Tobago Expedition: Day 1
I thought there wouldn't be much to report my first day as it has purely been a flight day. Life has a funny way of proving me wrong.
Waking up at the lovely hour of 4:00AM, I grabbed a shuttle to the airport to begin my migration south.
At check-in, I was overly concerned about my luggage, so I asked the agent about their damage policy. After laying out the cash for my new gear, I was worried it would get mangled in transit. She assured me my bags would be fine. Slightly mollified, I took my boarding pass and made my way to security.
There is an easy way to fly to Trinidad and Tobago (T&T to the locals). On Saturdays, Delta does a direct from Atlanta to Tobago, plus the starter leg from Minneapolis to Atlanta. Easy-peasy. Oh wait, there's a catch. As I'm working with a British organization, they've set their expedition start dates based on the flights from the UK, which arrive in Tobago on Thursdays. So I get the fun, circuitous route from Minneapolis to Atlanta, on to JFK for the connection to Port of Spain (Trinidad) with an overnight layover, then an island hopper in the morning to Tobago. The flights weren't nearly as draining as I expected, but a tight connection in JFK, mixed with a delay in deplaning from the Atlanta flight due to the people movers, caused a bit of a scene. As in, a Hollywood silver screen scene. As I finally make it into terminal one, I shout out to the waiting agents about my connection. The reply comes, "They're already boarding in terminal two. You'd better run!" I think they're exaggerating, but walk briskly nonetheless. As I cross over into terminal two, the overhead speakers are blaring, "Final call for Delta flight to Port of Spain. Passenger Andrea Shearer please report to gate twenty eight. Passenger Andrea Shearer..." I didn't hear much else. Breaking into a sprint a running back would be proud of, I faked, rolled, dodged and leapt over and around luggage, small children and pilots all intent on blocking my way. Gate twenty eight was, of course, the furthest gate from me. Out of breath, but considering trying out for the NFL with my newfound skills, I arrived at the gate just as they were closing the gangway door. I slipped through, grabbed a glass of water and plopped into my seat. Then we were delayed an hour and a half- just enough time for me to get my breathing under control.
Otherwise, the flight down was fairly standard. I was disappointed to find I still had to pay for food, even on the international leg. And booze. Is nothing sacred?
Immigration was incredibly slow, and it didn't help that I hadn't brought the address of Coral Cay's expedition base. I think the agent only let me through because she figured I was too stupid to do any real damage to her country.
I came out of immigration, newly admitted to T&T, curious to see how my luggage had fared. My irrational concerns for its condition renewed, I walked into baggage claim. Turns out, I needn't have worried about their condition. I should have been focused on whether or not they'd even arrive.
My bags were nowhere to be found.
After a few rounds with the airport's lost luggage department, I discovered my bags are in Minneapolis. Or Atlanta. Or New York. Maybe even Madrid. But they definitely aren't in Trinidad.
Paperwork filled out and contact information exchanged, I trudged past customs (nothing to declare!) to call my hotel for the shuttle pick-up. Looking everywhere for the shuttle courtesy phone, I was informed there isn't one. Someone suggested trying the visitors' bureau. They were closed. I tried calling the hotel from my cell phone. No service.
Absolutely defeated and exhausted, I wandered the airport in vain search of any form of contacting my hotel. Somehow I wound up in the departure hall and stumbled across the information desk there. Yes, they would be happy to call my hotel for me. But the lines are down at the moment. Twenty minutes later, after repeated attempts to reach the operator, the wonderful woman behind the desk took pity on me and called my hotel from her personal cell phone.
I finally arrived at the hotel at 12:30AM, checked in and am now so drained I don't even care that I've paid three times what the room is worth.
On the plus side, the staff here has drummed up a tube of toothpaste for me. As I write this, a realization hits me: I am on an island in the middle of the Caribbean heading for a dive expedition with no dive gear, no swim gear, and only the clothes on my back. And now a tube of toothpaste.
I can only hope this isn't a sign of things to come.
