Flying out of the country can be a real pain in the butt.
Heck, flying anywhere is a pain in the butt, so it’s no surprise a recent news story claims that fewer people are flying now, simply because of the hassle.
Our flight out of Aspen started with Frontier Airlines, and I must say the people were friendly and the planes and seats were extremely comfortable. I’m not sure how they do it, but redesigning the seats, and the addition of real leather, make your flight comfortable even with the seat back in front of you all the way back.
With Wolfgang the wolf pup escorting us on the tail, I have to give Frontier five stars for effort. Of course, unlike the old days of Rocky Mountain Airways, nobody is running up and down the isle handing out cans of Coors between here and Denver.
Once in Denver, it was off to the train to pick up our flight to Houston. Getting from flight to flight in Denver may be a pain, but it’s a snap compared to some other airports.
American got us from Denver to Houston, the worst airport in the world. The terminals are so spread out you have to take a little subway from terminal to terminal, and, unknowingly, we had to leave security and reenter security, where we lost all our water bottles, again. While losing your water bottle isn’t that big a deal, having to go back through security is.
And American Airlines has cut back so much, you can’t even get a small pillow on a flight. “We don’t have pillows anymore. They take up too much room and have to be cleaned.”
The flight from Houston to Belize City was wonderful, thanks to Taca Airlines. I’d heard horrible things about this airline, but they seem to have gotten their act together. Flight attendants were very friendly and catered to our every whim. The pilot gave us lot of information, but not so much as to be obnoxious. Hey, I’ve been on flights where the pilot felt the need to inform us every time we entered a new state or changed to a new altitude. “I have to scratch my nose now, so while I do this please relax and enjoy the flight. While I’m scratching my nose, your copilot, Captain Smith, will be flying the plane.”
Food was the pits on every flight we had. “Would you like fish or meat for your in-flight snack?”
“What kind of meat is in the meat snack?”
“I don’t know. It’s just meat. Most men order the meat.”
Wanting the flight attendant to know I’m a real man, and not some kind of girly-man, I ordered the meat. The meat turned out to be something like a McDonald’s cheeseburger. Heaven forbid they would give you a real piece of meat requiring a plastic knife of some kind.
Arrival in Belize City was uneventful, except for having to get our bags and go through customs in a scene resembling Midnight Express. Fortunately, everyone was very friendly and we weren’t smuggling anything.
Once we were in Belize City, Maya Airlines got us to San Pedro on an airline that puts RFTA to shame. A plane leaves Belize City every hour on the hour, and leaves San Pedro for Belize City every half-hour.
Trying to get back home, things got a little strange. The flight from San Pedro was a piece of cake, since there is no security at all. However, because we were leaving one country and entering the States, we had to get our luggage and recheck it in Houston, where we went through customs and immigration.
While in Houston, my girlfriend found one of those assortments of hot sauces you can only get down there, and because we had to go out of security and back in again, the sauces were confiscated.
“I bought this in the airport. The same airport I’m in right now — in the gift shop!”
“Sorry,” as the agent tossed the bottles of sauce into the trash. We came to the conclusion that the agents don’t get paid by the hour. They get paid based on the weight of the trash can at the end of the day.
Speaking of security: I had to take my shoes off at every checkpoint, but not once did anyone ask me to take off my hat. Go figure.
I also forgot about the small penknife I accidentally put in my carry-on luggage, and that went through, no problem. They were so worried about the bottle of water in there they missed all kinds of things. I’ll bet I could have gotten a gun through, if it were next to a bottle of water.
As for being polite, the airport in Houston also gets the worst of the lot, with wrong directions all over the place, ticket agents who didn’t have a clue and Hispanic workers accusing passengers of being anti-Mexican when anyone bitched about anything.
“Hey, where are my bags?”
“So, you don’t like Mexicans? Get to the end of the line.”
I also wound up on an elevator going up and down for at least 15 minutes, not able to get off, but that would take another column.
Anyway, we arrived in Aspen to a chilly 30-something degrees, and, of course, one of my bags didn’t make it. Frontier was very nice about it, and the bag arrived on the flight the next day. Frontier’s fault? Probably not, as it had been searched by TSA somewhere between here and there. Why? Haven’t got a clue. It was filled with dive equipment.
Now, what’s the security rule about your luggage is supposed to fly on the same plane you do? What a joke.
Sheldon Fingerman welcomes your comments at sheldon@sopris.net.
