Vacations Are Supposed To Be Relaxing, Right?
My husband and I are supposed to go on a cruise for a friend’s wedding. Our plane is late, so we miss the boat. The airline pays for us to stay at a hotel and then tells us we can get a flight to the next port of call, which is in the Dominican Republic. They tell us the port is an hour’s drive from the airport.
We stay overnight and get the flight, and once we land, we find out that the port is on the other side of the island and a six- to eight-hour drive. Naturally, we’re ticked. We have to negotiate with the taxi service to be driven out for a flat rate of 200 USD.
We’re driving and driving, and we keep seeing jeeps and trucks with guys hanging off the back with assault rifles so, naturally, we’re a little concerned.
We are getting close to the time that the ship will be leaving, and we’re still about an hour to an hour and a half away.
He stops at a small puddle-jumper airport that only goes to Puerto Rico and back. The driver wants to leave us there. My husband understands enough Spanish to know what is being said and tells me in a whisper. The staff says, “No, you are not abandoning these people here. You are taking them back.” They tell him that we were assured by the driver that he would get us there in time, but he didn’t, so it’s really on him that he didn’t keep his word. (And he has to go back anyway.)
The driver grumbles and says fine, but he needs to get some food first. He starts driving through some really sketchy neighborhoods looking for street vendors. He finds one and gets us a couple of bottles of water — water bottles that have previously been drunk, washed out (hopefully), and refilled. These bottles end up leaking in my carry bag and soaking almost everything in it. He starts driving back, and he pulls over when we’re getting closer and tells us that we need to give him 200 more dollars or he’s leaving us there. Had we known the airport was literally three blocks away, I would have told him to stuff off. Since we have no idea where we are, we have no choice but to pay him.
We get to the airport, and although the building is open, the airport is closed. We can sit inside, but we have to wait until 6:00 am for the airport to open again. At this point, it is around midnight. My husband spends the time taking the papers in my bags that got soaked and drying them with the hand dryer in the bathroom. I try to get some sleep curled up on the chair, but it is freezing in there and not conducive to getting any rest.
Morning comes, and we go to the counter to get booked on a flight back to the US because we are so over this wedding and cruise. (The cruise refund is a whole other nightmare story.)
I tell the agent what a horrible time we’ve had and what we went through being held up by the driver, and she’s uh-huhing and pretty much ignoring us. (I really just need to vent; I’m not expecting or looking for an upgrade or anything.) She is having trouble booking tickets back to the US for us. She calls over a supervisor, and I tell the story again, including how we got held up by the taxi driver. She starts uh-huhing and then stops and looks me straight in the eye.
Supervisor: “WHAT?!”
I reiterate the part about being held up by the driver (that he was going to abandon us if we didn’t give him more money).
Supervisor: “THAT IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE! We don’t treat visitors like that in this country.”
She punches a couple more buttons.
Supervisor: “You will not be charged for the ticket change, and I am getting you on the next flight. It leaves in twenty-five minutes, so you’re going to have to run for the gate.”
The first agent made no mention of a ticket change price, so we had no idea that what she was doing was either trying to find the cheapest ticket change price or the highest.
We made our flight, but I didn’t breathe easy until the announcement came over the PA that we were crossing into the US. I had never been so glad to get home.