Fly away and smell the roses
Contrary to what many people think, I've learned over the years to curb workaholic tendencies and take time to smell the roses. This summer I've been fortunate enough to take a few trips — some were "working" vacations, all were fun, and most required airplane travel.
I'm not a big fan of flying. It doesn't seem to be a very efficient mode of transportation.
For the sake of argument, let's say I'm leaving from Wichita. That's an hour to the airport. You're supposed to check in at least an hour ahead of time. Because I don't like to be late, I'll invariably end up at the airport two hours early.
Parking the car, wrestling with luggage, and navigating the electronic check-in system is only the beginning. Getting through security to the gates can be a harrowing experience. I'm not one to argue against increased security at airports, but I do get a little tired of being singled out for a search each time I fly somewhere.
By the time I remove my shoes, empty my pockets, dump everything out of my carry-on bag, then reverse the procedure when they decide I'm not carrying contraband, my waiting time has been whittled away to a mere hour or so.
Now, I'm three or four hours into the trip and haven't even left the ground.
Remember that theory about the shortest distance between two points is a straight line? That goes right out the window when you buy an airplane ticket. I'm convinced the people who design flight plans and itineraries gleefully look for the longest possible route — then they travel by car.
It must be a physical impossibility to fly from point A to point B without going through point X, Q, or N. In other words, there are no direct flights. Anywhere. Ever.
It defies all logic. For example, you can't fly from Oklahoma City to San Antonio without going through someplace else. Looking at a map, the logical assumption would be Dallas. Not so. A connecting flight takes you through Memphis, Minneapolis, or Houston.
Have you noticed there's never an adequate amount of time during a layover? You're either running to catch a flight as they close the door or you have to set up camp while your connection comes in from Siberia.
Once I reach my final destination I'm lulled into thinking I can start enjoying my vacation. I'm jarred back to reality by the crush of people at the baggage carousel. I've been jostled, pushed, hit with bags, and stepped on while trying to claim my bag. At times I've been tempted to leave it and start over.
If I'm lucky enough to have someone who knows the area pick me up at the airport I consider the entire trip a success. Unfortunately, I usually end up on a crowded shuttle bus, being taken to a hotel via stops at 47 other hotels in town. Taking a cab is an experience unto itself.
There must be a special driving school for shuttle bus and cab drivers. The number one qualification is multi-tasking. They have to know how to drive like a maniac, dodge through compact car-size holes in bumper-to-bumper traffic, talk on a cell phone, adjust the radio, and provide commentary about the area. Of course, I'm so busy holding on and trying not to throw up, my first impression of a city isn't too favorable.
Staggering into the hotel more than half a day after leaving home, rumpled, sweating, and carsick, I often wonder why I didn't stay home.
Oh yes, I'm smelling the roses.
— DONNA BERNHARDT
