
None of this mattered, because I was on my way to a carefree week-and-a-half in a sun-soaked island paradise! What did matter is that I had begun to sober up, and that just would not do. I went off and found a bar, returning about 45 minutes later. As luck would have it, my bus had started boarding and I was able to walk right on with no wait at all.
The flight itself was the best kind in an ATR: short. We landed 35 minutes after we took off, an hour and a half late.
The EIS terminal was—how do they say it in the real estate ads? – charming. Pretty much like any other institutional building from the 50’s in that part of the world, but very dilapidated and dirty. Evidently there is a very nice new terminal that is perpetually under construction and may open soon. I filed through the “non-belongers” line at immigration and got my stamp. While I was waiting, one of the fore-mentioned demon-spawn was entertaining himself by running up and down the moving (but empty) luggage conveyor while mumsy and dad looked on disinterestedly.
My friends, who came from the East coast, Europe, or elsewhere in the Caribbean had arrived much earlier and agreed to collect me at the airport. I was only a little surprised when none were there. I decided to have a five-dollar Red Stripe and wait for them to show. After maybe 30 minutes, a man approached asking if I was Mr. Alan. It turns out they had sent a cab for me, and he had been waiting for almost two hours. I guess he didn’t think of a sign or anything.
We negotiated $30 to take me to Trade Winds, where my friends and vessel were waiting.
More to follow shortly. Next installment: eight days of paradise.
-alan in seattle