Sigh. America.

 

It’s bad enough that I have to return to the states.  It’s even worse that the liquids that I traveled with through three countries are suddenly too much to get on the plane in Dublin (the gallon Ziploc I used had to be scrapped for a quart size – anything that didn’t fit had to be tossed).  But the worst part is that I couldn’t get a direct flight from Dublin to Atlanta.  I had a single layover.

JFK is not a happy place.  I only knew the airport by its bad reputation and had managed to avoid it.  Until this trip.  The flight from Dublin was unremarkable (some more accents on Aer Lingus).  Then it was on to the fun of this infamous airport in New York.

First, I was confused by my luggage tag.  I had checked in by machine in Dublin and the tag said my bag was cleared for JFK and not Atlanta.  I had already passed through baggage claim when I realized this and went into panic mode.  I stood in line to ask about the bag and after some scrambling by the staff, they told me it was checked through.  I sighed in relief, then tried to figure out where to catch my plane.  I went to the nearby gate only for the staff to flag me down to tell me that I had to go across the street to catch a train to the correct terminal.

Second, I was confused by the train station.  I made it there okay, but the signage said that the station was closed due to construction.  There were some other people also waiting so I thought I was in the right place.  There was no staff around to ask so I just waited and hoped for the best.  The train did eventually show up and it was on to the next terminal.  And I thought Atlanta was huge.  This place is insanely big and there’s construction everywhere to expand it.  Forget the three-hour window you should give yourself for an international flight.  Including New York traffic into the mix and you should probably head into the airport 5 or 6 hours early.  Just to be on the safe side.

And third, even though I was only transferring from one airline to another, in my home country, I had to, once again, go through security.  That whole process is a pain the butt to begin with, but I just went through it in Dublin.  It was yet another long line (of New Yorkers – a loud, colorful bunch), shoes off, electronics out, put your hands up (you’re under airport arrest). And my already screened bag got flagged.  Sigh.  The souvenir corkscrew that I’d managed to get through Portugal, Greece, and Ireland, on the last leg before I put it in storage, gets tossed.  It only cost me about three euros, it’s easily replaceable because I will be returning to Madeira, and I already had a corkscrew in storage.  Not the point.  I was almost done.

Needless to say, by this point I was pissed.

The only (slightly) redeeming aspect of this flight was getting to see New York as I was happily leaving it.  I had only been through the city by car once on a camping trip from Maryland to Nova Scotia decades ago.  My mother always said we would take a train ride up for a shopping trip, but that never happened.  And since the city has been in steady decline for years, I think this might be the only time I get to see it.  At least you can’t see all the rats and garbage from up high.

One other thing.  This was my first time traveling on JetBlue and I was somewhat impressed.  Compared to the service on Aer Lingus, this American airline actually came out on top.  Imagine that.

Back in Atlanta.  Tell me, has this airport always been this big?  Yes, it was my home airport for almost 30 years.  But after dealing with some smaller and easier to manage airports in Europe, this place feels like a city unto itself.  I had to trek about 10 miles to get to baggage claim, then another 20 miles by Skytran to get to the car rental place.  I don’t recall ever renting a car from the airport as I’d always had my own car, but I don’t remember the rental place being in a separate building on the other side of the highway.  The multi-level facility feels brand new as there is still construction going on around it. 

After waiting for far too long, I got a ride and prepared myself to re-enter the joy of Atlanta traffic.  And there was so much joy to be had for everyone. For so many people.  The only good thing I can say is that after 2 months of strictly being a pedestrian, driving didn’t feel as alien as I thought it would.  The car helped.  It was a Toyota Corolla, not too different from the Honda Civic I used to have, so it wasn’t hard to figure out the controls or move it through traffic.  I just had to remember that it was a black car with Kansas license plates.

I had scheduled a stay in a Fairfield Inn in Woodstock.  I’d stayed there after I sold the house before my trip to Portugal and knew it was a decent place with a free breakfast.  It was also centrally located to all the places I needed to visit; the pharmacy, my P.O. box, and my storage facility.

I’d lived in this area for almost twenty years and know it very well.  It’s only after a couple of months in Europe that I realized something; there aren’t a lot of restaurants here.  Oh, there are plenty of fast-food joints and chain places, but very few diners or independent restaurant owners.  That is troubling.  I looked for somewhere to sit down and maybe have a drink and the only things available were Burger King, or Popeye’s, or Chipotle.  Since all these places are geared to attract car traffic, they are very close to the road and easy to see.  Any little restaurant tucked into a strip mall would be missed because there’s a huge parking lot between them and anyone who might see them.  You’d only visit them if you already knew they were there.

About the fast-food joints – what has happened in the last few months?  I only rarely hit Wendy’s when I was in Woodstock and had encountered some staff shortages and long wait times.  But now?  I went to one Wendy’s only to find it closed.  Went to Burger King – they were having computer issues and couldn’t take orders.  Went to Popeyes and was completely ignored (though I think they were still open).  I eventually went to IHOP only because I was hungry and they were actually open.  I don’t think I’ve ever been there for dinner, but I took my chances.  The place barely had anyone in it, allowing me to enjoy my salmon, mashed potatoes, and broccoli in peace.  And this was a Friday night.  What is happening?

I’ll admit it; I’ve gotten spoiled.  I am now a big fan of finding a nice meal with an adult beverage in walking distance.  This deal of having to drive around looking for food and still coming up empty is not working for me.  I’d seen multiple videos on YouTube from folks who had moved abroad, then come back to the states and experienced reverse culture shock.  It only took me a couple of months, but I’m already right there with them.  I just hoped that the reports of those same people getting sick from American food wouldn’t apply to me as I would only be there for a couple of days.

This picture is from Food Terminal in Alpharetta.  I had seen the restaurant before I left for Europe and had no idea what it was.  Now back in the states and desperate for a meal that wasn’t fast food, I ventured in.  Turns out, it’s an expensive Chinese place that plays country music.  Strange, but not a bad meal.

Picked up my mail including the box of souvenirs I’d sent from Greece (I still can’t believe it arrived before I did!). Included in the post was the check from selling my car (which I expected) and a check from Wells Fargo, refunding my escrow account.  Didn’t see that coming, but I will happily take that $1300 and do some more travel 😊.

A brief history of my prescription drama.  I was diagnosed with high blood pressure almost twenty years ago.  It runs on both sides of my family, I’m black, and overweight so the diagnosis didn’t surprise me.  The meds I’m on are insanely expensive which is why most pharmacies don’t carry them.  I had a mail-in drug service with my employer which made getting a 90-day supply easier to attain and only costing me $125 per shipment.  Well, when the job ended, so did the insurance and the mail-in service.  I resorted to hitting a local CVS for my last bottle of pills, which, without insurance, cost me $1300 for a 3-month supply.  I did not want to pay that, but I was heading out of the country with no guarantee that the pill would be available overseas.

After scouring three countries, I was able to find similar pills only in Greece.  I’m sure the lady behind the counter thought this American woman had lost her mind as I was practically jumping up and down to find some HBP medicine.  I was able to score a month’s worth of pills for a fraction of the cost in America and I didn’t need a prescription.  It was a miracle.

One that was not to be repeated in the states.  I had phoned in my order from Dublin but knew there would be a problem because there always is.  My secondary script was filled perfectly – thank you.  But once again, they tried to give me the generic of my Diovan which I have repeatedly told them does not work for me.  The prescription from my doctor says no generic, I have told them no generic, the last bottle of pills I got from this pharmacy was not generic (and had to be brought in special order).  Why do I keep having to explain this to these people?

They said they would put in the order and it should arrive the next day.  Uh huh.  In the meantime, I went to my storage facility.  I had this insane notion of repacking my bag with a different set of clothes.  Then I opened the door to my unit.  Yeah.  Right.  If I had packed this space myself, I might have an idea where anything was located.  But, since the movers packed the space to the gills, there was no way I’d be able to find anything without ripping through every box.  Not happening.  I dropped off the souvenirs and called it a day.

Since I still had no idea where I was going next (as long as I was in Europe, I didn’t care), I extended my stay for another day.  It didn’t help that I couldn’t get a consistent WIFI connection in the hotel.  As I mentioned, I’ve stayed there before and the connection was fine.  Now, after two months of mostly decent connections in Europe, I got nothing.  So, yeah.  That makes sense. 

Went back to CVS on my last day expecting another hassle and, as usual, they didn’t disappoint.  After a long wait, then a long search, the clerk tried to give me the same pills I had rejected two days before.  Then after another search, she said that the pills I ordered hadn’t arrived.  I said thanks and promptly left.  I’d have to find another source.  At this point, I’d rather go back to Greece and clean them out than go through this nightmare again.

 I managed to make flight arrangements from my phone and was too happy to get back to the airport.  Three nights in the country were more than enough to make me look forward to the long trip I’d have to take to get back to Europe.