I Said I Would Write No More About This Trip

Until . . . our flight home was canceled.

The morning started with a bit of a challenge. The normal pattern of disembarking from a Regent cruise consists of putting the luggage outside our suite doors by 10:00 pm the night before, having applied tags with a specific color and number. In the morning, when our luggage number and color were announced, we’d head off.

However, our flight was a bit early, and the timing was too tight to follow the usual pattern.

We arranged for a private car, scheduled for a 7:30 a.m. pickup. It was also necessary to disembark with our luggage in tow.

Now, there are two kinds of packers in the world.

One: those minimalistic ones who thrive in the COO (carry-on-only) world, and can place everything needed for two weeks in a backpack and small bag.

Two: Most of the rest of the traveling world. We need at least one larger bag, particularly on a trip like this, where dressing up for dinner is one of the joys. My husband and I happen to fit at the far, far end of this group—I really don’t want to create a separate category just for us.

However, we do have two medium suitcases, packed to the gills, two carry-on-sized (which we generally check, especially on the way home), and a “personal item” that holds our computers, essential medications, and the “what if I need that on the airplane” items.

It took a couple of trips, but at the appointed time, we stood by the open door leading to the gangway, our luggage beside us. We had been told just one other couple needed to disembark as early as we did. Well, that may be the case, but about thirty were lined up, luggage in tow.

We waited as our appointed time came and went. First, there was a gangplank issue. Well, best fix that before we go barreling over the side. Then we needed to wait for the port to clear the ship. Shortly after, a number of new crew members boarded the ship.

Just when it looked like we might make our exits, a group of people, without their luggage, were escorted off. As we, who had been waiting for about 40 minutes, expressed some dismay, we learned they were quarantined passengers. Yes, they did need to disembark. Finally, a stretcher was brought on, and we all made way for it and the paramedics. This would be the fourth passenger to have to leave by ambulance.

At that moment, we were waved off and headed out to scan our suite cards one final time. I admit I had been concerned about dealing with my assigned two bags on the carpeted and bumpy gangway, but a crew member suddenly appeared, took one of my bags and one from another woman who was also struggling, and got us safely to the terminal, where the concrete floors made for easy going.

After the usual long walk, guided by cheerful and helpful personnel, we found our way to the area where the private cars awaited us, late as we were. Our kind driver quickly loaded our bags and we made our way through the lovely port area, through downtown, several picturesque residential areas and thence to the airport. Nary a freeway in sight.

The Canadian airport personnel, again beyond helpful, guided us through the process of checking our four bags and obtaining our boarding passes. We sailed through Customs and Immigration—Global Entry makes this so easy these days—and soon found our terminal, comfortably early.

Not a lot in the way of lounges here, but I did find the one available, hardly luxurious, but with some food and drink and semi-comfortable chairs.

We’d settled in with a cup of tea, and I was catching up on messages when one flashed across my screen: Our American Airlines flight had been cancelled. Not delayed, just flat out cancelled.

Now, just out of curiosity, I had checked earlier to see what other AA flights were available to get from Vancouver, B.C. to Dallas. What I had suspected was right: there were only two direct flights daily, one at 11:40 am, and one at 11:45 pm. Some others departed early in the afternoon, but they all connected in Chicago and all also involved red-eye flights into Dallas, all of which arrived after the one departing here at 11:45 pm.

In some panic, we headed to the gate, hoping for more information. Fortunately, on the way there, I had the presence of mind to call our wonderful travel agent and let her know what happened.

She immediately jumped on it and phoned ten minutes later, ready to punch the buttons to get us two business class seats on the 11:45 pm flight. On all of the other flights, only a few economy seats remained.

After a brief conversation, I told her to grab them, figuring that if airline personnel decided to add a flight (which was highly unlikely), we could change again.

It’s now about four hours after the cancellation notice, and there is not one word about a different flight being added. Based on the information our TA was able to obtain, the problem appears to be a combination of adverse weather conditions and staffing issues with air traffic controllers in the Dallas area.

My guess: a lot of passengers are going to be pretty royally out of luck here. I did check on the airlines’ responsibility for compensation: Since the cancellation was out of their control, their only responsibility is to get everyone rebooked within 48 hours.

We thought about getting a room at the airport hotel for the day, but it seems like an unnecessary expense, so I guess we'll tough it out.

Just over eight hours now before we, hopefully, board for this red-eye home.

All of which reminds me of just how very, very spoiled I am where travel is concerned.

How many of us could have withstood the rigors of sailing to what we now call the US on the Mayflower or a similar ship? Weeks in a creeky, smelly hold, covered in lice, beset by seasickness, no fresh air, barely edible food, no way to bathe, and I can’t even imagine the toileting facilities.

Here I sit, in an admittedly slightly uncomfortable chair, my sweet husband, who has the gift of being able to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, snoozing peacefully at my side, a cup of acceptable tomato bisque in my tummy, a glass of cold water and reasonably drinkable chardonnay on the side table.

Yeah, I’d like to be just a couple of hours from home now, but I know enough to count my blessings.

So, we’re going to take a walk now, push the kinks out of our legs, and stay grateful.

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