Sheesh. I don't even know where to begin. Prepare for a massive post, there's simply no way around it. The good news is it contains an original poem (I'm not kidding).
If you're wondering why it's Saturday and I'm just now posting, it's not because I've been having too much fun in swingin' Petrozavodsk (though I am now). Remember that 40 hours of travel I told you about? Yeah, make that 96. You see, all was going well until I landed in New York. I knew it was going to be a little close, as the flight was scheduled to depart about 45 minutes after my flight from Columbus landed, but I got there in plenty of time. So we're sitting on the plane ten minutes...thirty minutes...one hour...two hours. The A/C isn't working properly in the cabin. Of course. So they move us off the plane and into the terminal for our comfort, handing out the $6.00 meal vouchers that can buy you approximately 2 and a half packets of ketchup at JFK.
They end up delaying the flight until 11p.m., at which point they inform us that the plane will not be flying. Perfect. Not like I need to make a train that I've already bought tickets for the next day. Luckily, my sister lives in Brooklyn, so after the short HOUR AND A HALF wait it took to get rebooked on the flight the next day, I grabbed a taxi on Delta's dime. Naturally, I was already in the cab before I realized I should have demanded a voucher for the ride back the next day. You stay classy, Delta.
But it wasn't all bad, got to hang with my sister on the roof of her apartment building and take in the Manhatten skyline. I arrived back at the airport the next day only to find that the plane had been delayed again. Weather? Nope. A/C again? Nope. Flight crew mix up? That would only make too much sense. No, my dear readers, we were informed by the captain, WITH A STRAIGHT FACE MIND YOU, that a baggage cart had HIT THE PLANE. Just drink in the insanity of that statement (I felt it demanded bold, underlined italics). I'm fairly certain that this has happened, like, never in the history of aviation, so it's fitting that this once-canceled, ten times-delayed God forsaken flight to Moscow should be the inaugural occasion. This is when the yelling started. As the impromptu mob seemed to have the shouting fairly well covered, my frustration manifested itself in the form of a 36-line poem in the fashion of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "Paul Revere's Ride." Hey, what can I say, that's what my frustration does. Criticism, as always, is strictly prohibited, and keep in mind wrote this in twenty minutes leaning against a trash can at JFK airport.
"Delta's New Punching Bag"
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of a desperate traveler without hope or beer.
From the Glass City he set out early
To board that sky bird white and pearly;
His first connection troubled him not
As he came to the airport of Camelot.
And climb he did into the belly of the beast
Ready for restless legs and a cart-bound feast;
But 'lo! Fly the beast did not
The broken A/C made the cabin too hot.
Fix it they tried as he waited and waited
And hour upon hour his excitement abated;
'To the terminal we'll move you, for comfort' they said
And hour upon hour the beast remained dead.
Six hours, seven hours, 'fore they canceled the flight
And our haggard young traveler lamented his plight;
As he surveyed the rebooking line his shoulders did sag
For he knew he'd become Delta's new punching bag.
Having suffered the perils of this logistical twister
He cabbed it to Brooklyn and the refuge of dear sister;
With the aid of Sam Adams he worked through the rigor
And the next day returned with vim and with vigor.
Yet no sooner did he enter that a dull voice did herald
Yet even more trouble in the House of John Fitzgerald;
Incredulous news came just 'fore the scheduled flight:
In the vast field of machines had occurred a great sight!
A mere baggage cart, the least among least
Did rise up in anger and slay the great beast!
'Just one half an hour for inspection' they said
Then surely you'll be off to the Square oh so Red.
But minutes turned to hours in the true Delta fashion
And passengers of all creeds did yell with a passion;
Collapse 'gainst a trash can he did with a wail
With naught left to do but record his sad tale.
And there he still sits as the desk jockeys nag
For he is none other than Delta's new punching bag.
Two points for anyone who caught the Airplane! joke in there. The plane did finally get off the ground, some four hours later than expected. When I finally got to Moscow, it took me so long to get through passport control and baggage claim that the driver hired to take me to the Fulbright Office left. As the payphones at Sheremetyevo airport aren't really payphones at all but in fact post-modern wall art, I decided to take the express train to the metro rather than risk getting ripped off by the gypsy cabs.
Though it took me more than an hour, it was surprisingly easy to navigate the metro with all my luggage (though I wouldn't recommend it). I ended up getting to the Fulbright Office too late and too mentally and physically exhausted to try to make the evening train to Petrozavodsk. I slept the rest of the business day at the office and stayed with Anthony, the Director of the Fulbright Program in Russia and Moscow IIE office, as well as all around awesome guy. We went to the 1950s Americana-themed Starlight Diner across from his apartment and then watched the season one finale of White Collar on DVD. It was all quite surreal. I'm sure I started to annoy him with my 'thank you's, as he thought the whole thing was no big deal. I think it's a real testament to the Moscow office that its director would go out of his way to help somebody on the lowest rung of the Fulbright totem pole like me.
I was able to make the train the next day no problem, and settled in for my long winter's nap (again, fifteen hour train). There were only two others in my four-person second-class cabin, and they both disembarked by about 2a.m. so I had it to myself from then on. Can't complain about that. I was able to meet Tatiana, my host contact, seamlessly at the train station, the first thing in ninety hours that could be described as "seamless." I'll include more impressions of the city in my next post, as this is already pushing the word count record in the "greatest monument to self-pity" category. At least I'm here in one piece.
Oh, and in case you were worried I walked away from my troubles empty handed, I got a $200 dollar voucher from Delta that can only be used to purchase more Delta tickets in the next year.
You stay classy, Delta.
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