The sun, the moon and the North Star

Remember when we were young and airplanes were a fantasy ride? We idolized the pilots that manned our ship in the sky and when the flight attendants handed us our plastic wings, we felt like one of the crew.

Remember when you could walk into the cockpit and meet the pilot? The perfectly-dressed flight attendant would take your hand and lead you into the unknown- the little room where the pilot and co-pilot sat and watched the world from their front-row seats. And for one brief moment, you were allowed to witness the same view.

I remember that age of airline innocence, and longed for it when Aer Lingus Flight 132 took me above the clouds and over Iceland, where the horizon dropped and the moon, sun and stars showed existed in the same window pane. (more…)

Galway, Ireland

One of the pitfalls of being a travel writer is the excessive urge to pack up and travel at any given moment. It’s not always easy on the bank account, although it’s always inspirational for the craft.

When approached by my Irish-born blonde, freckled friend to take a trip to Ireland this summer, I was skeptical. I’ve never had a strong desire to visit Ireland, mainly because I don’t have any ancestry attachments or historical knowledge of the country. I’m told the Emerald Isle is beautiful, especially the countryside. So when my friend told me that the entire trip – including airfare and hotel for four days – amounted to a whopping $700, I handed over my credit card and within seconds was booked for a June trip to Ireland.

The overnight flight arrives Shannon, Ireland at 6:05 a.m. on a summer Saturday morning. The hotel sits along the Shannon River and is located 30 kilometers from the airport. But what does one do in Shannon?

My knowledge of Ireland is simple: Dublin and drinking. When told of Ireland’s beauty, however, I was intrigued. The thought of driving through Ireland’s countryside seems somewhat magical. The rolling green hills, the windy roads, and of course, the Blarney Stone.

I love exploring Europe – I feel at home in this country across the pond – and I have high hopes for Ireland. Truth be told, I’m most looking forward to the drive to Galway. I’m told luck follows the Galway Girl…

I arrived home from London at 8:03 p.m. local time (1:03 a.m. London time). I was exhausted. I wanted a shower. Someone had horrible body odor on the plane and I wanted out. Finally, the cabin doors opened and I was set free. Off to customs, which surprising wasn’t that long considering it was an evening international flight. We dragged our airplane-smelling bodies through the customs line.

“Ma’am,” the customs official called to my friend. She walked to line 7.

Seconds later I got the universal finger movement that signals, “come here,” and I walked passed my friend to line number 9. She giggled, “HA! He called you young lady!”

“He called you Ma’am,” I said back.

After waiting in line 9 I was finally called forward for re-entry into the U.S. After a long week of work in the U.K. office, the weary nights, and the cold showers (when the showers worked), you would think re-entry into the U.S. would be a breeze. In fact, I half expected the customs officials to have held up a sign that said, “Welcome home!” when they saw me, and paraded me through customs on their shoulders. There would be balloons and music and everyone would be celebrating my return.

Alas, I got the one customs official who wanted to play “mess with the tired chic” at the customs line.

“Where were you?” he asked.
“London.” I said. I could see my bed hair reflected in his bald head.
“Business or pleasure.” He wanted to know.
“Business,” I told him.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a travel writer.”
“What did you write this week?”
“Nothing,” I replied, and was met with a blank stare. This, I realized, was the wrong answer.
“You’re a travel writer in London on business and you didn’t write anything?” he asked, his bald head mocking me.
“That’s right,” I said. “I was stuck in meetings with our corporate office most of the week and didn’t get any writing completed.”
Blank stare. Blank stare. Blank stare. Passport scan.
“Bring anything back?” He asked.
“Nope.” I said.
” Nothing?” He asked.
“Nope.” I said.
“No tobacco, no alcohol, no fruit?” He questioned.
“No, no and no.” I replied, trying to fight off the urge to jump over the desk and mark all over his bald head.

He stared at me a little while longer, then looked at my passport again. Finally, and I think with slight hesitation, the bald man at the U.S. re-entry checkpoint said the two words I had been waiting for, “Welcome home.”

The Annual Airline Quality rating survey was released earlier this week and it got me thinking – with so many complaints about the airline industry, what happens to all the complaint letters? Do the airlines ever read the letters? Do they care? Maybe there is a person who is hired specifically to read complaint letters from travelers and post the best ones on a cork board in the community kitchen. Every month the airline holds a company meeting and they read the best complaint letter from that month. Maybe that lucky person gets a note back from the airline with coupon for a bag of free peanuts.

The recent quality report says, “The annual Airline Quality Rating survey found that more bags were lost, more passengers were bumped, more consumers complained and fewer flights arrived on-time than in the previous year.” So, by all reasonable accounts, we can assume that nothing gets done when someone complains, at least not from the airline. But writing the letter does help the traveler.

Take, for example, a recent break-up. There are so many things you want to say to your ex but you didn’t get the chance. When he says, “I just want to have my cake and eat it, too,” you could have something witty like, “Not in this bakery, pal!” and thrown a pie in his face. Instead you just stand there with your mouth open in wonderment at the fact that he really just said that. So you missed your chance and instead, you sit down to pen a letter. Maybe you’re bold enough to send it, but even if you don’t you feel better after writing it.

So it stands to reason that writing the airlines a complaint letter would do the same thing. You didn’t get a chance to tell them off at the airport because you were too damn tired from getting bumped off flights and waiting for your luggage to arrive. I felt that way after my Air France fiasco. I wrote a letter telling off the airline, but alas, I never sent it. I did feel better, however, after telling off the bitch (in my letter) at the Air France counter when she closed the doors to our connecting flight, which was still at the gate.

It’s only right at this time to post the ultimate airline complaint letter. This little ditty was written by a Continental Airline’s passenger seated in Seat 29E.