Devina and I were invited to ten weddings in 2017. Ten. It seemed like every weekend we had a wedding going on. Several of them were in Atlanta but many others were abroad and required travel. I managed to make it to six of the weddings and Devina made it to seven (I couldn’t go to the one in India).

The final wedding of the year took place in Playa del Carmen, which is an hour or so from Cancun. The trip ended up being a wonderful tropical respite during a remarkably cold December. It actually snowed multiple times in Atlanta that year, so the weekend was a welcome getaway. Everyone stayed in an all-inclusive resort on the beach with as many free drinks and food we could stuff into our faces. I personally like the resort experience from time to time, despite it being completely artificial. It’s nice being able to relax without having to worry about a sightseeing schedule or finding a good place to eat. The convenience certainly comes at a price and I wouldn’t want to stay at a resort every time I travel. They tend to suck you in and stop you from leaving. You definitely miss out on the local flavor when you stay in a resort.

   

We arrived at the resort Thursday evening and immediately joined the wedding festivities. This was an Indian wedding (my second of many others), so that meant several events throughout the weekend. Suffice to say that there was plenty of eating, drinking, dancing, merriment, and mirth. On the day of the wedding, I hung out with the groom in his hotel room along with many of our other close friends. We ended up walking down to the beach to have cocktails and were joined by the bride. The two of them took pictures while the rest of us enjoyed the beautiful scenery and the fact that none of us were the center of attention that day.

Everyone then walked in the baraat to the ceremony, which took place on an outdoor rooftop overlooking the ocean. It was lovely. The bride and groom had their ceremony by the fire and there were dinner and drinks afterwards. All in all, it was a picturesque wedding in a stunning location. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. There were more events the day after the ceremony and a group of us managed to spend a few hours exploring downtown Playa del Carmen. I even got to eat tacos with handmade tortillas for the first time. The ones you get in a bag from Kroger are hot garbage compared to those. Devina and I had a fantastic time and were sad to pack up and leave on Sunday.

Little did I know that the trip back would be the worst flying experience I’ve ever had.

Devina and I woke up on Sunday morning, got dressed, and had breakfast. It was the final day and neither of us was in a hurry to leave tropical paradise and return to Atlanta’s dreary winter weather. We managed to spend a bit more time with our friends (this is when I had those awesome handmade tacos) and before we knew it, it was time to head to the airport. The hotel provided a shuttle bus to transport us there, along with a large group of wedding guests. We all arrived at the Cancun International Airport en masse and began the arduous customs process to leave the country. Lines, forms, questions, passports – all that good stuff. An hour or so later, Devina and I were waiting at the gate to return to the good ol’ U. S. of A.

I’d like to take a moment to summarize my feelings toward airline travel. Many terms come to mind when I think about flying: soulless, depressing, aggravating, anxiety-inducing, and claustrophobic are the ones that spring to mind immediately. I think it’s safe to say that I loathe having to get on a plane. The speed at which you can get to places is the one real advantage to traveling by air and its the only practical means of reaching the majority of places in the world. International travel is impossible without flying, so I really have no other choice. I’d never get to see my wife’s family in India if we didn’t take a plane. Thus, several times a year, I am forced to squeeze myself into a tiny seat on board of a hollow metal tube that rockets through the air at hundreds of miles an hour and thousands of feet above the ground. Did I also mention that flying is completely terrifying? It’s awful. I hate it. Star Trek-style teleportation cannot get here soon enough.

With these feelings as a preamble, let me now tell you about the ordeal we found ourselves in upon boarding the plane that should have taken us home.

Getting onto the plane and finding our seats happened the way it always does. Wait in line according to seating zone, scan boarding pass, enter plane, and sit down. Devina and I were actually a couple rows ahead of another couple from the wedding who were traveling with their one-year-old daughter. We chatted with them while the rest of the passengers found their seats. Eventually, everyone was strapped in and ready for take-off, which is precisely when everything went sideways.

The pilot came on the loudspeaker saying there was a power outage in Atlanta, so we were waiting for them to resolve it before leaving. He really didn’t give us much more information that that. There was a power issue at the Atlanta airport, so we had to wait. We waited…and waited…and waited some more. I’m going to be using the word “wait” many more times throughout the rest of this story.

After 30 or so minutes, I grabbed my phone and tried to find out what the hell was going on. Some of my friends have a Slack channel for group texting, so I sent them a message asking if they knew anything about a power outage and I also decided to check the trusty r/Atlanta subreddit. Between these two sources, I was able to figure out that Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport was almost completely without power due to a fire in an underground facility. I found pictures and videos of people in blacked out terminals and stories of passengers stuck on planes because the jet bridges weren’t working.

Our plane still hadn’t moved. It had been over two hours at this point and I was pretty certain we were not going to be departing anytime soon. That prediction was soon confirmed when the pilot asked us to disembark and return to the terminal. We gathered our carry-ons and returned to the gate. As it turned out, several other wedding guests had also had their flights delayed and we all ended up congregating inside the Cancun airport Margaritaville. This would be our base camp for the next several hours.

Devina and I did the only thing a person can do when they’re stuck in a Margaritaville for an unknown amount of time: we ordered margaritas. We also asked for fresh made guacamole and had some dinner. There were about 15 others sitting with us at 4 or 5 tables pushed together. I pulled out my trusty phone charger so everyone could keep their various cellular devices running. This was important because our phones were the only way for us to check up on the situation in Atlanta (the airline wasn’t telling us anything). I found some pictures and videos that made it seem like Hartsfield-Jackson was now in a Mad Max scenario. People were stuck all over the airport without food or water and it was pretty obvious to everyone that we were not getting home that day. Obvious to everyone except Delta.

After waiting in the Margaritaville for four or five hours, two of our friends finally had their flight cancelled. Note that they were actually on a later flight than Devina and me. The two of them left the airport and were transported to a nearby hotel until their new flight the next morning. This happened around 7:00 pm and the rest of us all assumed we’d be leaving the airport shortly as well.

WRONG.

Our flight was not officially cancelled until almost midnight. I was nearly delirious by the time they finally announced that we’d all be getting hotel rooms and a new flight at 7:00 am the next morning. I still cannot believe how long it took them to finally admit defeat. The friends I mentioned earlier who got to leave sooner had been texting us that they were in a fancy hotel, had a nice meal, and even managed to go on a walk along the beach. The passengers on our flight, on the other hand, had been stuck in the airport for 10 (maybe 12) hours and had just been told we would be spending an extra night in Mexico.

Everyone from our flight had to line up at the gate desk to receive hotel vouchers and then we were moved towards the airport’s exit. Of course, since we were still in a foreign country, leaving the airport required going through customs again. We had to fill out a questionnaire, x-ray our luggage, and go through random searches. All this to spend less than 12 hours in the country. Anyway, we made it through all the tedium and had yet another line for a shuttle to the hotel. Devina and I hung out with the other couple we knew from our flight during this process. Their one-year-old daughter was asleep in her stroller by this point and I’ve never been more jealous of a toddler.

We eventually boarded a shuttle and were driven to our hotel for the night. I do have to admit that it was probably the nicest La Quinta I’ve ever stayed in (though that isn’t really saying much). We checked into our room, dropped our stuff off, and then decided to get something to eat at the free buffet downstairs. We had our pick from several different types of blobs that resembled food. We ate and then went to bed. I kept thinking about our other friends who had had their flight cancelled hours ago and the pleasant evening they got to enjoy.

Our flight had been rescheduled to 7:00 am the next morning, so we had to be up and ready for the shuttle at 5. This meant getting out of bed and into the shower at 4:00 am. Just as we were dragging ourselves out of bed, we hit on a bit of luck. The flight had been delayed yet again to 9:30, so we were able to get a couple more hours of sleep. The extra snooze did wonders and I felt the best I had in the last 24 hours. Devina and I went downstairs to have breakfast with our friends and then hopped on the shuttle back to the airport. A couple hours later we were on the plane home and it took off this time.

I’ve been thinking about karma quite a bit lately.

Most people tend to ascribe a “what goes around comes around” definition for karma. You get what’s coming to you (more or less). For me, karma is just what happens: plain and simple. Karma is the indifferent revolution of the universe that delivers outcomes without passing judgement. You walk all the way into the restaurant before realizing you left your phone in your car but then you find $20 on the sidewalk as you go out to get it. However, just as you stoop to pick up the twenty, you have a brain aneurysm and collapse in the parking lot. All of those are karma. They just happen: plain and simple.

Looking back, I know that this whole situation was karma. A freak-of-nature fire sparked in an random tunnel and somehow managed to knock out the power to the world’s busiest airport. There’s nothing I could’ve done to alter that chain of events, but I did heightened my own suffering and made the whole thing worse than it had any right to be. I’m very aware I have this tendency and I’m working to stop heaping more negativity on less-than-ideal situations.

Flying still sucks though.

Lessons Learned:

• Staying in a resort is relaxing and convenient but you end up missing out on having an authentic experience.
• Margaritaville is not a bad place to hang out when stuck in an airport.
• Beefy phone charger batteries can be a lifesaver when traveling. I have a ZeroLemon and it comes in handy all the time.
• Being stuck in an airport with a group of close friends is definitely superior to being alone.
• Flying stinks-but that’s karma.