Promptly at 10am our driver appeared at the front door ready to load the sedan and take Livvy, Justin and me to SFO for our flight to the Bahamas. Livvy opened the door and was distraught at the stranger manhandling her carefully packed rolling Victronox ballistic blue duffel. “Mom, where is Jay? Why isn’t he taking us? Who is this guy anyway?,” she demanded. I explained that Jay was probably spending the morning with his family and had sent this nice driver in his place. Livvy was not impressed but seemed willing to let it slide, “Okay Mom, but you’re sitting up front with him, he could be a freak.” Fair enough.
We checked in at the American Airlines First Class kiosk thanks to my OneWorld Gold Status. You see dear reader, I am sad to inform you that some two months prior in a fit of determination to make more of an effort to not spoil the kids, I had decided we should all travel coach on this flight. I’m sure I had somehow rationalized this away by convincing myself that it is only a five hour flight to Miami and that the touch of the well worn upholstered seat in front of me upon my knees would be worth the imprinting done on the kids. I suspect now that David had only encouraged this, knowing he would not be joining the three of us on this particular getaway.
In any event, we checked in at the First Class kiosk, feeling a bit like gatecrashers at an upscale party, and had to endure further embarrassment by resorting to flashing my One World card to be permitted access into the well guarded Priority Boarding queue. As if that were not enough, once at the gate, soggy airport purchased burrito in hand, I was faced with the Priority Boarding debacle. Does my status allow me to board with First Class or do the magic powers end at check-in and security? It had been a while since I needed to pose the question and was eager to avoid the walk of shame if denied early entry to the aircraft in front of the swarming masses of carry-on clutching passengers lining the sides of the Priority line like paparazzi along side the red carpet. I paused to remove my One World member card again and stepped tentatively toward the gate agent at the turn style.
As I approached, I recognized the gate agent, he was the same fellow who so kindly took care of Justin when I dropped him off as an unaccompanied minor for his flight in February to meet my mother in Ecuador. “Hi,” I said exuberantly, “so nice to see you again. Remember me? How’s it going today, just as crazy as when you took care of Justin after the big east coast snow storm?” I said gesturing wildly toward my son. He scanned my face, then Justin’s and then mercifully, he smiled back with clear recognition.
“How are you guys? Great to see you, thanks for saying hi.” I could have kissed his bespectacled face. I handed over our Zone 3 Boarding passes along with my One World member card. He pushed the card back at me, “You don’t need that,” he said smiling. He scanned our boarding passes and still smiling as he handed them back to me said, “If you ever need anything while you’re flying out of here in future, just let me know what I can do.” Bless his polyester clad heart.
And with that we boarded with the privileged few, heads held high until finding our seats in Row 30. At least I had an aisle and the two Chinese toddlers in front of me ceased their kicking/screaming game after a mere two hours.
We landed on schedule in Miami and made our way to the Admirals Club. There was a short queue and an attendant was shepherding people into one of two lines, Line 1 for “members” and line 2 for “American Express Platinum Card holders” a.k.a. freeloaders. When asked whether I was a member, I proudly replied, “Yes,” and was shown to the obviously more important line. The gentleman who helped me, a Mr. Jorge Ramirez was about as pleasant as could be, with his endearing “espanish ackee-scen”. Once upstairs in the lounge, Livvy and Justin enjoyed cocoa and cookies while I appreciated the complimentary freshly brewed, unsweetened iced tea. I looked but could not find a carafe of lemonade, suddenly thirsting for an Arnold Palmer, but drank my tea in good humor just the same.
Our flight was delayed by 90 minutes due to a late arriving crew, which completely baffled Justin, who at 13 is already fit to run international operations for a major conglomerate. “What do you mean the crew is late? Don’t they have a back up crew, I mean this must happen like all the time. That is so lame. What a bogus airline.” While I know I should have been teaching him a lesson in patience and the unpredictability of travel, I could not bring myself to do so and instead agreed with him wholeheartedly and even suggested he write an email to the CEO of American Airlines on the subject.
We decided to find a snack and found a take out stand attached to a Cuban restaurant that promised all variety of hot sandwiches and had a fingerprint-smudged display case filled with a strange looking assortment of baked and fried pastries. Two Indian women behind me mused over whether the fried dough pastries were filled with sweet or savory and decided against the risk, a wise choice in my lay opinion. Ordering the grilled chicken sandwich for Livvy was rather more difficult than I had anticipated, apparently in Miami my English is somewhat hard to understand for the indigenous people. In the end the manager helped translate my order into local English for the lovely Rosaria to punch into the computer. Note to travelers, when in Miami the word lettuce should not be pronounced at "let us" but rather as "let oooos", and be sure to say "sin" instead of "no" when trying to avoid certain foods appearing on your plate.
Finally after what amounted to a 1 hour and 45 minute delay, we boarded our plane to Nassau. Upon arrival at just past midnight local time, the airport was more or less deserted. We waited for a late shift attendant to unlock to doors leading from the gate to immigration and baggage claim. Our bags were there but our driver was not. I called the hotel and the night manager apologized profusely and suggested we grab a cab and let the hotel sort it all out once we arrive. A kind cab driver with a charming smile that revealed his missing front left tooth, named Philip, informed me that the private transfers tend to disappear when flights arrive after midnight and that he would be delighted to drive us to the Cove Hotel at Atlantis. Having no choice, I graciously accepted.
Once again Justin fumed at the incompetence he was being subjected to and this time I explained that when traveling to new, exotic locations, things don’t always go as planned so one needs patience and a willingness to go with the flow. Justin wasn’t buying it. The hotel was beautiful and the long outdoor arrival walk was lined with glowing red lanterns that lent the night a dreamy air. We checked in and were upgraded to a suite on the 21st floor with Club access and a magnificent view, a very suitable apology for the driver mishap in Justin’s view, and one I accepted gratefully. Livvy did some modeling in front of the water fall in the lobby and then we unpacked, washed up and by 2am were all fast asleep in our island dream hotel.
Tomorrow we hit the famed shark tank water slide….
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