timmyjimi

After my tour of Dublin, I arrived home Tuesday night in time to run out for a fish & chips dinner before packing.  (The dinner came with a bottle of Bud – my last beer in Ireland.)  After wasting hours on processing and unsuccessfully uploading the whiskey tasting video I had hoped to post before I left, I finally hit the sack around 12:30am.  On top of my anxiety over what would be a long day of traveling, the battery on my back-up alarm was alarmingly low, so even the six hours of rest I got was light as I worried about oversleeping.

The next morning, I was up and Skyping with my sister and her boyfriend before I and my bags were out the door and on our way to the bus stop a couple blocks away.  The bus arrived at the same time I did, and we pulled up to the airport half an hour later, where I couldn’t help but think back four days and smile.  I prayed that my flights would work out as well as my days in Dublin had, since I would be traveling six thousand miles over the course of twenty hours with some potentially tight transfers in between.

I hauled my luggage to the US Airways check-in counter and waited while the clerk was forced to write manual bag tags, since my connections (Dublin to Philadelphia to Newark to Seattle to Pullman) would not fit on a standard printed tag.  She seemed to have trouble deciphering my itinerary on her screen, so I helped her with my Orbitz printout.  She warned me that I would need to collect my bags and recheck them through customs when I arrived in Philadelphia.  She also told me to provide my luggage information to Alaska Airlines, who would be picking me up from Newark, so that they would have the bags in their system.

I cleared security with plenty of time to grab some breakfast and fill up my trusty Nalgene water bottle before boarding the plane, which – as the Irishman sitting next to me observed – was the smallest transatlantic aircraft either of us had been on, with a single isle between rows of three seats on either side.  I normally reserve isle seats when possible, especially on long flights, so that I can stand up and stretch easily.  This time, I was sitting by the window; but remarkably, I didn’t need to get out of my seat a single time on any of my flights, two of which were over six hours long.

What was even more remarkable was the view out the window as we approached Newfoundland and Labrador.  I was successfully dozing off when I suddenly awoke with the inexplicable feeling that I needed to look outside.  If you have ever clicked on the NSIDC link under my blogroll, you know I like to check out the sea ice conditions around the North Pole.  On Wednesday, that is literally what I had the opportunity to do.  After figuring out what I was seeing below us, I still had a strange urge to look around, which was when I noticed we had company.  I spotted several other planes as we crossed the Atlantic, but this Continental jet was close enough to …well… see that it was Continental.

As we continued inland, Canada was resembling the surface of the moon until we neared New Brunswick.  As we approached Philadelphia, the similarity between the urban landscape and the rivers, lakes and mountains I had just flown over didn’t strike me until I was looking at these photos later.

When I landed in Philadelphia, my first stop was baggage claim as instructed.  My bags were on the carousel in no time, and I was able to reactivate my cell phone to let family know I had made it back to the States.  Rechecking the bags through customs was a piece of cake – it was passing through security again that made me happy I had a two hour layover.  I have never been required to pass through airport security more than once on a trip, so when I found myself at the end of the line that rounded a corner ahead of me, I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for.  By the time figured it out, I had already been waiting a good fifteen minutes, and it would be another fifteen before I was being told that my bag would be searched.

My bag was also searched when I left Norway, thanks to a heavy crystal ball that I was carrying to help lighten my checked luggage.  When I realized that the lead-containing crystal could trigger a search, I decided to carry it with me again in case that could circumvent my checked luggage being opened.  So when the friendly security officer in Philadelphia said he would have to look inside, I mentioned the ball.  As he reached in, he said that it wasn’t the ball he was after: it was a completely full Nalgene bottle that had completely slipped my mind.  He gave me the options of hydrating myself on the spot, leaving my precious bottle behind, or dumping it out in the bathroom.  I knew the trouble a liter of water could cause me on the plane, and I wasn’t about to leave behind a bottle that had been everywhere with me, so I opted for dumping it out.  The only drawback here was that he would have to escort me to the exit, and I would need to spend another half hour in line for my third security screening of the day.  Well, I had the time, and what else was I going to do?

After the crew on the first flight had kept me happy with drinks and food free of extra charge, the jaunt from Philly to Newark was too short for even a cup of water.  This was where I would need to pick up my boarding tickets for the two remaining flights on Alaska Airlines.  I found out that meant another chance to practice my security procedures, as the only place to pick up my tickets was at the unsecured check-in counter.  With only an hour between flights this time, I had to be quick about it.  The ticket clerk already had mine printed, but it wasn’t until I was on my way through a short security line that I remembered my instructions to provide my luggage information.  With a split second opportunity to return to the counter, I decided I could try to provide the tags to someone at the departure gate instead.  I would rather be on that plane than my bags, and I had a feeling my bags would be fine anyway.

When I got to my gate, I presented my information to a woman who was happy to help.  She remarked on the manual tags, and with a closer look, questioned why my pending flight to Seattle was written down as 737 instead of the correct flight number, 7.  I pulled out my Orbitz itinerary from a wide open carry-on bag whose zipper had just called it quits, and sure enough, my flight number was seven.  I wondered how the clerk in Dublin could have made the mistake.  Then I noticed what type of aircraft I was on.  But the lady now in front of me wasn’t too worried, since mine was the only Alaska flight to Seattle.

As she was entering my information, she got a call on the radio about two bags with a suspicious flight number.  We both looked at each other and smiled.  She passed along the correction and confirmed to me that my bags were being loaded onto the right plane.  I can only wonder what might have happened if I had decided to turn back for the check-in counter.  It was a close call that I already knew was not to be my last: as we were touching down in Newark, I looked out the window to see at least a dozen departing jetliners waiting in line.  By the time we were rolling down the tarmac, the captain came on the intercom to inform us that we would have a slow time getting under way: we were number twenty in line for take-off, and I had less than an hour layover in Seattle.  When he added that we would be battling a strong headwind the entire way, I began to wonder if I would actually make it home.  The Lord knows I like an adventure, but maybe the day’s adventure was to end in Seattle instead of Moscow.  There was nothing to do but wait and see.

In the meantime, I would satisfy my growing appetite and try to catch a few winks.  In contrast to US Airways, Alaska charged for both their food and entertainment.  On the other hand, the Alaska attendants were more professional, and the televisions on US Airways were next to worthless.  I just had to keep reminding myself that I had bought the cheapest ticket I could find.  After paying six bucks for a soggy burger, I would have tried to sleep were it not for the half hour of bad turbulence we hit over the Midwest, plus the fact that I got the middle seat this time.  We ended up pulling into Seattle a half hour behind schedule, which wasn’t bad, considering.  But I was sitting in the next to last row of a full flight that had to deplane before I could make a beeline for my last leg to Pullman.  I found my gate in a flash and was able to slip right into the end of a line that was just in the process of boarding.

After being on the ground in Seattle for less than half an hour, I was glad that it looked like I would be making it home, but I had to wonder whether my bags had made the last connection as quickly as I did.  After a bumpy cranberry juice, we were descending over the lights of Pullman.  I walked into Pullman’s single airport terminal to find my luggage, a poster with my name on it, and the lovely family waving it.  Hugs all around.