THE JOURNEY
I knew that the journey would be long. I was prepared for the 39 hours ahead of me as I boarded the United Airlines plane in Portland, Oregon on Thursday evening, November 10, 2011. Had I known that ten extra hours would be tacked onto that, I think I would have paid more to fly on another airline.
The first leg of the trip was a short jump to Seattle, where I was bumped to a morning flight for the next leg of my journey. That was okay with me -- $4oo compensation and a nice hotel room for my trouble, and I would still make my connecting flight to Brussels when I got to Washington DC. I took this as a good omen! I was wrong.
In Washington DC, we boarded the plane to Brussels, Belgium. And sat there. Forever. Finally we were told to get off the plane and they would try to fix the mechanical problems. As the minutes ticked by, I watched the window of opportunity to make my next connecting flight in Brussels to Entebbe slipping away.
Hours later they ordered a different plane, and hundreds of angry people boarded, knowing that they would be missing their next connections. Me? I've traveled enough to know that getting mad about things like this solves nothing. It doesn't make the plane fly any faster; it just makes you upset about something over which you have no control. So I calmly took it all in stride. Fortunately, I was able to call my friend, Moses, in Uganda and let him know that I would not be arriving when scheduled.
I slept as much as I could on the long flight over the Atlantic Ocean, and practiced my Runyankole and Luganda languages whenever I was awake. I had made myself flashcards out of all of the words I'd been able to learn from the Ugandan soldiers I chat with on Facebook, and I was determined to arrive in Uganda at least knowing how to say polite phrases in two of their 55+ tribal languages.
To describe the hassle and waiting and confusion and frustration endured after arriving at Brussels International Airport would be a disservice to you readers. I want you to keep reading my blog, and if I told you about all that I went through to get myself to Entebbe, Uganda, you would surely say, "Enough is enough! I'm done!" Let me just admit that my cool, calm, "I'm a seasoned traveler; it doesn't help to get upset" boast earlier in this post was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, I did not make a fool of myself by getting angry or demanding; but my frustration found an outlet in tears. I cried and cried as I ran through the airports, racing to not miss each of the following flights.
Suffice it to say that in the end, I was re-routed to Amsterdam, Holland, then Nairobi, Kenya before finally landing in Entebbe, Africa on Sunday morning, November 13, 2011, at the end of a 49 hour journey. And....despite several reassurances from a myriad of airport staff....NONE of my luggage arrived with me.
It would be 6 days before I finally had shampoo, deodorant, allergy pills, most of my clothing, and everything else that was in my suitcases stranded somewhere in the world.
But I made it. And now the real adventure would begin!
The first leg of the trip was a short jump to Seattle, where I was bumped to a morning flight for the next leg of my journey. That was okay with me -- $4oo compensation and a nice hotel room for my trouble, and I would still make my connecting flight to Brussels when I got to Washington DC. I took this as a good omen! I was wrong.
In Washington DC, we boarded the plane to Brussels, Belgium. And sat there. Forever. Finally we were told to get off the plane and they would try to fix the mechanical problems. As the minutes ticked by, I watched the window of opportunity to make my next connecting flight in Brussels to Entebbe slipping away.
Hours later they ordered a different plane, and hundreds of angry people boarded, knowing that they would be missing their next connections. Me? I've traveled enough to know that getting mad about things like this solves nothing. It doesn't make the plane fly any faster; it just makes you upset about something over which you have no control. So I calmly took it all in stride. Fortunately, I was able to call my friend, Moses, in Uganda and let him know that I would not be arriving when scheduled.
I slept as much as I could on the long flight over the Atlantic Ocean, and practiced my Runyankole and Luganda languages whenever I was awake. I had made myself flashcards out of all of the words I'd been able to learn from the Ugandan soldiers I chat with on Facebook, and I was determined to arrive in Uganda at least knowing how to say polite phrases in two of their 55+ tribal languages.
To describe the hassle and waiting and confusion and frustration endured after arriving at Brussels International Airport would be a disservice to you readers. I want you to keep reading my blog, and if I told you about all that I went through to get myself to Entebbe, Uganda, you would surely say, "Enough is enough! I'm done!" Let me just admit that my cool, calm, "I'm a seasoned traveler; it doesn't help to get upset" boast earlier in this post was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, I did not make a fool of myself by getting angry or demanding; but my frustration found an outlet in tears. I cried and cried as I ran through the airports, racing to not miss each of the following flights.
Suffice it to say that in the end, I was re-routed to Amsterdam, Holland, then Nairobi, Kenya before finally landing in Entebbe, Africa on Sunday morning, November 13, 2011, at the end of a 49 hour journey. And....despite several reassurances from a myriad of airport staff....NONE of my luggage arrived with me.
It would be 6 days before I finally had shampoo, deodorant, allergy pills, most of my clothing, and everything else that was in my suitcases stranded somewhere in the world.
But I made it. And now the real adventure would begin!
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