***Not posted in real-time due to internet connections in international airports.**
Growing up, my family spent a week every summer at Lake
Quinault. The mental file labeled “Lake Memories” is thick and chock full of
the kind of stories that magical childhood summers are made of. It was at The
Lake that my dad taught me how to sail. My grandfather owned a small (very
small) single-hull dinghy that made sailing fairly easy to pick up. That dinghy
is the source of one of my more intense Lake memories. It was the day my dad
spontaneously taught me about capsize recovery (much to both of our surprise!)
It was late afternoon, the time of day for the best sailing
winds. Not a cloud in the sky. My dad was skipper as we pulled away from the
dock, but after a brief refresher course he turned the helm over to me. It was
smooth sailing. The only sound was the occasional luff of the sails when I
failed to trim them right. We were headed into a cove just upwind from our
lodging and I knew that if I didn't “come about” soon, we would lose our wind
in the protection of the cove. I called out the order and my dad jumped to post
with the jib rigging as he responded to my call with a “Ready now!” When the
main sail caught the change in wind, the boom swung around and trapped my dad
on the down-wind side of the sail. Typically he would have sneaked under the boom,
but what neither of us realized was that the boom was running lower than usual
due to the fact that the mail sail had not been pulled to the top of the mast.
Between his entrapment and the main sail catching wind, our little dinghy
started taking on water. In less than a minute, Dad and I were lying prone
across the bottom side of our boat, me gasping in shock and bewilderment. We
were able to right the boat, but failed to get her to sail again, drifting
conveniently back to our dock with the prevailing winds. We were lucky, and I
was the brunt of a series of sailing jokes for years to come. I maintain that
since no permanent damage was done and all parties involved arrived on land
without injury, the whole incident has actually made me a more proficient
sailor.
Unlike the skippers who manage to keep their vessel upright,
I have had the experience of unexpectedly capsizing a boat. In the event that I
should ever again be on a capsizing boat, I know what to do and know how to
manage the undesirable situation while remaining calm. (Trust me; you want me
as a captain! Hahaha!) Tonight I capsized my boat.
No, I’m not sailing home from India. (Though, now that you
mention it that might be my next adventure… Dad, you game?) I am flying home.
Actually, I SHOULD be flying right now, but I’m not. I’m sitting in the Chennai
airport waiting for my flight, my new flight, to start boarding. Yes. I missed
my flight.
We left Chennai by taxi in what should have been enough time
to make it to the airport and to my gate. However, we seemed to hit traffic at
every turn. It felt like the last four kilometers to the airport took just as
much time to travel as the first 120 (or so). While I was sitting in traffic,
the Emirates ticket counter was closing its doors. I arrived still hopeful that
I could somehow make it through all check points and to my flight; however,
when the porter at the door told me the counter was closed I knew my boat had
capsized.
I have never missed a flight before. I wasn't sure what
protocol would be here in India. I was ushered to the customer service office
and was given a help line to call. The problem was I no longer had a phone that
would make a call from India. Those at the service office must have felt my
distress and told me someone would be by to help me shortly. Within five
minutes the phone had been dialed for me and I was talking to a cordial man
about my predicament. He confirmed my original booking details and politely
passed my case to his colleague. Many “hold please” and a few questions later I
was told that for a small fee of $600 USD I would be booked on the same flight
24 hours later. Not my first choice. At all. I was finding it hard to right my
boat. I asked the kind lady if there was any way I could fly out on the 0330
flight that left in a few hours and still make my connection flight in Dubai.
She told me it didn't look good as the flight was full, but I could try if I
called back in a few hours. She also warned me that the flight she offered me
might not be available. I took my chances. After collecting my bags, I ushered
myself and the knot in my stomach out to the general waiting area to pray out
the next hour. I prayed with some kind of fervor, let me tell you.
With a sense of peace slowly settling on me, I tried to distract
myself with some reading. My mind was not able to focus on the words on the
pages, but instead images of lying prone on the bottom of a capsized boat
flashed to mind. I was at least safe and floating. My boat was still
up-side-down, but the shock of the capsize was waning. I knew that I would make
it home… eventually… and that I would be a more seasoned international traveler
as a result of this experience.
An hour later I approached the customer service office again
and cautiously knocked on the door asking if I could again try to get on the
0330 flight to Dubai. The man who responded to my plea told me he would do what
he could to get me on the flight and that I should have a seat next to him. He
began typing away in what looked like MS-DOS format; jibberish to me as I tried
to figure out if I was going to make it on the flight. Soon he turned to me and
said, “Go out and sit, then check in at 1130. I will do what I can. It might
take a while.” I resumed my post in the general waiting area with the sense
that he was helping me right my vessel. An hour later I again approached the
office and he waved me off to go check in. Wait. What? I was told the flight
was full. Did I get on? He confirmed that he had gotten me on the flight and
mysteriously the $600 fee was not mentioned or charged. I would indeed make my
connection flight in Dubai. If it would have been culturally appropriate I
would have hugged the man, shoot dang! I could have even kissed his cheek!
However, his stoic demeanor broke into a smile only for a second when I began
to variously shake his hand and thank him—thank him for helping me complete a
successful capsize recovery. I can now say I have missed an international flight, survived to tell the story, and claim to be all the more experienced for having gone through it.
As I sit here by my gate, continuously thanking my Lord for
answered prayers, I find the irony in missing my flight home. After all, I
didn't really want to leave India. Alas and alack, I am sailing home… And if
any of you should be leery of international travel, take me with you; I can
lend my experience should you miss your flight home.