Tweet
Our flight departs JFK at 9:30PM on Friday August 24th.
We are packed up and in the car to Queens at 5PM. I had wanted to leave by 4:30 but DH will be late for his own funeral. I’m dreading rush hour traffic. Unecessarily worried as it turns out. All of New York must have left early for the last week of vacation before the children return to school. We make the trip to my sister’s house in 50 minutes.
Whenever we fly from JFK or LGA we drive down, park my car in my sister’s driveway and take a car service to the airport. The service finally arrives at 6:30PM and we are dropped at the Delta terminal just before 7PM to find next to no lines for check-in or security. My husband discovers at this time that he does not have his drivers license. This does not cause any issues for the flight but I am not pleased to hear that I will be the designated driver for the week. We whiz thru and find ourselves with 2 hours to wander the duty free area.
Our flight takes off an hour late as there are severe weather alerts and air traffic is staggering the take offs. We are pleasantly surprised by the Delta flight in coach. The seats aren’t miserable and the cabin service was more than I had expected. I had debated about taking the prescription sleep aid my friend had gotten for me. Knowing that I’ll be driving for over 2 hours before all is said and done, I pop the little blue pill and dose fitfully on the flight to Shannon.
Shannon is underwhelming. Miles of corridors. This is the first hint that anyone with physical handicaps would find traveling difficult. A very perfunctory glance at passports and we’re in Ireland. This is really beginning to be too easy. Where are all the hurdles that we encounter on domestic and Caribbean flights?
There are 3 arriving flights at 9:30AM local time. Two baggage carousels but for some reason they are only using one. The luggage gets stuck in the chute. One passenger went down the chute and started tossing the luggage out to the passengers waiting. Makes me think this isn’t uncommon. We eventually get our checked bags and mosey towards the Ryan Air check-in.
If you are old enough to recall People’s Express then you can easily imagine RyanAir. No frills. The seats don’t even recline. Even a glass of water must be purchased. You pay to check a bag and that bag had better not weigh more than 15kg. They count women’s handbags as the single piece of carry-on allowed. It serves it’s purpose.
Once the cattle have been herded across the tarmac and up the stairs to the first come first serve seats, we are advised of an hour delay for our takeoff to Gatwick. The end of the tunnel recedes further into the distance.
We do take off eventually and the three of us all doze for what should have been a 90 minute flight. Counting the hour delay and the 40 minutes of circling southern England the hop takes 3 hours.
There is only a cursory glance of our passports here and baggage retrieval is uneventful. A quick stop at the Barclay ATM machine and off to the Europcar desk. We are now 2 hours behind schedule.
I step up to the counter and present my confirmation document. To save 20% with Europcar you pre-pay the full rental amount when you book. The gentleman looks at me and says that they don’t have the model I booked. We are handed over to a young woman who asks if we will accept a larger car. The conversation goes like this:
.
How much larger?
Very large.
It must be a gas guzzler
. No not at all just large.
Define large.
Well do you know the VW Passat?
Yes. Similar in size to my car at home. Fine.
Well we will need to charge you more for it.
Uh, no. If you don’t have what I paid for a month ago you must give me something at no additional charge.
We don’t have one. Can you drive a manual?
Yes I can but that isn’t the point. I ordered and paid for an automatic. If you really would like to see your car back in one piece I suggest you find us one.
We should have one in ten minutes.
That’s fine. Can I place a call? We are supposed to be checking in by 6PM and we are not going to make it.
While I’m on the phone getting lockbox information, the young lady finds us a car. A Vauxhall Astra. The popular cross between station wagon and small SUV that so many companies are manufacturing. It looks like this:
Certainly larger than I desired but we take it and away we go.
Onto the motorway. This is much easier than I expected. Of course I have regularly driven on the left side of the road on our yearly jaunts to St John but that island does not have highways or round-abouts. The roads are clearly marked and the drivers aren’t nearly as aggressive as those here in New York. There are no speed limits posted so I do what I do at home and drive with traffic. I tend to stick to the left and middle lanes as I’m tired and not accustomed to leaving so much room for the left side of the car.
We transfer over to the M4 and head west. Still no speed limits. I’m driving between 80 and 85mph and there are some passing us as if we were standing still. DH asks where exactly in the middle of nowhere have I put us.
There was a service stop just prior to our exit which we pulled into and purchased sodas, beer, snacks as I had no idea what if anything was between the highway and the resort. There were several markets here with tons of choices.
The resort is a good 15 to 20 minutes from the M4. Directions are clear and I am grateful that it is still daylight. The last portion is downhill and winding. The trees branches meet over the narrow road giving a tunnel effect. I nearly got sick when the truck came flying around the turn but we arrive unscathed at Stouts Hill at 7:30PM.
Our trip has taken us nearly twenty hours door to door.
We are packed up and in the car to Queens at 5PM. I had wanted to leave by 4:30 but DH will be late for his own funeral. I’m dreading rush hour traffic. Unecessarily worried as it turns out. All of New York must have left early for the last week of vacation before the children return to school. We make the trip to my sister’s house in 50 minutes.
Whenever we fly from JFK or LGA we drive down, park my car in my sister’s driveway and take a car service to the airport. The service finally arrives at 6:30PM and we are dropped at the Delta terminal just before 7PM to find next to no lines for check-in or security. My husband discovers at this time that he does not have his drivers license. This does not cause any issues for the flight but I am not pleased to hear that I will be the designated driver for the week. We whiz thru and find ourselves with 2 hours to wander the duty free area.
Our flight takes off an hour late as there are severe weather alerts and air traffic is staggering the take offs. We are pleasantly surprised by the Delta flight in coach. The seats aren’t miserable and the cabin service was more than I had expected. I had debated about taking the prescription sleep aid my friend had gotten for me. Knowing that I’ll be driving for over 2 hours before all is said and done, I pop the little blue pill and dose fitfully on the flight to Shannon.
Shannon is underwhelming. Miles of corridors. This is the first hint that anyone with physical handicaps would find traveling difficult. A very perfunctory glance at passports and we’re in Ireland. This is really beginning to be too easy. Where are all the hurdles that we encounter on domestic and Caribbean flights?
There are 3 arriving flights at 9:30AM local time. Two baggage carousels but for some reason they are only using one. The luggage gets stuck in the chute. One passenger went down the chute and started tossing the luggage out to the passengers waiting. Makes me think this isn’t uncommon. We eventually get our checked bags and mosey towards the Ryan Air check-in.
If you are old enough to recall People’s Express then you can easily imagine RyanAir. No frills. The seats don’t even recline. Even a glass of water must be purchased. You pay to check a bag and that bag had better not weigh more than 15kg. They count women’s handbags as the single piece of carry-on allowed. It serves it’s purpose.
Once the cattle have been herded across the tarmac and up the stairs to the first come first serve seats, we are advised of an hour delay for our takeoff to Gatwick. The end of the tunnel recedes further into the distance.
We do take off eventually and the three of us all doze for what should have been a 90 minute flight. Counting the hour delay and the 40 minutes of circling southern England the hop takes 3 hours.
There is only a cursory glance of our passports here and baggage retrieval is uneventful. A quick stop at the Barclay ATM machine and off to the Europcar desk. We are now 2 hours behind schedule.
I step up to the counter and present my confirmation document. To save 20% with Europcar you pre-pay the full rental amount when you book. The gentleman looks at me and says that they don’t have the model I booked. We are handed over to a young woman who asks if we will accept a larger car. The conversation goes like this:
.
How much larger?
Very large.
It must be a gas guzzler
. No not at all just large.
Define large.
Well do you know the VW Passat?
Yes. Similar in size to my car at home. Fine.
Well we will need to charge you more for it.
Uh, no. If you don’t have what I paid for a month ago you must give me something at no additional charge.
We don’t have one. Can you drive a manual?
Yes I can but that isn’t the point. I ordered and paid for an automatic. If you really would like to see your car back in one piece I suggest you find us one.
We should have one in ten minutes.
That’s fine. Can I place a call? We are supposed to be checking in by 6PM and we are not going to make it.
While I’m on the phone getting lockbox information, the young lady finds us a car. A Vauxhall Astra. The popular cross between station wagon and small SUV that so many companies are manufacturing. It looks like this:
Certainly larger than I desired but we take it and away we go.
Onto the motorway. This is much easier than I expected. Of course I have regularly driven on the left side of the road on our yearly jaunts to St John but that island does not have highways or round-abouts. The roads are clearly marked and the drivers aren’t nearly as aggressive as those here in New York. There are no speed limits posted so I do what I do at home and drive with traffic. I tend to stick to the left and middle lanes as I’m tired and not accustomed to leaving so much room for the left side of the car.
We transfer over to the M4 and head west. Still no speed limits. I’m driving between 80 and 85mph and there are some passing us as if we were standing still. DH asks where exactly in the middle of nowhere have I put us.
There was a service stop just prior to our exit which we pulled into and purchased sodas, beer, snacks as I had no idea what if anything was between the highway and the resort. There were several markets here with tons of choices.
The resort is a good 15 to 20 minutes from the M4. Directions are clear and I am grateful that it is still daylight. The last portion is downhill and winding. The trees branches meet over the narrow road giving a tunnel effect. I nearly got sick when the truck came flying around the turn but we arrive unscathed at Stouts Hill at 7:30PM.
Our trip has taken us nearly twenty hours door to door.
Comment