The Journey Begins

The Journey Begins

Tuesday January 4, 2011

Our visa arrived from the Indian Embassy at 10:30 pm on Tuesday Jan 4^th after them saying it couldn’t be done.  At 11m Ron and I went to the doctor to get a waiver on the yellow fever vaccine since we were not going into any yellow fever ports.  After a bit, she was able to come up with the right language.  We were ready to go.

I e-mailed and called the booking agency as soon as we got home—no  answer so I left a voice mail.  As it turned out they were having trouble with their phones and their internet provider.

I called again an hour later and a short time after that, the agency called back.  They gave me a contact person at Holland America (HAL).  I called him and no answer—twice.  Around 2:30 I finally reached his real voice.  Ten minutes later he called me back with a flight number. 

At 5:50 pm we were on our way to LA.  I’ll tell you all about the traumatic transfer from Alaska Airlines to Delta.  Oh, my goodness. Talk about your third world country. Two busses, a terrifying ride ON the tarmac, and two sets of two story stairs carrying our baggage later we arrived at Delta to find our plane was late.  Poor Ron had to climb the stairs multiple times because I can’t carry heavy stuff.  No elevators except for wheelchair people.  We were aghast to say the least.

By 11 pm we were on the redeye to Ft. Lauderdale.  Our seatmate was a Hispanic guy who looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet.  He had a carry on and said to the attendant, “I have a medical condition. Of course, my ears perked right up. Then he said, “I just had brain surgery and I need help.” No wonder he seemed a bit off.

The attendant helped him get his bag in the overhead.  Over the next four hours we discovered that he’d had this surgery two days ago and had undergone a chemo treatment. I’m thinking who in their right mind would let this guy fly home alone?  He lives in Ft. Lauderdale and worked as an artist.

He slept much of the way, but when he was awake one could see that he was not ready for prime time. The attendant gave him a ginger-ale and a skinny straw. He stirred it round and round about a dozen times, and then put the straw in his mouth. Instead of drawing the soda up, he blew bubbles.  

There’s a story in this somewhere and my mind is already at work on it.