Disaster Nodes and the Elusive Vacation

Vacations are overrated.  By that I mean that I haven’t had one in---well, years.  I have taken lots and lots of trips; however, most are either filled with family obligations or marred by my husband’s business commitments.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love visiting my husband’s family in the far reaches of Oregon.  They are a diverse and entertaining bunch and Oregon has much in the way of beautiful terrain and farm-fresh dining to offer.  It’s just that when it comes time to choose between setting course for a new destination and visiting family—Oregon usually wins. 

In a similar vein, I enjoy accompanying my husband on his many business trips.  In recent years, these trips have included such mainstay venues as Chicago and Tampa, as well as more exotic locales, such as Turkey and Scotland.   As much as it is exciting to venture to new worlds and explore new cultures, it is a bummer to be left alone in a foreign land while my husband disappears into his conferences, or even worse, to be stuck in a hotel room waiting for his return.

Finally, I have convinced my husband to take me on a trip of our own making.  In celebration of our 30^th anniversary, he has agreed—initially under much duress—to take me to Italy.  Italy is the one country I have been longing to visit since college, having endured a year’s worth of slides, three days per week, of paintings, frescoes, sculptures, and architectural wonders in the once-obligatory-and-now-defunct course, Fine Arts 13.  Art history is a passionate hobby of mine.  I spend a lot of time paging through art books, and researching artists and architects.  But as a musician and a performer who was trained to appreciate the creation of art “in the moment,” I derive as much joy from standing in the presence of great masterpieces as I do from discovering their beauty in books.  To put it bluntly:  Watch out, girls, that David sculpture is MINE!

As much as I look forward to the exciting trip we have planned—a few days each in Rome, Venice, and Florence—I confess that there is a great downside to this journey.  Traveling these days is a lot of work and a lot of stress.   Certainly, it is an improvement now that we can search for our own hotels and air fares without going through a third-party travel agent.  I no longer feel like I am being compelled to stay somewhere because kick-backs have been arranged, or because the agent’s knowledge is limited to certain venues.  After my exhaustive Googling and an assortment of email conversations (that, despite being carried on in English still contain the charming lilt of an Italian accent,) I feel confident that I have chosen well.  On the other hand, my micro-management of every detail demonstrates just how many things can go wrong.  Our romantic second honeymoon is really a collection of planned events connected by a series of “disaster nodes”—endless opportunities for our trip to become a FUBAR. 

Take, for instance, our airline tickets.  We purchased our tickets almost a year ago.  As part of our planning, we took pains to avoid New York’s Kennedy Airport as a connecting city.  We have made many trips to Europe that involved connections at JFK.  Almost none of them worked smoothly.  On one trip to Paris, our flight from Boston to JFK was so delayed due to air traffic that we nearly missed our connecting flight to Paris.  They offered to put us on the next flight out; however, they could not provide the business-class upgrades that we had purchased with zillions of frequent flyer miles.  On another flight back from Istanbul, our connecting plane in New York back to Boston was missing in action.  They projected a 6-7 hour delay just to get an aircraft queued up for the short 80-minute flight.  Because my husband had to work the next day, we ended up taking a 4-hour limousine ride all the way home.   We have learned not to allow connections through JFK; it is the ultimate travelling penalty box.  Yet, for some reason, the airlines always want to force us to connect there.  Even on a recent trip to San Diego, when our return flight through Minneapolis was oversold, the gate agent called our names, offering us $1200 in future vouchers if we would relinquish our seats and fly first class back through JFK.  If it had been through any other airport we would have jumped at the opportunity, but because it was JFK, we flatly refused.

Another potential disaster node is the hotel.  Hotels are the ultimate blind purchase.  You book a hotel after seeing luxurious photos and reading online reviews.  But seriously, how many of us put realistic photos online?  For this trip, I chose to take advantage of advance purchases on hotel stays.  Prepaying translated into savings of up to 20%.   Given the weak trading of the dollar against the euro, this turned out to be a pretty good deal.  In addition, there is something nice about knowing that your entire trip is paid in advance, leaving you with “only” the bills for meals and shopping upon return.   There is only one catch:  prepaid hotels are completely and irrevocably non-refundable.   This is fine, as long as everything works according to plan.

I had a lengthy email exchange with a hotel in Venice after reading a review from travelers who, despite reserving in advance, were bumped to a secondary property.  Their reservation was honored, but not in the building they were expecting.  The hotel has guaranteed me a particular suite in the main building.  It remains to be seen where they put us.

Years ago we had a sticky situation with a hotel in London.  We booked a week at a hotel that my company used frequently.  As we were traveling in June and I was very pregnant, I called ahead to ensure before booking that the rooms were air conditioned.  Of course, of course, they promised.  We arrived in London to record heat, the temperatures well over 100 degrees.   When we arrived at the hotel, they informed us that we would be placed in a “very nice room” over in the annex.  “It’s air conditioned, of course?” I inquired, somewhat rhetorically.  “Well, no,” he explained.  “Those rooms have no air conditioning.”  Conjuring the anger of a hormonally-compromised female, I recounted the conversation in which I was guaranteed an air conditioned room.   The gentleman tried to explain that it was Wimbledon week—in fact, John McEnroe and other US tennis players were staying at the hotel—and there was nothing he could do.  Enraged beyond reason, I could think of nothing more to do, so I planted myself on a seat in the lobby and refused to move until they produced the promised air conditioned room.  Eventually they did, but I have always wondered if one of the US tennis players suffered on my account. 

Even if you manage to make your connections and arrive on schedule, and if the hotel proves adequate, there are so many other unknowns that can become disaster nodes.  Like the thief that tried to lift my wallet in front of the Mona Lisa, or the taxi driver in Istanbul who managed to help himself to some of my husband’s cash, or the complete rainout during five days in Glasgow.  One year, my husband arrived in Vancouver, BC for an annual meeting only to discover that his bags did not make it.  He had to give his presentation in a hastily arranged outfit that I negotiated by phone from Boston with a local purveyor of fine menswear—including directions on how to alter the pants and jacket to his specifications without a fitting.

These days, disaster nodes go far beyond the known entities influenced by human error and acts of G-d; there is the potential for the unthinkable.  If we are lucky, we will only be inconvenienced by a long line at security, or the ransacking of our luggage in Customs.  A flight delay is fine; the hotel will not let us check in as early as we arrive anyway.   A rainstorm while touring the Coliseum is a small price to pay.   If my luggage is delayed, I won’t mind shopping for a few outfits to tide me over.  I remain determined to be content in knowing that, finally, my husband and I are taking the trip I have dreamed of taking for over three decades.  There will be no work, no meetings, no presentations, and no responsibilities—except to each other.  And as long as we are together, it will be the best trip yet.

On the other hand, if what we really want is to relax, we'd do better to plan a week off at home.