My flights are routine and most of my trips have been enjoyable. Others, not so much.
I was headed to Mexico City, but my plane got diverted to Guadalajara. Apparently there was a huge storm in Mexico City and a plane skidded off the runway, closing down the airport. I had an 8 a.m. client meeting the next morning, and I wasn’t that concerned since the pilot said we’d be in Guadalajara for only about an hour. It was only 8 p.m.
I was on a good-size plane, filled with passengers. Ninety minutes went by and we were still sitting, and since we were an international flight they wouldn’t let us off the plane. By 2 a.m., six hours later, we ate and drank everything on that plane, which, by this time, was getting unbearably hot. The crew shut the engines down and opened the doors by the cockpit.
That seemed like a smart move until the plane was swarmed by about 3,000 mosquitoes. It was like we were a mosquito magnet. People were jumping up and down, swatting the insects and each other. Everybody was freaking out and itchy.
About 4:30 in the morning we got the news that we could get off the plane and would be taken to a hotel. We had to go through this crazy immigration process. Unfortunately, the hotel rooms were filled from all the passengers from all of the other diverted planes. We took a two-hour ride outside of the city where I slept on a cot in what seemed like an army barracks.
I wound up spending 38 hours in Guadalajara, and I was supposed to be home already. My client understood why I missed the meeting, but I’m not sure my family would. It was the day before Thanksgiving. I went into frequent-flier mode and found a flight that took me to Madrid and then back to New York City. I made it home just in time to eat turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes with my family on Thanksgiving Day. Nothing ever tasted so good.
I’ve learned a lot about different cultures from my travels, but sometimes I’ve learned the hard way.
My first trip to Singapore for business was 1980 and the city-state had some very strict laws. They still do, but 30 years ago I believe they may have been even stricter. When I got off the plane and walked down the ramp, I saw a sign that had a guy’s picture on it with a red line at the bottom of his earlobe. I didn’t know what to think, but I was in my 20s, it was the ’80s, and my hair was long.
When we got to the end of the Jetway, passengers were instructed to go to the right. I, however, was instructed to go to the left. I was put into a room and an official gave me a haircut. Obviously, if I didn’t accept the haircut I wasn’t going to be able to go through immigration and get into Singapore. I got the haircut, which looked like someone put a bowl on my head and just cut away. That was O.K., and actually a far better alternative than calling my boss and telling him I couldn’t go to a client meeting because I wouldn’t cut my hair.
By Jeffrey Beers, as told to Joan Raymond. E-mail: joan.raymond@nytimes.com.
Article source: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/30/business/jeffrey-beers-on-being-stranded-in-guadalajara.html?partner=rss&emc=rss
