Road to Istanbul

But almost not. For about 3 weeks, Istanbul was touch and go to the point where I did not tell most of my friends where I was going, because I wasn't sure if I was actually going to get there. After being bailed on by a friend, I decided that traveling to Istanbul was a must, since I had spent over 3 weeks invested in planning to go. Getting there was slightly harder than I had planned. Departure on February 21 meant that I had to wake up early in the morning, drive 40 mins to the airport and check in at the airport to connect to Philly before arriving at JFK to get to IST. For reasons that I was to discover later, all the flights to NYC that past weekend were packed, so I had to figure out a circumnavigatory way of arriving at JFK so I could connect to my flight to IST. So my original flight plan was – ATL-PHL-JFK-IST. When I arrived at the airport, I couldn’t kiosk check myself in because there were too many flights scheduled so I had to wait in line with the people that didn’t understand kiosk check-in, which means they don’t understand much, and the people that had about 7 bags to check. Everything seemed tight but a go – until my mother decided to switch up my flight from the original plan to ATL-DCA-LGA-JFK-IST. Now if you’re not familiar with airport codes, that means, Atlanta to Reagan National Airport in DC, to La Guardia, followed by a cab ride to JFK, which led to a flight connection to Istanbul. Whew! Complicated right? Wait ‘til you hear the rest.

We get to DCA, only to find that the DCA-LGA/DCA-JFK/DCA-BOS flights are OVERBOOKED, OVERSOLD, and there are 70 standby passengers waiting. I’m 52 on the list and I will not be getting on a flight that day. Instead, my mom flies home back to Atlanta and I’m stranded in DCA for a surprise family visit.

My cousin comes to pick me up and I get to celebrate my aunt’s birthday with awkward career conversation and a night of calling hotels.com to postpone my hotel reservation. I call at 3 in the afternoon to find out that it’s 7 hours ahead and it’s 10 o’clock at night there, and the hotel reservation manager isn’t on duty, they tell me to call at 9 am their time: 2 am EST. Done. I’m usually awake at 2 am anyway. This is no different.

What I didn’t realize was that I don’t normally wake up at 6 am, 1. So by 2, I’m exhausted. 2. When I called at 2, they told me to call back at 3, fine. I had some notes to read up on Istanbul anyway. Plus, at this point, I’ve hit my second wind. I’m young, baby. 3. When I called at 3, they said to call back at 5, because the person was not able to be reached. At this point, I realize it’s an all-nighter because I’ve got to get up at 5 anyway to make my 6:35 am DCA-JFK flight. 4. I call at 5, they put me on hold and I literally wait 30 mins before I have to get off the phone because I’m checking in and going through security. 5. At 5:50 am, I call back and manage to get everything straightened out before I board the plane at 6:20 am.

I board and at this point, I’m exhausted. I’m in 8A and as I arrive, I see an older man with a gold chain around his neck and smirk on his face. It’s 6:20 am and I need to pass out. I gesture to his right and tell him that I am sitting next to him. He tells me snarkily, “Oh? I was saving this seat for someone else.” My response: “Too bad, get up.” He looks to his friends who are sitting across the aisle, and together they laugh. I’m delirious and do not find any of this funny. He’s got a nasty guido borough accent that I’m disgusted to be sitting next to him. His elbow is digging in my side and I hate that I’m on a 50 passenger plane sitting next to the most ignorant asshole on the plane. Then, I black out. I snore the whole 40 min flight next to the nasty guido and his friends on their way to Antigua. His friends say that they were not able to sleep one wink. Sorry, man. Actually, I’m not.

I arrive at JFK before 8 am. Did I mention the Istanbul flight is at 4 pm? Anyone that’s been to JFK knows that it’s a hellhole. The people are rude, the airport is shit, and who doesn’t love that Puerto Rican bitch at the gate who has nails too long to type on the computer and an attitude that makes you want to reach across the counter and slap her. JFK is always an adventure. I go to Burger King next to gate 17. It’s lofted and much to my surprise, a breakfast croissant, tots and drink is $7.70. SERIOUSLY. $8+tax for sewage in my body? Pass. I grab a coffee and eat a Luna bar that I had thoughtfully stocked up on at Whole Foods the night before. In the lofted BK, I hear the chirping of birds, then I see them. There are little birds, the kind you see OUTSIDE, inside the terminal of JFK. The room is circular and there are no quiet spots. I laugh at how ridiculous this is.

Fortunately, my mom pulls through and gets me into the Crown Room at gate 6 and I wheedle my way until the airport wide guestbook, which lets me into the Crown Room at gate 21. It’s so nice, it has showers and open bar…. which leads me to my next entry.