Timeout!

I know, I know, I have been gratuitously negligent (I really just wanted to use the word "gratuitious" right then and there) on updating everyone on my latest adventure. I went on a rampage over the airport debaucle, and now some of you probably think I had a terrible time in Turkey and am just covering it up with tales of woe. That is so not true. But you see, I am getting married next weekend and life is just a wee bit hectic at the moment. I have a to-do list several yards long and unfortunately, none of the items on it has anything to do with blogging,  or for that matter, anything fun at all.   So, I must take a brief timeout while I get this whole marriage thing together. Here are a few snippets of trip recap and two pictures to assure you that not only did I actually go, but that I had a grand 'ole time.

1. I did not purchase my wedding ring. Low point of the trip. But those darn Turks were having none of my amazing bargaining skills. One of them practically spit at the price I offered.
2. I did indeed find the Bosphorus Strait! It's kind of hard to miss while in Istanbul. However, there was no frolicking in it. As Lonely Planet guide puts it, unless one has a death wish, swimming in the Bosphorus is not advised.
3. Speaking of Lonely Planet, I have mixed emotions on traveling sans guidebook. Luckily, other people on the trip did, so it was more of a "baby steps" trip for me. There was one at my fingertips at any moment I so chose, but I did not have one of my own. Part of the trip, I felt as if I was wandering around in a fog, blindly following the lead of others. The other part was strangely exhilarating-I wasn't responsible! I didn't know a thing about anything, so therefore, I could not be responsible for mix-ups, wrong turns, and misinformation-of which all were in abundance on this trip. The logistics of traveling with 10 people is nothing short of a small nightmare. More on this later.
4.  The best day was the last day-took a drive out to the Black Sea. Simply gorgeous.

5. There are feral cats everywhere in Istanbul. I found this little guy in the public square outside of the Spice Bazaar.  He appears to really be enjoying his nap time.
6. I passed my Praxis exam. Nothing to do with Turkey, just super relieved and happy about it.

Must go get married now. More on everything later.

Part 2, Just a Freaking Cluster (Ode to JFK airport).

We got our boarding passes and looked around wildly for where to go. I asked a gentlemen who appeared to be working (leaning against a table) where Terminal 2 was, and he said if we would just wait five minutes while he used the restroom, he would take us there. Confident in my supreme abilities to navigate an airport and not wanting to waste another second, I politely declined his offer and we off we dashed. Into oblivion. You see, the person that designed that airport had to have just drawn a bunch of stick figures and buildings on  random pieces of paper, threw them all in the air, stomped on them, made a magic wish and then, with eyes closed, placed them into his blueprint.

We jumped on train that looked like as if was going somewhere important, such as a departure terminal. No such luck. In reality, we were headed out towards New York City, and I realized this at the last possible moment before it would have been too late. My traveling companion was not of much assistance, as this was her very first international trip, and only her second time flying. I was depending completely on myself and the kindness of strangers. We lunged off the train, and I asked the kindest looking person on the platform how to get to the Terminal 2. She pointed directly behind her, to the other side of the platform and told us to jump on there. Wonderful! It is now about 7:35, less than an hour until depature. We hop on, and wait what seems like an eternity until the train finally chugs into the stop we need. We get out. We see nothing even remotely "departure/lounge/check-in/security" like. Nothing. Perhaps if we head down the elevator. Oh but wait, there is a giant woman and her equally giant cat in a giant cat carrier blocking our way. Seriously??!! A giant cat?

Finally making it down the stairs, we find ourselves in no man's land, aka, a parking garage. This is where I start to feel myself crumble into a million little pieces. Back up the stairs, practically shrieking at yet another employee to find out where in all of God's creation is that blasted Terminal 2? She points to the direction from whence we came. no, No, NO! That was a parking garage! Back we go though, in hopes that a giant terminal will suddenly appear (perhaps to go along with the giant woman and her giant cat).  Of course we end up at the same spot in the same parking garage. Major meltdown is imminent. I am going to lose it right there on the asphalt. It was 7:47 and we were no closer to anything important, except large masses of parked cars. I literally had to give myself a peptalk/shakedown, ordering myself to GET IT TOGETHER!! We could not miss the flight and I was the only one that was going to get us to where needed to be....and I would be of no use to anyone if I was in a sad heap in the parking lot. Lo and behold, that same employee comes strolling out past the garage. Half-hysterical, I call out to her once again....beseeching her to tell me where in this forsaken place was TERMINAL 2??!!! She casually points over her shoulder to a large hangar-like building emblazoned with the words I so desperately was seeking. How was anybody supposed to find that? There were no signs leading or pointing the way, and one must arrive there by traipsing through a parking structure!! WHO DESIGNS THIS STUFF?? We dash for the Promised Land, run through the doors, gasp our way through the security (partly from panic, partly because it was 188 degrees inside, no AC). 7:57. Oh no. They want to take my snowglobe that I so lovingly packed into my checked luggage that became carry-on when all the Delta drama started happening. Blast. But another bright spot-the TSA officer let me keep it but took the box so that it would like she did her job. She then told me to just look really upset and/or angry when I left the screening area. No problem.

Finally, gate 27 is just a few steps away. We arrive, panting and sweating. There is some sort of medical emergency occurring in our waiting area, it is hot as Hades, and come to find out the next day, the would-be Times Square bomber was on the loose somewhere in the airport. Oh, and to cap everything off? Our flight is delayed one hour.

To finish this epic, (oh there is more, but I am over it) we arrive home safe and sound at 2 AM, only 5 hours after our intended arrival. It could have been worse. Enough of the airport drama, on with Turkey!!

Just a Freaking Kluster (The JFK Airport) Part 1.

I have returned from a fabulous vacation to Turkey, and it was wonderful and amazing, and glorious, and most importantly, wedding stress-FREE. But right now, what I really want to do is write about the complete inefficiency of John F. Kennedy International Airport and Delta airlines. Isn't that something? I just ventured to the only city that spans two continents, a magnificent blend of ancient and modern, and I want to sit here and rant about my return journey home. No worries, rant-free posts about the actual trip are in the works, but for now, the insanity of two nights ago is fresh on my mind. So I give you this.

It all started when our Delta Flight 73 was delayed 45 minutes due to a reason nobody could clearly define. "Technical issues" was all that was stated, the timeless offering of gate agents who have no idea. Our 12:15 departure was now scheduled for 1 PM. We did actually take off somewhat near this time, probably about 1:20. But with an 11 hour flight time, a  late arrival into New York would cut it extremely close for our 7 PM connection to DC.  In New York, we would still need to go through immigration, customs, and check back in for the next flight. However, there was nothing I could do about it, except sigh and sit back. Sure enough, due to plenty of turbulence and our late departure, we arrived in to JFK at 6 PM, and finally deboarded at 6:20. Suspicions confirmed. We would not be on our 7 PM flight to Dulles.

Clearing immigration and getting our bags actually took no time at all. This was the more pleasant part of the ensuing two hours. Once retrieving our things, we set out to find a Delta representative who could tell us what to do. This task proved to be fairly easy as well, considering that the line of passengers and their frustrations could be seen snaking around the ticketing area from afar. This monstrosity of a line was only exacerbated by the inconceivable reality that there was ONE gate agent dealing with rebooking half the passengers of a Boeing 747. ONE. My heart sank. Getting home that night was looking like a grim possibility and arriving at work on time the next day a lofty ideal. It was just the two of us, (the rest of the group went on to Greece-insert sad face here) and I had high hopes that it would be a breeze to rebook. Hopes were dashed after seeing that line, and dashed even further when after 10 minutes, we hadn't even moved. Even if there was a hope of getting on the next evening flight out, by the time we would actually get to front of the line, we might as well order breakfast. I took matters into my own hands and called Delta reservations while still in line. I was informed that we had already been rebooked on a 6 AM flight to DC......via Atlanta. Atlanta?? Um. No. I regretted to inform the agent that this would not be happening and that I would need a sooner flight, asap. All in my best sweet, yet desperately urgent tone of voice. She got the message and got us on an 8:30 landing at a different airport. Wonderful. It was 7:20. We would have just enough time. I hadn't reckoned on the evil labryinth of chaos and confusion though, also known as the JFK airport.