Dearest fellow travelers, in the next week many of you will be literal travelers, bundling up against the winter cold (or winter heat, as the case may be *cough*Tucson*cough*) and wending your way to a loved one’s home for the holidays. Right around now, in addition to the panicked press releases-glossed-into-news-articles about how we as a nation are not spending enough money on blood diamonds and plastic toys produced in sweatshops to keep this troubled economy afloat, AAA sends out handy guides to the travel habits of Americans during this busy month of holiday cheer. This year, Thanksgiving travel was up, as people were feeling slightly more optimistic about the economy turning around, and a little more willing to spend on gas money or air fare. Early estimates are that Christmas will show a similar trend.
How are you traveling? By car, by train, by plane? Are you traveling on your own or with friends? Will you be in an airport for hours or are you a hop, skip, and a jump from home? And most importantly, how on earth do you survive the journey?
Oh the weather outside is frightful... (image from http://www.ehow.com/how_2183752_survive-winter-storm.html)
Many people wax poetic about the romance of the journey itself — it’s more important than the destination, etc., etc. But really, who are they kidding? The journey as its own highlight is true of some sorts of travel, but when you’re just trying to squeeze in as much family time as possible on your last remaining vacation days off of work, the trip is a trial to be endured.
Travel by car: sudden blizzards or freak fog attacks; miles of tail lights inching their way along the interstate like an ominous red caterpillar; ten bathroom breaks in a 100-mile stretch because you said “yes” when they asked if you wanted to upgrade to a double extra large for just 25 cents more; hours of silence and intermittent static as you search desperately for a radio station that won’t tell you how to get right with God for the low, low price of $20 a month; and the creeping sensation that you are driving in a Twilight Zone that makes you more tired, the trip more lengthy, and the road more icy with every passing minute.
Travel by air: hours staring glassy-eyed at the CNN news ticker in the terminal while clutching your carry-on close, lest a bored security guard declare that luggage suspect and delay your flight even more in order to call in the SWAT team to search it; airplane seats slightly larger than the womb you were grown in and not nearly as comfortable; kids shrieking in an off-key rehearsal for a banshee reunion in the row behind you; an in-flight entertainment choice between a movie about an MPDG saving a young man from his post-collegiate malaise and a frigid middle-aged woman discovering love via consumerist makeover and lowered standards; and after it all, mounting anxiety at the baggage carousel as you realize that the gaping yaw before you is only spitting out luggage from PanAm flights of the ’80s and your suitcase is somewhere over the Pacific with Amelia Earhart.
Almost makes you want to buy out the canned goods section of your grocery store and spend the next couple months at home, doesn’t it?
Probably the worst holiday-related trip I’ve been on was when I was about 8 years old. My mom’s brother was getting married in England on December 28th, and we thought we’d fly on the 25th, have the plane pretty much to ourselves, and show up for late presents at my grandparents’ house. Instead, we found a plane packed with people on their way to India who were taking advantage of the same supposedly low-travel day we were. As soon as the plane was in the air, I was screaming with pain — my ears were clogged up and I couldn’t seem to pop them. The twins were fighting with each other, and we were all exhausted from services the night before and waking up too early to open stockings and presents. My poor parents must have been completely miserable. One of the flight attendants, who wore a Santa hat and a tie with a blinking Rudolph nose, noticed their plight. He brought me a hot water bottle to ease the earache, and he brought my mom a bottle of champagne. I still hurt for the rest of the eight-hour flight, and my parents didn’t catch up on any sleep, but that man made the worst plane ride of our family’s collective existence about ten times more bearable. Wherever you are, I wish you a lifetime of smooth flights and grateful passengers, good sir.
So how about you? Let’s get it all out before we have to do the dreaded deed itself. What are your worst holiday travel horror stories? What are your best? Got any blinking Rudolph tie angels to celebrate? Comments ahoy!
an angel in the skies
Stowaway Travel Writing & Editorial Services 
I’ve had numerous holiday excursions, too numerous to print that left me in tears emotionally, physically and/or spiritually. I’ve had flights delayed for hours. I’ve flown on time with sinus infections that would bring the devil himself to his knees. Every year since before I can remember, I’d ride in cars on Christmas Eve with the kind of intractable silence, the kind trade marked by Irish-Catholics everywhere, that fills the car and leaves you with a stiff neck for the next two weeks. All of this, and more, will never live up to the horror, the sheer psychological pain that I am still working out to this day, of flying transatlantic with the movie Glitter as the only on flight entertainment available. I lost my faith in both humanity and God during that flight.
I always thought you were a little different after that one trip. A little sadder, somehow, as though someone had told you not only was Santa Claus not real, but that Rudolph was in fact a ruthless gang leader, and every time his nose shone red, it meant someone was going to get cut.
Bad travel stories make me want to kiss every Southwest Airlines employee I will see on Saturday full on the mouth. My love for that company is true.
(I’m putting out this karma now. Please do not fail me, SWA.)
I think I’ve been fairly lucky. The only bad story I can come up with is a drive home from Toronto in January one year. Hit the usual Michigan snowstorm, and was backed up by easily a dozen cars in ditches.
I’m impressed. I’ve never had any particularly bad luck with Southwest, but I’ve never had any great experiences with them, either. Although I guess absence of bad luck is enough to constitute a good relationship with an airline, huh?
I’m also a lucky one when it comes to travel–my miserable travel stories are usually about what happened (what I had to do) once I arrived at my destination, and not about the horrors of getting there.
Nothing too too horrible, though I have nearly missed flights a couple times thanks to airlines’ incompetence. The situations went something like this: I plan to leave the house at, say, 6pm to catch my flight. While at home, I get a call from the airline, helpfully telling me that my flight has been delayed for two hours. So I don’t leave the house until 8pm. On the way to the airport, I get ANOTHER call, telling me that, in fact, my flight will be leaving on time! Huzzah! (Except for the fact that I’m now panicked, because I’m due to arrive at the airport about the time my flight should be leaving. Gah!) Thankfully this never resulted in me missing a flight, though I did once have to wrangle with a couple of check-in women who insisted that I was too late to check in, and when they finally conceded after I explained the situation, told me that it’s best not to pay any attention to what the airline tells you.
Gaaaaaah, nothing makes me sicker quicker than the possibility of missing my flight.
Oh yeah, those are bad times. The airlines pretend they’re being helpful, and for a foolish few hours, you think they are too. And then you come to your senses — what! helpful airlines? never! — and almost miss your flight.
Last time this happened, I was visiting you, actually (and my sister). I woke up to leave New York and had 5 missed calls, telling me that my flight was canceled. By the time I got a hold of someone, all flights anywhere near my original time were booked up, so I had to take a night flight. However, this did leave me time to go eat a hot dog at Coney Island and get a bit of a suntan. So even the stupidest mix-ups can have delicious carnival upsides.
And you got to hang out with Panda! Dood, i haven’t even been to Coney Island!