Finding Direction in Detours

Watching the news last night, I saw the devastation of Hurricane Melissa and the travelers stranded in Jamaica. It hit me hard. I travel internationally three to four times a year, and while I’ve had my share of delays, I’d never experienced anything truly awful, until that summer….

I was working remotely to extend a family vacation, alternating weeks off and weeks working abroad. It was a great plan, until my manager casually asked if I’d be in New York on Monday. Turns out, I’d been left off a critical meeting invite. Cue panic. My original ticket was non-refundable, so I had to book a last-minute one-way flight back to New York at the end of July. Prices were outrageous, but I found one with a layover on an Island I had never heard of, and on an airline that I had never heard of before, but I crossed my fingers and purchased it.

Saturday, I arrived at the airport. All seemed fine… until they announced that the incoming plane had technical issues. They’d send another, but it meant a four-hour delay—exactly the length of my layover. I finally boarded, landed in the layover city just as my New York flight was departing, and sprinted through the terminal. Miraculously, they waited for us. I made it. Phew!

Five hours later, as we approached New York, the pilot announced a thunderstorm. We’d “hang” until it passed. Three hours later, still circling, we were low on fuel. We detoured to Hartford, CT to refuel. I was now 10pm, I was supposed to land in NY at 7pm to catch an 11 pm flight to Rochester. The airplane refuel line at Hartford was LONG. Two more hours passed before it was out turn.

Knowing I’d missed my connecting flight to Rochester, I frantically searched for a hotel, rental car, train, bus—everything was sold out. I finally booked a 9 am bus. I get motion sickness on buses, but it was my only option.

We landed in New York at 1am. No flights, no hotels, no trains, no cars. I spent the night at the bus terminal. It was crowded, noisy, and definitely not sleep-friendly. I made friends with a few fellow stranded travelers. By 5am, they started boarding their buses. I was the last to leave.

I collapsed into my seat and passed out. A few hours later—BOOM!. The bus broke down. Seriously??!! We limped through the mountains at 35 mph until we reached Binghamton. No replacement buses, of course! We waited five more hours for repairs.

At 8pm Sunday, I finally arrived in Rochester. I would’ve kissed the ground if it hadn’t been so filthy. I showered, collapsed into bed, and woke up Monday to drive back to Binghamton for a 9am meeting.

I’m grateful I made it home in one piece. But I’m even more grateful I wasn’t traveling with my kids. I’ve traveled with them many times, and it’s always gone smoothly—but this? I can’t even imagine. And I don’t want to. I hope the hurricane does not cause too much damage. I hope the hurricane passes fast and all the travelers stranded in Jamaica make it home safe. I hope don’t ever have to suffer through a trip like this again!