I love to travel. I just hate getting there. And after this afternoon, I’m considering taking a contract out on Richard Branson.
The One and I leave in several hours to fly to London, our first time on Branson’s vaunted Virgin Atlantic. Now admittedly, packing has always been a problem for us. A big problem. We never seem to get it right. Too many bags. Too few bags. Overweight carry-ons. That sort of thing. When we flew to Barcelona two years ago on Lufthansa, we had to suffer through the humiliation of opening our suitcases and rifling through our clothes at the check-in counter in front of dozens of people so we could meet the airline’s stringent carry-on requirements—while a constipated-looking, SS-type airline representative stood watch over us, toe a-tapping.
This time, we decided, we were going to start early. The One began packing this past Monday, a full five days before our departure. Me, I started last night, which translates in normal people’s time to six weeks in advance. All was going well until we read Branson’s ridiculous requirements for luggage allowance this afternoon, mere hours before our departure.
Please note that a garment bag cannot be used as your hand baggage unless it fits the dimensions of the hand-baggage allowance. If you’d like to bring one but it exceeds 23 x 36 x 56 cm, it will need to be as additional checked-in baggage.
If you want to take your laptop on board, you’ll need to place it in your original hand baggage or check your hand baggage in.
What? A laptop can’t be brought on board in its own case?
A little further down, under the scintillating section titled Additional Items You Can Bring With You, it reads
Your handbag, pocketbook, or purse, as you would normally use it (in other words, not just being used to contain items that would otherwise be regarded as baggage).
This is where The One and I got into the start of a bitchfest. What the hell does this mean? Were they going to look in my man purse and make a subjective decision that the contents of said bag did not fit into what they thought I should be carrying in said bag during regular waking hours as I amble through the mall or pick out roses at Costco? Come on, people! Who the heck cares what I bring in my man purse, so long as it doesn’t contain weapons of mass destruction?
We had up to 50 pounds per checked bag, which seemed reasonable enough. Until we started weighing our bags on our beat-up Weight Watchers scale.
“Sixty-one, fifty-five, forty-two, fifty-eight,” said The One, kneeling on the floor and trying to read the display, which was covered, inconveniently, by the bag. Chances are that Virgin Atlantic, unlike The One and me, would not take the lowest weight as gospel truth.
Confused, exhausted, and irritable, we’d been snapping at each other for the past several hours. (In these days of heavy luggage fines, I think psychologists should consider surviving the packing portion of an extended trip as a sign of a healthy marriage.) We decided to check out Virgin Atlantic’s website for carry-on information. If we could shuffle some clothes into our carry-on, we reasoned, we might actually make it to England. But we were allowed a paltry 13 pounds each. The snacks I carry on board weigh more than that, for cripe’s sake.
So began the dance that ended with me crumpled in a heap at my computer and The One mumbling something about, “…twenty years…never changes….” It went something like this:
“Give me your sweaters and I’ll put them in my carry-on to make yours lighter,” he said.
“But it’ll make yours heavier.”
“Mine is lighter though.”
“How do you know? The scale doesn’t work. It says I’m 256 pounds. I haven’t been that since 2006,” I snapped.
“Okay. Put your sweaters in your man purse, because that’s light.”
“But I don’t walk around every day with sweaters in my bag. They’ll make us unpack in public again.”
“Damn. Right. Put your computer in your carry-on. I’ll pack your camera in my bag. I’ll put my shoes in my carry-on, which leaves room for your sweaters in my checked bag. Done!”
And so the Rubik’s Cube of packing continued, causing me to unpack and repack my carry-on bag and my man purse seven times. By the fifth time, surrounded by the detritus of my life, I began wondering if London, and the subsequent 12-day Celebrity Cruise, were even worth it. And I began wondering if Branson is really as rich as he says he is if he needs to be so stinting about luggage, charging whopping fees if you go so much as an ounce over. (Actually, this would be an effective incentive for any weight-loss program: scare the fat off people lest they have to remortgage their homes if they didn’t slim down.)
Now, with just 45 minutes left before the car picks us up, the bags are packed. The combination I chose is (I think) 38.5 pounds of checked luggage and nine pounds of carry-on; which is just some medication, a London guide, my camera; and a man purse—which is, technically, my computer bag. Because, Mr. Branson & Co., this is what I carry around daily. And, yes, it’s filled with cords and plug adapters, and a mini-camera, and a clean pair of underwear. (Momma Leite would die if I went to the hospital in dirty undies.)
But what has me really reeling is this little ditty from Virgin’s website. After a long list under Here’s What You Can’t Bring Onboard, we read:
…and here’s what you can.
• Cigarettes
• Cigars
• Rolling tobacco
• Cigarette papers
• Cigarette lighters including butane, absorbed-fuel (Zippo-style) and battery-powered lighters can be carried on the person, except on flights to Antigua, Barbados, Grenada, Tobago, Havana, and Delhi. Note that you can carry these items onboard, but you can’t smoke them!
Really, Richard? Really? I can’t stuff my man purse with travel items, but I’m allowed to carry on weapons of self-destruction? This ought to be an interesting flight.
I can’t be alone in this. Tell me, what’s your worst travel story? Share your tale of woe below and I’ll read them when I arrive tomorrow in London. Make me feel better. Please?
Oh my gosh, does this remind me of our last trip to Hawaii! The baggage is always a problem. I am a week-ahead-of-time packer, and my husband, who spent 22 years in the Navy is a night-before packer. This makes me crazy. Not to mention for the Hawaii trip, we packed a smaller (carry on?) bag for two days on Oahu and a bigger bag for a week on Kauai.
I’m sorry, but 50 pounds doesn’t begin to cut it, even with sundresses and flip flops. Also, the weight restrictions didn’t begin to account for presents and other cool stuff I bought on the trip! If the airlines and tourist destinations want us to spend our $$$ with their businesses, can’t they figure out an equitable compromise on the luggage thing? As it happened, I had to buy another suitcase on Oahu to carry all my treasures home. (Hawaiian red sea salt, dried plums,tons of cool Japanese stuff, Aloha fabric, jade, more fabric,and other goods.)
That suitcase has turned out to be a blessing, however, as it’s bright: and I mean bright green with big greener flowers. I can spot it a mile away on the baggage conveyor, and it always draws amusing comments. We didn’t fly Virgin, which after hearing all the rules, I will not. I don’t believe Sir Richard would allow my aloha luggage on his airplanes. Have fun in London. Ship your stuff home.
Pam, I think you bring up a hugely intelligent argument. Perhaps instead of airlines dinging us, foreign countries and businesses could finances a bit of the silly baggage fees so that we can, indeed, bring home bags upon bags of things. It supports local economies, makes our travel easier, and makes the world a sunshine-ier place. The One and I always brought a collapsible bag with us when we traveled until these punishing fees were instituted. Now, we bring home hardly any souvenirs.
I love “Me, I started last night, which translates in normal people’s time to six weeks in advance.”
I have no travel commiseration to share, as I don’t often travel, and when I do, I only take carry-on luggage.
Oh, but the last time I was in London, I realized a couple of days into the trip that when I’d booked the hotel, the price had been listed in pounds, not dollars, so my hotel stay was actually costing me about double what I thought I’d pay.
And the bed was AWFUL. I’ve slept on better mattresses on pull-out couches. And I was in a Hilton, not some hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop joint. A friend met me for drinks my first night there. I bitched about the bed. “Welcome to London!” he said, cheerily.
No, I said. On my previous trip there, I stayed in a lovely hotel with a bed like a cloud. Some people in London know a thing or two about comfort.
The last time I looked up the offending hotel online, it had changed hands. It’s no longer a Hilton property. Maybe Paris had stayed there and bitched a fit about the crappy mattresses.
Safe and happy travels to you and The One!
Beth, that’s how The One and I always travel–Paris, Barcelona, Lisbon–one one carry-on each. We couldn’t do that with Branson’s 13-pound allowance. No way, no how. Even if I could have tried my one-pair-of-jeans-one-pair-of-dress-slacks-three-shirts pack job, we’re on a 12-day cruise, and I need more clothes than that.
We’re staying at the Radisson Blu Edwardian Kenilworth in SoHo, and the bed is quite comfortable. Just got up from a 5 1/2 hour nap. (I can’t sleep on planes. Even with drugs.)
Look for Instagram pix of what we do and eat. That is, if Mr. Branson doesn’t have a bandwidth restriction on phones in this country.
I must say, I must be one lucky traveler as I barely ever had any issues with luggage, packing and sizes. But my husband on the other side… Thank you for laughing at your own expense, I and absolutely loved your piece. Now what I am really looking forward is to read after all these turbulences you still had problems at check-in! And if to go there it was already such an affair what will it be on the way back as I presume you NEED to bring some “food souvenirs?”
Sofia, as I mentioned to Mardi, check-in was pretty much without incident. But it seems when I was upgraded to row 49–an exit row–all hell broke loose. There one of my seat mates variously shushed everyone around him and refused to sit because he was on the phone; brought his own four-course dinner, which he made the flight attendants keep warm in the kitchen and later serve to him long before we ate; took forever to turn off his three phones, one iPad, and another device I didn’t even see; and basically shoved his man parts into the side of my head while repeatedly as he reshuffled all of the overhead luggage to make it easier for him to get his bags when we landed. My second seat mate refused to eat with the rest of the plane, requiring that her dinner be served almost an hour after ours, and breakfast be served in two courses: coffee, water, and a Bailey’s–then her muffin top. You know it had to be an insane flight when I’m the sanest and quietest of the bunch.
I am so sorry for your plane experience and again… sounds so very much as some of the stories I hear from my husband! Praying for a better experience on way home. Enjoy your time and keep us posted through all social media about it.