10 Tips for a Better Flight

I’ve traveled all around the world. I love airports, with people going off to unknown destinations. Every flight I’ve taken has had its own rhythm and vibe. Each country has its own methods and rules. It seems I’m always learning something new when my flight goes into Montego Bay, Jamaica so I thought I’d share a few of these tips with you.

My typical trip starts having spent days at home doing laundry and packing. I run around gathering groceries for family meals, even though I know they will replace it with pizza or cereal anyway. I am usually too excited to sleep, knowing I have to get up in the wee hours of the morning.  Instead, I wait up until my husband is ready to drive me to the airport.

Anxiety builds as I go over my mental packing list. Then I relax as I note that I have my passport, my camera, medications, a credit card and some cash. Nothing else really matters. I’m going to my tropical home and life is good.

Arriving at the bustling airport, my passport is scanned, tickets are printed and my suitcase is tagged. I always sweat bullets at this point because, let’s just say, I’m not known for “packing light.” But the bag is weighed and is under 50 pounds. Woohoo! I celebrate!

Then it’s off to the long line at the security check point and I begin to, once again, contemplate the value of the Global Entry program but it’s too late now. (Note to self: Apply for Global Entry program when I get home.) Sometimes, I get lucky enough to get tagged as TSA Pre_check, but it doesn’t always seem to help.

Once my strip-search is complete and my carry-on has been torn apart because, god forbid, I had a granola bar in it (does that only happens to me?), I feel like the worst is over.  I didn’t have to throw anything out this time so I feel pretty accomplished.

Tips 1:  If you travel much at all, apply for Global Entry through the Trusted Traveler Program. It is open to citizens of many countries, is easy to apply for and only costs $100 for FIVE YEARS of hassle free entry.

While going through the rigamarole of TSA security, time has flown by. The announcement is ringing through the air that it’s time to board the plane as I scramble to get my shoes back on and gather my now rumpled belongings. I won’t realize I left my beloved FitBit in the little security bowl until I take a walk on the beach later that night.

Feeling like OJ Simpson in his famous commercial, I dash to my gate, now breaking out in a light sweat. Scooting into line, boarding pass in hand, I pass the final checkpoint as the ticket reader sounds a happy “beep.” Whew!  I’m IN!

Cheerful airline employees welcome me aboard and I wonder how many times a day they have to say that line. Scanning the numbered rows for my assigned seat, I pray that there’s still room for my carry-on in the ever shrinking overhead bins that people are filling up with winter coats. I dread the idea of sitting with my knees tucked up under my chin if there isn’t room.

Tip 2: Take into account your heavy jacket when you plan for your “personal item plus carry-on” space. Don’t be “that guy” that shoves everything he brought into the overheads before people have had a chance to stow their single carry-on.

Even worse, I don’t want to be “that person” who has to go against the flow to gate-check a bag that won’t fit. Breathing a sigh of relief, I tuck my tiny suitcase safely above my seat and quickly slide into my cramped space, sitting down hard on those dang metal seatbelt latches. Why can’t I EVER remember to move those things first???

As the last of the passengers find their seats, I am relieved to discover that everyone in my general vicinity has both showered AND avoided eating a garlic sandwich before boarding. Nobody seems to be coughing up a lung either. I decided that it’s going to be a good flight!

The announcement goes out to turn off cell phones, put away electronic devices, put trays up and locked and keep seats in the upright position. I watch as the older Jamaican couple in front of me pull out their cell phones and begin making calls to friends at home. I wonder to myself if it’s really true that cell phones cause dangerous interference.

Settling back to buckle in, the flight attendants tell us all about how to save our lives “in the unlikely event” that the plane goes down and crashes into the ocean. The old man is still on his phone and has now leaned his seat back far enough to jam into my knees. Am I the only one seeing this?  Could he cause us to crash? I glance around to mark the nearest exit in my memory bank.

Tip 3: Be kind and considerate of fellow passengers. Don’t fly with the flu. Follow the rules. Again, don’t be “that guy.”

To block out the lovely mental image of crashing that was just implanted in my mind, I listen as the jet engines windup. I glance through the window and think about the miracle of flight, especially in a giant, heavy tin can. Even though I have a pilot’s license, flight still blows my mind. Shortly, the plane charges down the runway, forcing my body to merge with the seat.

Moments later, as the pressure releases, everything grows still and quiet, with the exception of the screaming toddler seated behind me. Is my flight going to be ruined? Nope. Eyes closed, I focus on the mantra that has gotten me through months of snow and ice…”Jamaica is waiting. Jamaica is waiting.”

Visions float by of sunny beaches, azure waters, and the faces of my dear Jamaican friends waiting at my destination. The exhaustion of being a mom, who had to plan for her trip as well as the family she is leaving behind, falls heavily on me. Now that I’m sitting still and am relaxed, the toddler menace and I both drift off to sleep.

In what seems like a moment, I awaken to the gentle chirp of the of the wheels touching down on the tarmac. The already tipsy tourists are clapping. I pull myself together and quickly wipe away the drool that dribbled from the corner of my mouth during my short, but deep siesta.

The merry click, click, click of seatbelts being unclasped rings throughout the plane as people start to stretch and move about. Phones begin to ding and ring. Everyone seems cheerful, their travelers fatigue lifting as they realize vacation time has finally begun.

I walk down the ramp into the airport, greeted by a long lineup of wheelchairs. I wonder if there was some mysterious plague that struck passengers while I slept. Did they load 15 people onto the plane from wheelchairs at my departure gate and I missed it?

Suddenly, I am aware of intense humidity. It hits me in the face like walking into a damp curtain. The temperature isn’t that high but I immediately start peeling off clothing while I walk, not wanting to stop and get trampled.

Tip 4: If you are coming from a cold climate, dress in light layers.

Juggling my carry-on and personal items, now added to by my sweatshirt that keeps dragging a sleeve on the ground, I stop to pick up the boot I keep dropping. I begin to recall just how long these hallways are. Just about then, I have to step aside to let a brigade of wheel chair bound Jamaicans whisk by.  Hmmmm…Did I see the cell phone couple among them?

I round a corner and find uniformed employees. They brusquely ask to see my immigration and customs form and passport. Since everything is in order, without a smile or any sign of being human, they motion for me to get into a particular line. If not, I would be sent to the “counter of shame” to fill out a new form. Then comes the fun part…waiting.

Tip 5:  Pay attention when they tell you how to fill out the form on the plane. Ask questions. Make sure you SIGN on both the front and back of the form as this is the biggest reason people get pulled aside.

These lines, snaking back and forth across the open lobby, always make me feel like I’m in a cattle roundup. Occasionally, some joker will actually let out a “mooooo” so I guess I’m not alone in that perception. I question myself about a time of day or day of the week that I could choose to fly in and miss these infernal lines.

To make it worse, the area is hot and everyone is getting cranky. Little kids are whining about how much longer it’s going to take. Weary parents are trying to stay calm as they distract their children with snacks and songs. I glance over and see the wheel chair line getting through in a fraction of the time it’s taking me. There’s the couple from the plane with the cell phones!  Well played, you shifty old Jamaicans.

People are fidgety and not wanting to make eye contact. I focus on lingering in front of the occasional fan mounted here and there, trying to literally keep my cool, until someone shoves me onward. Finally, it’s my turn to go before the immigration officer. I’m pretty certain that the color drains from my face every time I do this. My mouth goes dry.

Tip 6:  Be prepared with answers to the possible immigration questions.  Know the immigration laws of any country you visit.  Don’t wing it and say the wrong thing because you are nervous. (Talking to myself here.)

Mind you, I am one of the most rule following, upstanding, honest people you will ever meet.  So why is it that these people always make me feel a bit like a criminal?  I break out in a sweat, my hands start shaking and my mind goes blank. I feel guilty and I haven’t even done anything!

Watching as the officer flips through my passport, now loaded up with years of Jamaican stamps, she asks the purpose of my visit. I tell her that I’m on vacation. She looks at me suspiciously. She asks how long I’m staying and where is my actual “dest-i-NA-tion” in this overly enunciated way.

On my most recent trip, I had my husband and two kids along. They were staying only for the first week of my long trip. The officer asked the length of our stay. I replied, “A week…well, they are staying for a week but I’m here for six weeks.” Huge error! Like I said, my mind goes numb in front of these people and I get stupid.

This officer became particularly interested in me at that point. She demanded to see my return ticket.  Fortunately, I hadn’t waited to purchase one as I have on many previous trips. I had to wait for my phone to power up and find the confirmation email for the ticket that I had literally just booked while in my layover on the way down two hours before.

Tip 7: Print out or have otherwise quickly available a copy of your return ticket. Jamaica used to be pretty lax about Americans only being allowed 90 days per trip without filing for an extension but they’ve really clamped down on it lately.

Showing her the ticket information, she launched into a series of questions about how all of this worked. Was I going to extend my stay in the resort?  Was I paying extra money for it?  On and on she went until I convinced her that I rent a house in Jamaica for the year and can’t handle the winter weather back home due to a variety of physical maladies that cause me great pain.

She took all sorts of notes but eventually handed back our stamped passports and sent us on our way. I felt like I had just been let out of prison as we headed to the carousel to collect our suitcases. Then I prepared for the final hurdle…the power hungry customs officers.

I’m guessing that a large part of Jamaica’s government money must come from import taxes. They take it pretty seriously if you try to pass through the “nothing to declare” line with items that go beyond the “personal items.” I also learned this the hard way.

Tip 8: Don’t pack anything of value or bring gifts into Jamaica unless you either have nerves of steel or you plan on declaring them.

Granted, you are allowed $500 worth of duty-free “goods” per family member traveling with you, as long as they are not intended for resale. However, I was recently informed that you are actually supposed to claim those items even though they are duty-free. Better safe than sorry?  I’ll let you decide.  I’ve started leaving price tags on anything newly purchased, as well, because they can be pretty arbitrary when they “value” your belongings.

A few trips back, I decided to take a medium-sized suitcase and a wheeled duffel bag rather than one large suitcase. The larger cases always seem to weigh too much when I’m done. I still packed my carry-on bag so that my computer and medications wouldn’t leave my side. I also had a backpack with my ukulele, my camera and a few personal items in it.

A baker at home, I decided to bring down some of my excess baking items. The plan is that we will eventually be living in Jamaica. It made sense to take them down rather than take them to Goodwill. It had taken me three weeks to gather and carefully pack my puzzle-like belongings.

Traveling alone that trip, I grabbed a luggage cart and piled it all on. I hadn’t even made it to a customs line yet, when a customs officer and her sidekick came screaming across the room to me. Treating me like a criminal suspect, she tossed a paper at me and told me to write down every item in ALL of my bags along with the value of each item.

Listen, I can’t recall what I had for lunch yesterday. How was I going to recall three weeks worth of packing? I explained that to her and asked if I could open my bag. She refused my request and added that if anything was left off of my list when they opened my bags, I was going to be in BIG trouble. Yeah, threatening me really helped my memory…not!

I eventually got away from her after she tossed my bags and realized all I had was clothing and old bakeware, but I felt weak and my knees were knocking. Trying to re-pack my bags with shaking hands proved futile. I ended up walking the rest of the way holding rattling cake pans and a few random items in my arms.

Tip 9:  Try to condense your packing and don’t use the carts if you can help it, at least flying into Montego Bay.  I really believe it was the pile of luggage on the cart that caught her attention.

At this point, it’s usually pretty smooth sailing. I exit the customs area and enter the chaos of the airport arrivals lobby. Mobbed by porters, asking if they can transport my bags, I thank them and trudge on through.  I can’t take the luggage carts outside, but I already know that I’m only about 100 feet from the curb where my driver will pick me up.

Gathering my bags, I head out through the airport doors into the muggy, hot air. Scores of drivers are waiting, many holding signs with family names on them. The local drivers association men immediately swoop in to asking if I need a taxi, like being swarmed by hungry bees.

I scan the crowd and quickly spot the driver I’m looking for, “my guy,” Butty. He’s one of the few Jamaicans I’ve met who actually arrives early! A huge smile cracks across his face as he sees me and he throws a big hug around me.

Tip 10:  Set up your ride to the hotel ahead of time through tour companies, Knutsford Express Bus or a private, trusted driver.  It’s hard to know who is legal and who is a criminal at a quick glance.

Butty scampers off to grab his taxi from the parking area. I stand soaking in the sunshine and warmth. Pain starts to leave my body and every cell beginning to relax. There is a ton of activity surrounding me but I’m already slipping into my “zone.”

I still have a drive ahead that is about two and a half hours long, over the mountain on narrow, pothole filled roads, but it doesn’t phase me. Butty pulls up and loads my bags.  We head off, chatting about our day and catching up on all that has happened since I left. I’m home again and that makes the entire journey worth it.

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