Turkey and Greek Islands

Cruising the Aegean

Getting Home

You know, part of me wants to forget this part of the trip, because living through it wasn’t entirely pleasant. But another part wants to remember it for the absurdity and humor. Read on to discover what that means.

It was a dark and stormy night … Wait. That’s another story. June 21 was actually a pretty nice day in Athens. Longest day of the year, beginning of astronomical summer, all of those things. Judy and I woke up, dressed and went down to the Coffee Connection with our carry-on bags to wait for our number and color to be called. That would be the signal to head down to the gangway that was prepared for our exit. Not a plank. A gangway — a plank by another name.

At 7:20 we were met on shore by a bevy of boys armed with wheelchairs to help with the trek into Athens Port reception area. There we identified our luggage and saw it stowed on a large cart. Everything was going well until I got a text message from Air Canada, the carrier RSSC had contracted to fly us to Atlanta. Through Toronto. Over 900 miles from Atlanta and our car, which had been baking in the unusually hot June weather for about two weeks. The text message informed us that due to unforeseen circumstances our flight’s departure would be delayed by two hours. Not the news we wanted to hear, but there it was.

Still, at that time we weren’t too concerned. The pusher took us out early to have extra time to roll up to the bus to the airport, and all was well. Traffic was a little slow, but the scenery once we got out of the port area was interesting, and things perked up when we started to see planes taking off and coming in for landings. We jumped up, dashed out of the coach, grabbed our luggage, and started stumbling our way to the Air Canada check-in desk. Ever so politely (Canadians, you know) the kind gentleman explained that there would be a slightly longer delay before our slight could leave Athens, and that is was highly probable we would miss our connection to Atlanta in Toronto. Ever cheerful and helpful, he gave us a choice: take a chance on a seat on a different flight and hope for the best, or take the delayed flight and see how things turned out. He even channeled his inner Polyanna and suggested we might find that our connecting flight in Toronto could be delayed as well, so we could make it after all.

In spite of a deep-rooted mistrust of cheerful ticket agents, we opted to keep our seats on the original flight and take our chances in Toronto. We were then duly wheeled off to the Start Lounge where we spent the next four hours sampling first breakfast then lunch offerings. Judy had a Bloody Mary and I seriously considered a Scotch. It was five o’clock somewhere, after all.

Having covered every inch of space in the lounge and fully charged every portable device we had with us, we were surprised to find the Wheelchair Team showing up sooner than we expected to take us to the gate. We rejoiced! Surely that meant we would leave earlier than we thought. Now I realize. We were younger then than we are now, so we looked for the good news first. Alas, it was not to be. We were deposited in an overcrowded gate a couple of hours too soon, because the Wheelchair Team was working on the first delayed schedule, not the second. We sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs a good two hours before boarding the plane–where we waited in relative comfort another two hours.

(If you’re keeping track we were now more than six hours late leaving Athens.)

I have to say, that the service on this little ten-hour jaunt was almost as good as the flight on Turkish Airlines. As was the food. The crew was kind and attentive, having gone through some of the same uncertainty and delay we had endured. Everything was done the way it should have been done, and once again, the flight attendants helped us with bedding for nap time. At some point I thought about our arrangements in Atlanta. We knew we would get to Atlanta too late to try to drive home, so we had a reservations at the Airport Hilton. Hmm. No way to call and cancel, and it was probably too late anyway. Just something else to keep me awake. And the vet. We were supposed to pick up the cat before noon the next day. What could we do if the delays kept piling up? I felt like a dark-side version of Walter Mitty. Pocketa pocketa.

We got to Toronto to find that the wheelchair for Judy wasn’t waiting at the end of the gateway. So we trekked on to find a helpful agent who loaded us on a motorized carrier to deliver us to the Air Canada customer service desk. Another wait there, and we had some help telling us there was a different gate agent who missed us. They had made all the arrangement we needed to have a place to sleep and reservations for a morning flight. Unfortunately, we hadn’t seen that agent, they were sorry they missed us, and those reservations had been scratched. So we started over with those plans. Eventually things were worked out, through the very kind help from a couple of other people on staff we made it to the hotel, got four hours sleep, and we shephr=erded once again to an Air Canada flight. 

Which was two hours late leaving Toronto.

By that time we had been in touch with Tori and K.C., and they were taking care of things at home. The cat was retrieved from the vet before noon, food had been put in the refrigerator, and all was in order. We landed in Atlanta, were shepherded to the baggage claim area, spotted the Parking Spot van in place, and had our spirits lifted. And we continued to wait until the baggage carousel stopped turning around, Without having deposited our luggage. 

Once again into the breach. For the next two hours or so we chased rumors of luggage delays and possible luggage diversions. Somewhere toward the end of our wait, we heard a noise, looked around, and found a hubbub where our pickup spot should be. An accident had all sorts of official vehicles corralling people, clearing space, and cleaning up a little kerfuffle. So far as we were concerned, that was nothing compared to our missing luggage.

Some several hours later, after my Apple watch informed me that I had exceeded my usual number of daily steps, and wasn’t I happy about that, we filled out the required claims and were told that our luggage would be delivered to our home the next day. We got to the shuttle, retrieved the car, and drove home. 

The happy ending would be that the luggage arrived on time and all was well. The truth is that we had another flight 30 hours later, took only carry-on bags, got a call at 10:30 PM two days later that our luggage was at our home (we were in Texas), and thanks to some very helpful family and friends, all was wel; with both cat and luggage. A little accident returning form Texas left us a little bruised and crazy glad to be safe and home.