Saturday April 17, continued
7:15 PM: We check in for our Eurostar train and clear customs.
8:00 PM: There isn’t an empty seat on our train and the seat pitch is extremely tight. Smelly hitchhiker – check. Kicking the lady across the table from me because there isn’t any room – check. I try to keep my feet tucked under my seat and get to stretch them exactly one time when my seat mate leads to the loo. All in all, it was suboptimal.
11:30 PM: We arrive at Gare du Nord. There are at least 100 people in the TGV help line, and the SNCF ticket offices are closed for the night. Tiffany and I spend a fruitless 20 minutes trying to get anything to show up on the automatic ticket kiosks. Can we get all the way to Madrid? – no. Can we get to Toulouse? – No. Can we take the slow train to Bordeaux? – No. Finally give up.
11:55 PM: We are approached by an illegal cab driver at Gare du Nord. Normally I give these guys the brushoff, but am too tired to look for the licensed cab stand. Strike up a conversation with the cab driver. He is elated to learn that we are heading to Madrid, and offers to take us for the princely sum of 2500 euros ($3350). That’s a ripoff, but we are running out of options. I take his card and promise to call him by 10 AM Sunday if we need him.
Sunday April 18
12:30 AM: We check into the the Scribe Sofitel Hotel and spend 30 minutes trying to get train tickets online. In London, it appeared that we were being denied tickets because we were requesting tickets from a British ISP, and were getting referred back to the UK affiliate, which had a 3 day lead time for ticket purchases. We hope that surfing from a French ISP will allow us to make a reservation, any reservation, for Sunday travel. No luck. Make plans to talk to the hotel concierge when she arrives at 7 AM.
1:00 AM: Give up and head to room. I can’t sleep. The pumping adrenaline and stress has rendered me sleepless. I lay down for an hour, then get up and start brainstorming. I look at French maps. I am prepared to return the rental car in the last French city along the way (Bayonne) if Hertz won’t let the car out the country. I am also prepared to say I will return it in Bayonne and then return it in Madrid. Not sure if Hertz will report me for stealing a car if I do that. Or worse, stop me when I try to check in on a flight in Madrid. I also spend some more time looking at trains. Finally fall into a restless sleep around 4 AM.
6:45 AM: Read Isaiah 40 in lieu of church. Very tired. Do I really believe that I can run but not grow weary and walk and not grow faint? Doubting.
7:00 AM: We meet in the lobby. Concierge demonstrates French punctuality by arriving promptly at 7:25 AM. She tells us that the trains are slammed and she has no connections to get around the bookings. Buses are overrun – the bus agencies are pressing every available bus into service, but still are unable to meet demand. She tells us that the rental agencies are turning people away by the hundreds, and that there are simply no available cars. The only viable option from the concierge’s standpoint is a private sedan service, which she says will be 3150 euros ($4250) for the trip. This is more than the price quoted last night, but a genuine sedan service affiliated with a legitimate business hotel seems like a better purchase than a random guy off the street, even if his van is “really nice.”
There’s another guy at the concierge in exactly the same predicament. He is trying to choose between Madrid and Rome. I try to strike up a conversation, as my thought is that we can throw our lots together and maximize chances of success. He makes clear that he is going to go it alone, and heads out to Avis to see what the situation is there. I know from Carey’s able assistance that Avis has instituted the same policy as Hertz, so I’m not sure how he turned out.
7:30 AM: Hertz does not open until 8 AM, so we decide to hit the continental breakfast at the hotel. Not sure when we will eat again.
8:10 AM: We finish breakfast and hail a cabbie. Il est originaire du Vietnam. A native English speaker and a native Vietnamese speaker, trying to speak in French. Pretty sure my French was better. Finally just show him the address written down. We head off.
8:20 AM: Arrive at Hertz at Porte Maillot. The doors are not locked and barricaded, which is a good sign. There is no one in line, which is a bad sign. I head up to the agent and say, “Je m’appelle Jean-David Taliaferro. J’ai une réservation!!!” I impress no one except myself with how much high school French I am remembering. The ticket agent speaks better English than I do French. He looks at my reservation and says, “Hertz cars with French license plates are currently not allowed to leave France.” I am prepared for this because of my conversation yesterday with the other Hertz agent and have my talking points down – that policy only applies to prospective reservations, not existing reservations, or worst case, that I will return the car in Bayonne and figure out a different way from Bayonne to Madrid. I am also prepared to show him pictures of my wife and children and plead for grace.
Before I can say a word, I notice that another man has entered the store. He says, “Excuse me, but I have just driven in from Barcelona and I am returning a car with a Spanish license plate.” He extends the keys towards the Hertz agent, but I immediately take them from his hand before the agent can. The agent says, “This car can be rented here and returned to the Madrid airport!!!” Euphoria sets in. The other driver says, “If this car is being returned back to the Madrid airport, then my one way rental fee should be refunded and these drivers should not have to pay one.” I like how this guy rolls, but decide not to press our luck.
I decline Hertz’s offer to have the car cleaned, and we quickly execute the paperwork. By 8:39 AM, we are in the car.
8:40 AM: I drive around Place de la Porte Maillot.
8:42 AM: I drive around Place de la Porte Maillot.
8:44 AM: I drive around Place de la Porte Maillot. (Tiffany says, “Hey look kids – Big Ben, Parliament!”). Luckily there is no traffic and we finally spot the sign for Boulevard Périphérique – the ring road around Paris – and head south.
9:30 AM: We get a little off course, but keep following the signs for Bordeaux, which we know is the first major city on our path south. Finally hit the A10.
10:30 AM: We hit the first big toll booth (21 euros), and decide to head for the credit card line in order to conserve our cash. I get denied on my United Visa. I get denied on my Chase Rewards Mastercard. Tiffany gets denied on her United Visa. Tiffany gets denied on her Rewards Mastercard. Tiffany gets denied on her other Rewards Mastercard. We are attacting attention and an attendant comes over. She tries all of the cards again. No luck. We give her 21 euros and she manually raises the gate. Alarm sirens go off – hope we aren’t pulled over by a gendarme 20 km down the road.
11:00 AM: Carey is awake. No one is more committed to getting us home than my wife. In the last 24 hours, she has proposed renting a moped and riding across France Dumb and Dumber style, buying a car and selling it in Madrid, and stealing a barge and poling down the canal network. Carey says she missed her calling as a travel agent. I say she missed her call as a disaster relief planner. This morning’s flurry of emails is about the potential flight options out of Madrid, two of which our travel agent has never mentioned. Specifically, there is a 1:20 AM Monday Iberia flight from Madrid to Mexico City with connecting service to Dulles, and a 12:35 AM Monday Continental flight from Madrid to Newark. From there we can just hop the Acela back to DC.
12:30 PM: We stop for lunch at a rest area. I grab a ham and chees sandwich (light on the ham, heavy on the cheese) and realize that I am approaching my cheese quota for the year. Tiffany gets back on the phone with the travel agency. We get waitlisted on the Iberia flight to MEX and the Continental flight to EWR, both of which depart shortly after midnight on Monday morning. We are still confirmed on the Air Europa flight on Monday afternoon.
Sunday Afternoon: Now that we have a potential reason to be at the Madrid airport on Sunday night/Early Monday, we start making time. Tiffany is driving and realizes that traffic enforcement is non-existent on Sunday and we are getting passed left and right. 150 kmh (93 mph) seems to be the prevailing speed, so we set the cruise control and get the heck on down the road.
The rest of the drive Sunday is uneventful. The French and Spanish countryside are both beautiful, but I have to say that the drive along the coast around the Pyrenees is absolutely breaktaking. The Spaniards have constructed a series of viaducts and tunnels through the hills, and periodically the road opens up over a river or stream with straight views out to the Atlantic. Simply marvelous.
We pass at least 10 Madrid taxis heading north or empty heading south, and about 5 Paris taxis headed south with passengers. Thankful for our car.
We take turns scanning the radio for songs in English and our spirits are cheered whenever we hit one. Never thought I'd be belting out "Big, Big, Girl" by Emilia Rydberg. Wait - that never happened. Forget I said anything.
Carey emails and says that our Monday BA flight out of LHR is definitely cancelled. This gives a bit of satisfaction that we are doing the right thing.
Carey calls with concerning news that the Spanish flight regulators have closed nine airports in northeastern Spain. Within 30 minutes of that call, we encounter a major storm front with serious rain. It is clear from the storm direction that winds are prevailing North – i.e., away from Madrid. Carey calls back a few hours later and says that radar is showing the ash cloud drifting back out of Spanish airspace. The peasants rejoice.
8:35 PM: We hit Madrid Airport property. The layout, while not uncommon among old airports, is confusing. There is an old terminal complex (T1, T2, and T3) on one side of the airport and a new terminal (T4) clear on the other side of the airport. There is absolutely no signage anywhere showing what airline services which terminal. We head to T1/T2/T3, but it seems absolutely dead and we surmise that it is the domestic complex and flights have been shut down because they can’t go north.
9:00 PM: We make our way over to T4, park, and go in. It is clear that Iberia flies out of T4, so I get in line for the 1:20 AM flight to MEX. Tiffany heads off to find out about the Continental flight we are on standby for, and the Air Europa flight for Monday afternoon.
9:15 PM: The line is inching along and I can tell that some of the questions are simply not valid. One group has hired a taxi from Barcelona to Madrid, and wants Iberia to pay for them to be transported from Madrid to Paris. When the agent asks why they came to Madrid, they respond, “We were told at our hotel in Barcelona that Iberia was bussing Madrid passengers to Paris.” The agent says, “That only applies to people who had purchased flight tickets to Paris, not anyone who wants to go.” In general, chaos and confusion rules the day.
9:30 PM: Tiffany reports back that contrary to our initial hunch, Continental and Air Europa are in the old terminal complex, and that it is logistically impossible to simultaneoulsy stand by on both Continental and Iberia. For tonight at least, it will be MEX or bust.
9:45 PM: I finally get to the front of the line and tell the agent that we are standby for the Iberia flight to MEX. He looks and says, “Why are you on standby? There are plenty of seats in coach.” I tell him that our travel agent cannot book seats and he tells us that Iberia has taken its reservation system offline because it was getting so many requests and releases per minute that the servers were crashing. Only Iberia employees are permitted to make reservations on flights. I’m ready to buy, but Tiffany has gone off to look for another, shorter line and I need her passport. I desperately try to call her cell phone, but can’t get her to pick up. Reluctantly, I get out of line and try to find her. Hope that “plenty” means more than the number of people who will buy tickets between now and whenever I can get back.
9:50 PM: I find Tiffany, who is on the phone with our travel agent trying to confirm details of a flight back from MEX to IAD. We head back to the ticket counter.
10:15 PM: We get to the front of the line and tell a different ticket agent that we want two tickets one way to MEX, preferably in business class, but in coach if there are no other options. 10 minutes later, we have tickets in hand and Tiffany has confirmed a United flight from MEX to IAD!!!
10:28 PM: We are back in the rental car and trying to get out of short-term parking. The exit for short term parking is a ¼ mile from the garage and terminal. Unfortunately, it turns out that the payment kiosks are back inside the terminal, and we can’t get the gate to open. I start backing up the road to go back to the terminal – blinkers on, drivers swerving around us. At one point I have to (in reverse) swerve out into traffic to get around a stalled car that was rudely blocking the shoulder. Finally we are flagged down by airport staff, and in a completely gibberish conversation that lasts at least 3 minutes, we figure out that there is a single payment machine off to the side of the exit gates. We return to the exit gates, pay and circle back around to the rental car return.
11:00 PM: The car is returned and we check our bags. The man doing security searches is named Pepe and has a big, bushy mustache. Everyone gets a giggle.
11:30 PM: The new terminal is huge and it takes a long time to get from security to our gate. We get the lay of the land and head off for a bite to eat and phone calls and emails to friends. We call our travel agent back and cancel all of the remaining standbyes and confirmed flights in order to give someone else a chance to get home.
Monday April 19
12:30 AM: We head over to the gate and get on board.
1:00 AM: The plane is 90% boarded, and two men in maintenance uniforms are doing something to the A/V system.
1:20 AM: We are supposed to be pushing back, and the maintenance men are still trying to get the A/V to work. I am prepared to play the Spanish fiddle and do hilarious matador impersonations if people need entertainment on the flight – let’s go, let’s go!!!
2:00 AM: The captain announces that the problem has been resolved and that we will be pushing back shortly. The peasants rejoice.
2:10 AM: There are two screaming kids in front of us and the mother, willfully or ignorantly, has her headphones on and is engrossed in a Spanish soap opera. I don’t care. I am asleep before the plane leaves the ground.
I do not move for the next six hours. When I wake up, we are passing over the Mid-Atlantic states. I think about asking for a parachute and an oxygen mask. It seems like such a waste to fly another 4 hours in the wrong direction and then 4 hours back.
7:00 AM (MEX TIME) – The plane lands. Our connecting flight to IAD leaves at 9:54 AM. Because we are ticketed separately, we have to retrieve our bags, go through Mexican immigation and customs, and then circle back to the United counter to check back in. We are both worried about how long this process could take.
8:00 AM – Everything is like clockwork. Our bags pop out quickly, we clear immigration and then customs, and when we arrive on the departure level the United check in is directly in front of us. We spend the next 90 minutes watching coverage of the travel situation and regaling fellow travelers with stories of our heroics.
9:25 AM – Board flight to IAD.
3:18 PM – Arrive IAD.
4:15 PM – Arrive Home.
P.S. In my excitement, I left my laptop under my seat on the flight from MEX to IAD. I tried to make a few calls Monday night trying to figure out how to find it. On Tuesday, I took the day off from work and Carey encouraged me to drive out to the airport and try to talk to someone directly. I did. The lost baggage office called out to the concourse, and they confirmed that they had the laptop. I even got a gate pass for me, Madelyn, and Pierce to go out to retreive it!!
P.P.S. By Monday morning, the hordes had descended on Madrid and air traffic had slowed signigicantly. Our Air Europa flight, leaving Madrid at 3:30 pm to Miami, departed 1.5 hours late. We would not have made our connection in Miami and would have had to spend the night there. This would not have been the end of the world, but I much prefer how things turned out.
P.P.P.S. By Tuesday morning, the Wednesday flight that I was holding out of Heathrow has been cancelled. Hard to say when I could have gotten something else, but it could easily have been 4-5 days before I got anything to the States.
Carey's Perspective:
When they arrived at the Paris hotel, JD emailed to say they were strategizing but buying a train ticket to Madrid did not appear to be a promising option. He later called and said their cab driver from the train station offered to drive them to Madrid for an enormous sum of money and that would be a final option. He decided to try to sleep and told me that the agenda for the next morning was: 1. talk to hotel concierge for more ideas 2. head to rental car shop and pray there was a car 3. head to train station and attempt to scalp a train to Madrid 4. call the cab driver back and head to Madrid with him.
I was completely exhausted and prayed that I would be able to sleep. I talked to my parents for a bit and we searched for other ways of getting to Madrid. We also started researching ways to get back to the U.S. by boat. There are surprisingly few options for sailing across the Atlantic. I even went so far as to start looking at routes to get to Morocco from southern Spain, just in case the ash cloud went further south than was forecasted. I finally fell asleep around 11:00 and woke up to the phone ringing at 2:15 am.
JD was calling. He quickly explained they had gotten a rental car. What? How? He said, “I don’t have to time to really talk. I’m filling out the paper work. A guy driving a car from Spain walked into the rental shop at the same time I was trying to get a car. He needed to get from Spain to Paris. I’m taking the car back to Spain. I’ll call you when we’re on the road.” He hung up and I still couldn’t believe what he had just said. Plus, I was bit out of it, as it was 2:15 am. I called him back a few minutes later and he said he had the keys and they were getting ready to head south. I went back to bed, still having trouble believing our “luck.” I said a prayer of thanksgiving and was actually able to sleep for a few more hours.
When I woke up, I checked the ash forecast and it was moving south and airports in northern Spain had closed. I emailed JD to tell him and started checking flights that could get JD out of Madrid faster. I found a couple that left early on Monday morning (1:30 am). One flew to Mexico City and one to Newark. Both seemed appealing. If he flew to Mexico City, at least he could drive home. From Newark, he could take a train if no flights were available. I emailed these possibilities and JD quickly emailed to say they were waitlisted on the Mex. City flight. We communicated back and forth for the rest of his drive. At 3:50 pm, I decided I would call him because I wanted to talk to him before the kids were due back at 4:00. I called and they had just arrived at the airport. We chatted for a few minutes. I hung up the phone feeling a huge sense of relief. He was to call me when they determined what the waitlist situation was.
I chatted with Allen and Sarah for a bit as they dropped off the kids. Sarah, my other sister-in-law, stopped by again for more sanity preservation. At 4:30, JD called to say they had gotten on the Mexico City flight and were also confirmed on a flight out of Mexico City that would be arriving at Dulles at 3:15 pm Monday afternoon. Sarah, Sarah, Allen, and I all celebrated but tried to stay somewhat low-key, as I didn’t want to tip the kids off too much.
After the kids went to bed, I checked on the status of the flight out of Madrid. I hadn’t taken off yet. It was due to take off at 7:30, and it was after 8:00. I prayed and hit refresh two more times. Finally, the flight departed. The “Hallelujah Chorus” went off in my mind. I slept decently that night and checked the status of the flight when I got up. It was landing 45 minutes late due to its late departure. JD and I emailed a few times throughout the morning and I watched his flight path as he traveled to Dulles. He walked through the front door at 4:15 pm on Monday.
