By Patricia Winton
As I began my first trip to Italy, I became
one of 6,000 people stranded at Kennedy airport during the February 1969 nor’easter that shut it down and paralyzed the northeastern United States for
three days. I was 23, alone, and a fledgling traveler. Only the
kindness of strangers got me to my destination.
I was moving to live near the place I most
wanted to visit in the world—Florence. I had booked a seat on a charter
flight—the company’s name long forgotten—from JFK to Frankfurt with another
flight to Italy. On arriving at JFK, passengers were to call Brown’s Taxi for
transport to the North Terminal. I think that ride was included in the charter
fare.
The snow began falling on February 9—two days
before my scheduled departure. Flights from JFK were being canceled, and people
were sleeping in terminals. In Washington, DC, I watched the news with alarm.
My plane would surely not go. I called the charter company, and they told me to come on to JFK. By the 11th, snow was falling in Washington,
too. Another call to the charter company. More instructions to proceed. I snapped
my suitcase shut and called a taxi. Before it arrived, Eastern Airlines called
to cancel my flight to JFK. My heart raced as I called the charter company again.
They told me that the transatlantic flight was still on. My anxiety level ratcheted up a
couple of notches until a friend suggested that I take the airline shuttle.
Shuttle Ticket Sales |
As luck would have it, my shuttle seatmate
traveled frequently from New York to Washington. “How can I get to JFK?” I
asked. “Take the helicopter,” he replied, telling me the route to take once I
deplaned, where to turn, and how much it would cost. At the terminal, Shuttle Man
pointed me in the right direction, and I soon found myself aboard a helicopter flitting
between airports.
As luck would have it, my helicopter seatmate
was booked on my charter flight. A travel-wise woman just a couple of years
older than I was, she took the lead when we arrived at JFK and called Brown’s.
We made our way through the terminal, past sleeping people, past crying babies,
past mounds of trash. At the pickup point, we met other passengers for our
charter. Eager to depart on time, we joked about “a little
snow.” After more than an hour’s wait, our confidence waned. Finally, a big old
car—brown, of course, with a few rust spots—pulled up. We looked at each other,
shrugged, and five or six of us piled in. There was room for all, plus our
luggage.
The taxi ride proved to be just as challenging as the other legs of the trip. Every route the driver tried was
blocked by police or snow banks. We were getting dangerously close to departure
time. I could hardly breathe. But the driver persevered. He went outside JFK,
chugged along highways around the airport, and found another entrance. That
strategy worked, and soon we climbed out at the North Terminal. I relaxed then,
certain that we’d be airborne soon.
At the check-in counter, we were told to wait,
and we searched for a place to sit. A snow plow had deposited snow on the roof;
water dripped from the ceiling and puddled on the floor. The snack bar had
closed because it had run out of food. The vending machines were empty. It
was now past 6 PM. I hadn’t eaten since my morning coffee and toast. My stomach
rumbled, and Helicopter Woman shared her candy bar.
At last, a company representative announced
that we would not be flying that night. We were herded onto a bus which slid on
the slush as it careened toward a distant hotel. There we were served a box
lunch (a dry sandwich, some chips, and an apple) and assigned rooms. People had
to share, so Helicopter Woman and I joined forces. I worried about
sleeping in the same room with a stranger, and I remember tucking my purse under
the covers with me. The following morning, we were given coffee and stale donuts
before being bussed back to the North Terminal.
Finally, we boarded. Since I’d spent the
night unscathed, I stayed with Helicopter Woman. With no assigned seats, my
savvy travel companion snagged an exit row and we settled in, stretching our
legs. A flight attendant (or stewardess as she was then) soon arrived with a
man in tow. “I want a man to sit by the emergency exit,” she explained, “so
this fellow will take the remaining seat in the row.” I kept my window seat.
As luck would have it, Emergency Man was
booked on the same flight I had from Frankfurt. We teamed up for the remainder
of the journey. The flight was uneventful, except that our meals were out of
order. We were served the dinner we would have had the previous night for
breakfast, and for lunch we had what passed for scrambled eggs and bacon.
By the time Emergency Man and I reached
Germany, our flight was long gone, and we couldn’t get another one for a couple
of days. He suggested that we take the train and led me to the station. We
bought our tickets, had something to eat, and soon were riding the rails south.
I admired the gingerbread houses along the German countryside and dozed a bit. My
excitement grew as my energy level drooped.
Photo of Red-tiled Roofs by Jasmin Lee |
My heart rat-a-tat-tatted in my chest. I was
here! At the next stop, we bought crusty rolls filled with salami from a cart
on the platform. The red-tiled roofs sped by, and I munched my first taste of
Italian food as the train wended its way to Florence.
Join me on alternate Thursdays at Italian Intrigues where I write about food and wine, mysteries and crime. And please visit my new website at www.PatriciaWinton.com
Join me on alternate Thursdays at Italian Intrigues where I write about food and wine, mysteries and crime. And please visit my new website at www.PatriciaWinton.com
What an ordeal! But so nice to find other people on your journey to help you along. It turned an otherwise stressful trip into an adventure. It sounds like you had a great attitude, being open to whatever you encountered.
ReplyDeleteIt might have put someone else off travel forever, but it actually whetted my appetite. The fact that I encountered so many helpful people made it work for me, of course.
DeleteWhat an adventure, Patricia. I applaud your persistence! And look at how that persistence has benefitted you--and your readers--in so many ways. Your blog tempts me to write a guest blog (if you take them) about my first time teaching English in S. Korea.
ReplyDeleteChris Roerden
Oh, Chris, thank you. And you're on for a guest post. I'll email you privately.
DeleteThat really was quite an adventure for your first trip to Italy, and at a young age. How lucky you were to have helpful and more experienced travelers to guide you along each leg of the journey.
ReplyDeleteAnd please, do get Chris to write a guest post for us!
Thanks, Heidi. It's amazing that at each leg of the trip I met someone going my way who was willing to give me advice and help. The experience made me more interested in traveling rather than scaring me off.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great adventure!! I love it that you found such nice people to help you and that you made it to Italy.
ReplyDeleteAmazing coincidences! I didn't realize it at the time. Thanks for stopping by.
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