I admit that I thought "Budapest and Beyond" had come to an end when I wrote my last post in Prague, but, seeing as a) I am a Dunlap, and b) I was on vacation, I should've known better. A 12-day trip to Europe that went off without a hitch? Could it be possible? Not quite.
I'll start with the sore throat. Sometime Tuesday, our last full day abroad, I felt a tickle in my throat. It burnt a little, so I thought it was something left over from lunch, and that it would take care of itself with a drink of water. By the time I got that drink of water, however, it was too late - a full blown sore throat was coming on. "No big deal," I thought, "it'll go away with some sleep."
The rest of Tuesday was documented pretty well in my last post, so I'll skip to Wednesday morning, 5:30 a.m. (or, 11:30pm, Tuesday night EST): our wake up call. We pretty much had everything packed the night before, so after the last minute teeth brushing and deodorant application, we heaved our bags out into the hall by 6:00am for the porter to pick up.
Papa did a lot of things right to prepare for this trip, and one of them was the bags. I (in Athens) got a call from Papa (in Florida) back in January asking if I wanted him to buy us matching bags from Costco. "They're great," he said, "neutral colors, wheels, lots of space, and even straps for us to carry them on our backs." I gave my consent, but little did I know what I had just agreed to. Flash forward to July 29th. Those Costco (although technically they were Samsonite) bags were packed as full as any bag I've ever seen. Throughtout our trip, we managed to pick up a "little something" from just about everywhere for just about everyone. If not for those bags o' glory, we would've had no choice but to leave some stuff behind. And, miraculously, they each weighed just under 50lbs. But more on the bags later....
Back to Prague. Our transfer to the airport left around 6 am (midnight EST). Never sure what to expect before an international flight, we got there 3 hours early; probably just a few minutes too early. Security was pretty painless, and our gate didn't even open until 8:10, so when we got to the international terminal at 7:15, we had a little time to kill. By this point, I was realizing that my sore throat was turning into the worst sore throat I've ever had, and possibly something worse. Papa grabbed some coffee at a bar while I slugged down some orange juice. I noticed a Duty Free shop across the hall, and decided to see if they had cough drops (Note: I hate taking medicine when I'm sick. I'd rather wait it out and be miserable for a few days than take meds and drag it out longer...just my personal opinion, but, when I decide I want medicine, it's pretty bad). So, I had decided if I was going to be sick on this 9 hour flight, I might as well have something to comfort me. At first glance, I only saw liquor, chocolate, and cigarettes. Turns out that's all I saw at second and third glance, too. No meds. So, I go over to the counter. "Excuse me, but do you have any cough drops?" I ask, gesturing to my throat for clarity. Not amused, she slowly shook her head "no." "Do they have them anywhere in the airport?" Again, slow, unamused, head shaking. I settled for some peppermint gum, and started chewing away. It helped a little.
By this time, our gate was open, so we went through the final security checkpoint and took our seats. Within the hour, we started boarding, and found ourselves in the second to last row again (which was fine, and expected). Finally, around 9:30 am (3:30am EST), we left the Czech Republic, and made our way back toward the big pond. Our flight was normal: bad movies (DragonBall Z..seriously?), crying babies, crowded bathrooms, etc., etc. But, I guess that's what happens when you transport 300 people over the ocean in a large metal vessel.
Finally, around 6:15 pm (12:15 EST, which I'll use from now on), we landed in NYC. By this point, I was pretty achy and chilled with a fever. Also, I'd gone through about 30 pieces of gum. Neither Papa nor I slept much, so we were looking forward to our transfer flight to Pittsburgh and our own, comfortable beds back in Ohio. We went through customs without much trouble, and saw to it that our bags were placed on the belt headed for our next flight. By 1:15, we were through security and roaming around JFK looking for food. Papa got a coffee and scone, and I found some cous cous salad type thing which cost an arm and a leg. I didn't have much of an appetite, so soon, we were on our way to Gate 25, which was on the opposite side of the terminal. I stopped for some REAL cough drops, and was feeling pretty crummy when we finally made it to our gate. Papa was making calls back home, and I checked in with my mom to make sure we were still on the same schedule for pick-up in Pittsburgh. Everything was looking good, and we only had a few more hours to go...so we thought.
Around 3pm, I noticed that our scheduled time and actual departure time no longer coincided on the departure board. I did a double take, and realized that we'd been delayed, moving our flight from 3:50 to 5:50. Not something I wanted to hear..well, read. I freaked out just a little, and decided it was time to go for the heavy hitters, Tylenol. I sensed that I had a longer night than I knew ahead of me.
Soon, it became apparent that something fishy was going on. Flights were getting cancelled, rescheduled, and delayed left and right. Papa went up to the desk to scope out the situation. Apparently, JFK was surrounded by major thunderstorms, and if they hit, the airport would shut down. Papa suggested renting a car (by now it was 4:30), because we could make it home around midnight. The thought of sitting for 8 more hours wasn't appealing, but neither was getting stuck in New York, so I left it up to him. Here enters Pat. As Papa and I mulled over the idea of renting a car, a man sitting across the aisle leaned over and asked, "Are yins from Pittsburgh?" We said yes, nearby there. "Yins thinkin' of rentin' a car?" Yes, we said, we were. "Well if you do, I'll split it with you. I'll drive halfway." He also recommended we not leave until they cancel the flight. That way, we could still get a refund. Not really sure what to make of his offer, we turned back toward our side of the aisle, mulling over our options again.
Soon after Pat's suggestion, I checked the board again. This time, our flight was gone completely. Not even on the list. Another Pittsburgher noticed it was missing, and asked what was going on. The poor Delta employee looked up our flight and said it had been moved to Gate 18. I reported back to Papa, and we made our way back across the terminal to Gate 18. When we got there, we found that we were now scheduled to leave not at 5:50, but at 6:30. Lovely. "That's okay," I thought, "only 40 extra minutes. You'll be fine."
Gate 18 was in a much more crowded area of the terminal. Anyone that's ever been to JFK should know that it is one of the er... dirtier airports in the US. We nearly took our lives in our hands sitting waiting for our flight. Multiple birds were flying throughout, threatening to get just a little too close to some poor soul's toupee. Pat, who had joined us at Gate 18, kept jumping up and changing seats because pigeons sitting above him on the 2nd floor railing were facing the wrong way, if you know what I mean. As I looked around, I felt as if I was in some sort of human zoo. To my right, an old, sleepy Italian couple trying to get to Phoenix. To my left, a Chinese family with about twelve kids running around, weaving between the aisles, screaming and laughing. Across from me, Pat, Papa, and two Mennonite girls who looked to be about my age. Behind me, an Indian family with a cranky toddler (enough said). Periodically, an announcement regarding our flight would come across the loudspeaker. "Attention passengers traveling on Delta flight 2426 with service to Pittsburgh. Your flight has been delayed due to a late arrival. Your flight will now leave at......6:30." 6:30, every time. Every time this came on, I would pay attention, thinking they were going to announce a new time, but no. This announcement also got the attention of one of the Mennonite girls across from me. Each time it began we would look at each other, thinking maybe our flight was going to be delayed even further. And each time, we both breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't changed.
As time went on, and we were delayed until 7:00, Papa struck up conversation with the two girls. Turns out, Mary Ellen and Rosetta Byler were sisters traveling back from the Ukraine. Mary Ellen had been a missionary for nine months, and Rosetta had been visiting for three weeks. They were headed home to somewhere about three hours from Pittsburgh. Periodically, Pat would emerge from behind his laptop to put in his two cents about the approaching weather, our flight, and a rental car. It went on like this for some time. I managed to finally fall asleep for a little bit, but when I woke up we had been moved from 7:00 to 8:30. By this point, it was about 7:00, and flights around us were getting cancelled right and left. I had a high suspicion that we weren't going to see the light of the City of Champions without a fight.
Finally, our flight was cancelled around 8:00. Papa went up to find out what was going on. He came back, pointed at the four (Pat, Mary Ellen, Rosetta, and myself) of us, and said, "Gate 11, let's go." Naturally, we followed. Gate 11 turned out to be Delta's "Complaint Gate." It sure was busy on July 29th. An employee less than cheerfully explained that since our flight was cancelled as a result of the weather, which they cannot control, we would receive no refund for our flight, but they could give us the number to a cheap hotel. No thanks. Meanwhile, Papa was on the phone with Hertz, trying to find us a rental car. They weren't renting out one way cars anymore. Pat was on his phone trying to get a flight for the next day. The best anyone could do was Friday (two days later) on standby. Papa called three different phone numbers, trying to reach Bob and Lynn Mackall. No answer. Pat came back with the number for another cheap hotel. Again, no thanks. Meanwhile, Mary Ellen, Rosetta, and I were just standing there, all going on 24 hours since our last snore. Finally, Bob called back. The bad weather had washed out a bridge that would turn the usually short drive to their house into a two hours drive. Not ideal. When it looked as if all was lost, Pat sang out, "I've got an ace in the hole!" A rental car from Avis, waiting for us in the next terminal. Again, we got the finger point and the, "Let's go," from Papa, and the five of us set off through the airport.
Papa, Mary Ellen, Rosetta, and I all had checked baggage. We took our baggage tags down to the customer service in the hopes that they could retrieve our luggage for us. "Two hours minimum," they said. "But if you want, we can have it flown to Pittsburgh tomorrow and delivered to your house by 3pm." Yes please. We left our addresses and set off for the Air Train that would take us to the next terminal over. We walked out into the most torrential of torrential downpours, accompanied by lots of thunder and lightning. We made it up to the train, and when the doors opened, we were met by a blast of wind and rain coming in between the train and building. Reluctantly, I stepped on the metal train on the metal track (kind of a sitting duck in a thunderstorm) and took a seat. Finally, we made it to the Avis office and Papa and Pat found us a car.
We loaded our bags in the trunk, hopped in, and headed for Pittsburgh around 8:30pm. Papa started driving, but Pat (who was a traveling salesman) knew the route like the back of his hand and soon insisted that Papa let him get us through New Jersey and onto the PA turnpike. Things began to settle down as we made our way west. The weather wasn't as bad, and we were able to get to know each other. At one point, Pat asked, "So what's with the dresses and stuff? What are you guys, Amish?" Mary Ellen and Rosetta politely replied that no, they were Mennonite. He later asked the girls, "So what are you supposed to do with your lives? Get married, have babies, and grow vegetables?!" (I don't think he was kidding...) I remember the shock on Mary Ellen's face when she found out that we didn't even know Pat before the airport. Pat continued to drive as we made it to the NJ/PA state line. The toll woman at the state line gave us girls the most sympathetic look I have ever received. Rosetta gave her a tired wave, which she returned, full of pity. We must have looked awful at that point. Later, Papa noted how close we resembled the cast of the Sound of Music, escaping into the Pennsylvania mountains in the night. We certainly had a cast of characters in that car.
Our next goal was to try to figure out a.) where Mary Ellen and Rosetta lived, and b.) where we could meet their sisters who were heading east from Pittsburgh where they had been waiting all day. As we didn't get much of an answer when we asked where the girls lived, our goal was to find a rest stop that could be entered by both east and west bound cars. Pat said that Sideling Hill was the only one he knew of that would work. At our second coffee stop (approx. 11:30pm), he checked out the rest stop map and told the east-bound girls where to meet us. At our third coffee stop (approx. 12:15am), we called their sisters to see how close they were. Sideling Hill was located at mile marker 172. The girls were at mile marker 160. We were at mile marker 304. And so, we piled back in the car and headed for Sideling Hill, planning to get there around 2 in the morning.
The girls and I dozed while Papa and Pat (for some reason, Papa kept calling him Ray) chatted. When Papa sleepily offered to drive when Pat/Ray got tired, Pat/Ray informed Papa that he was sleepy, but not tired. Apparently there's a difference, because he kept driving, stopping about every other exit for another Starbucks.
Finally, around 2 in the morning, we pulled up to Sideling Hill rest stop. Mary Ellen and Rosetta found their way through the building to the other parking lot (where their sisters and friends were) in about 3 seconds flat. We followed, hoping one of the girls would take a photo of our group. We said our goodbyes and headed back to the car, heading west, as they continued home.
Earlier in the trip, Pat and Papa were trying to figure out what to do about dropping us off at the airport. Pat said only lived a few miles from the New Stanton exit, which is only one exit west of the Donegal exit (AKA, the "cabin exit"). Rather than have Pat drop us off at the airport at 5am, still 35 minutes from home, I decided it sounded much better to me to have him drop us off at the cabin around 3:30am. When I called mom around 1am, she said she could come get us in the morning.
Finally, we made our way up Fowl Hill and to Oak Ridge Estates where the cabin was sitting waiting for us, never before had it looked so inviting. I clambered out of the car, got the key off the tree, and went inside as Papa and Pat exchanged business cards. I wrote down directions to get back to the turnpike, and within a matter of minutes, he was off. Papa looked in the fridge and declared, "Well, it looks like we're having pickles and beer for breakfast." I looked in the cupboard and said, "Well, at least we can have Poptarts with our pickles and beer." That was pretty funny at 4 in the morning.
Papa went straight to sleep and I jumped in the shower, which was long overdue. I called my parents to let them know we arrived safely, called Adam and told the poor guy an abridged (but still quite long) version of our tale, and after waking up in Prague some 29-odd hours earlier, went to sleep.
Mom and Nene came to rescue us in the morning bringing peanut butter sandwiches for Papa and fruit shake ingredients for me. We told the whole story and showed them our pictures on the way home. Our bags did not arrive by 3pm, but around noon the next day. We didn't care that they were late, especially when everything arrived in tact - even the glass Christmas ornament I bought my mom.
I know it's a little late, but that's the account of the strangest 24 hours of my life. Now that the jet lag is gone, and the last remains of my cold are almost gone, we can laugh about it. We actually did a pretty good job of laughing at it at the time, even if they were laughs of disbelief. Until our next trip, hasta lavista baby.
