Don’t arrive at the St. Thomas airport any earlier than you have to. There’s nothing there except a giant, hot room full of irritated travelers. “The flight to Philadelphia scheduled for 5pm will now be departing at 10:35pm.” I was glad that our plane was only arriving to St. Thomas a few minutes late. Their flight wouldn’t be landing in Philadelphia until after 1am. I was glad to not be on that flight.

“Next station stop: Philadelphia” is what I just heard from the conductor. And yes, it’s 1am.

My flight eventually left St. Thomas about 15 minutes late. I wasn’t too concerned about the minor delay – I had plenty of time to catch my connecting flight to DCA. The flight was fine, but had some significant turbulence at various times. The movie was Martian Child, or something like that. I really don’t know how that ended because with maybe 5 minutes left, the flight attendant put the screen away. He shrugged and pointed somewhere, as if to deflect our rage to some external villain.

Landing at JFK, we taxied for 10 minutes. Then we had an unusually long walk from the jetway to the terminal, through switchbacks of long hallways and dimly lit corridors. I think this proves that at JFK, even the planes can’t park close.

While making the trek, I listened to a new voicemail. “If this isn’t a good time, just say ‘not now’ and you can call us at your convenience.” Then a long pause. “There has been a change in your flight reservation for March 8, 2008. Your flight from New York JFK to Washington Reagan has been cancelled. You have been automatically rebooked on a flight departing 9:30 AM, Sunday March 9 arriving Boston.” I stopped listening. Cancelled? Boston? Sunday morning? I don’t know which part was more shocking. The message continued. I would connect in Boston, then finally depart for DCA. “If you accept this change, please say yes. If you don’t accept this change, please say no.” It repeated. Then it repeated again. Finally an operator came on. Hello? Hello? He hung up. Message over.

That just wasn’t acceptable. There was no point in saying ‘no’ to my voicemail. I opened the web browser on my phone and went to amtrak.com. NYP to WAS, departing 11:05pm. It was just a little after 9. I could get from JFK to Penn Station and just take a train, I thought. I called the airline to see if I had their blessing. It was risky, she told me. If I cancelled my reservation for the morning, I’d lose my seat and the soonest they could get me to DC was Monday.

I headed outside and found a taxi. The driver thought it’d take 40 minutes to get to Penn Station. That put me in the station at 10:50 – just 15 minutes before the train. Perfect. The Van Wyck was somewhat congested, but the LIE was wide open. We hit the Queens MIdtown tunnel in no time. Everything was smooth until we crossed 7th Ave. Penn Station is on the other side of Madison Square Garden. And as we arrived, some giant event was just letting out. The driver said it’d be impossible to get through all the pedestrian traffic. I’d have to walk the last block or more. So I stepped out of the cab, and the sting of the wind and the strange looks I got from the people getting into my taxi reminded me that I was dressed for the Caribbean – not New York in the winter. I had pants and a long sleeve shirt on, but these people looked cold even with their big coats. “I thought Chicago was the windy city” I heard someone say.

This wasn’t my first time taking the train from NYP. I knew right where to go. Luckily, it didn’t matter much. I had plenty of time. The train was 20 minutes late on top of that.

With my ticket in hand, I waited for the train and called the airline again. I told them I found another way to DC, so I wouldn’t need the flight tomorrow. He refunded my money for the cancelled flight, which nicely covered the cost of my taxi from JFK and the Amtrak ticket to DC.

But what about my checked bag? Time will tell. Between me and the bag, I’m glad it’s the one sleeping in the airport tonight.

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