FLIGHT ADVENTURES

I could talk about flight experiences for a long time and have many fun and even scary stories, but nothing quite tops my experiences on Yugoslavian Airlines. It was back in the 1980s when I was living in Italy that I took two round trip flights Rome-New York-Rome. It was the choice airline for those of us with very limited funds and it was quite the adventure. Although the first trip was crazy enough, you may think I am exaggerating when I write about the second. I assure you. I am not.

It was normal vacation time from my job at Editing Service, a translation agency and typing service in the heart of Rome, Italy. The only way I could afford to return to New York to visit with friends and family was to take the two day trip via Yugoslavian Airlines. I couldn’t tell you the cost or how much money I saved but in hindsight, the adventure is worth the story since I am still alive.

The first leg of the trip was a short flight from Rome to Belgrade, Yugoslavia with a sleepover in a Belgrade hotel. (Belgrade is now part of Serbia.) Being short of funds and in the days before having a credit card was the norm, at least for me, I carried with me little money. I recall having some Italian Lira, no longer in existence, and a $20 bill. When I arrived at the not too exciting looking hotel by bus from the airport with all of the other either cheap, poor or unknowing passengers, I got off the bus with an aggressive porter grabbing my bag to carry into the hotel. I tried to stop him because I knew I had no money to tip and I sure was not able to give up my $20 bill. The porter would not let go of my bag and when we got to my room, he waited to no avail. He stormed away visibly annoyed.

I forgot about the incident and explored Belgrade a little, just around my hotel. It was not a pretty city as it had been shabbily rebuilt after World War II and it did not have a really safe feel. That unsafe feel really came to a head in the middle of the night when someone was banging on my door. I do not recall what the person said but I do recall a man’s voice. I just stayed in bed, scared to death, hoping the person would go away, which he eventually did. I have always figured it was the angry porter that I did not tip.

I got up the next morning, eager to leave and get my flight to New York. The flight itself was interesting and relatively uneventful. What stands out in my mind is the good food, hot towels that were handed out to wipe my face, and the water that was gushing into the plane as we were in the middle of our descent. I realize that steam usually fills the air upon descent as the air outside gets much warmer, but there was literally water gushing in all of the crevices like around the doors and above. I calmly asked a flight attendant what was happening and she calmly replied that it was condensation. I have flown a great deal, and never again did I see anything like it and certainly never before. 

I landed at JFK in New York safely and went on to enjoy a two week vacation visiting my friends and family. I do not recall anything unusual about the return trip and a sleep over in Belgrade was not necessary. 

All in all, the experience was bad enough that I decided that I would find a different way home the next time I returned to the states as I felt that the savings were probably not worth the discomfort. Little did I know that an emergency would come up in the not so distant future and I needed to get back to New York.

When my sister, Maria, was diagnosed with cancer and was set to have surgery, I could not stay away. I wanted to be with her and needed to get home. My only financial option was Yugoslavian Airlines. I was smarter this time and befriended a woman on the plane and after telling her my story of the man banging on the door, asked if she would like to share a room in the hotel. That was an improvement, but things began to deteriorate the next day.

When we got to the airport and through security, we looked up on the board and there was no departure time for our flight and no explanation. Passengers were trying to get information but to no avail and hours passed. These were the days before cell phones and the only telephone booths were back through security. I decided that I would be the best person to go to the phone even though it was not allowed as I spoke a couple of languages and could be helpful in making calls for others. I was afraid that I could get arrested but I did it anyway. Luckily I was able to talk myself out of any trouble and returned through security without any issues. There was still no flight departure time on the board. 

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, our flight appeared on the board and we departed. An explanation was never given. My family knew I would be late because of the call, but they had no idea that my flight was going to Chicago O’Hare instead of JFK. Now don’t forget that I wasn’t really in my right mind worrying about my sister and all. I learned that I would have to get a flight to LaGuardia Airport from O’Hare and that there was very little time to get from one flight to the next. I was wondering how my brothers were going to know to pick me up there but somehow they figured it out. What I didn’t know was that Chicago O’Hare was ridiculously large and that I needed to run what seemed to be a 5K to get to my next flight. It was probably a mile and I ran like crazy.

When I got to my gate all out of breath they had just closed the door to get through the tunnel to the plane. I went berserk, banging like a maniac on the door and screaming, “Let me in,” Let me in.” I must have looked and sounded extremely pathetic and distraught because they actually let me in. I landed safely at LaGuardia Airport running into the arms of my two older brothers who were waiting there for me. Needless to say, my luggage did not make it, but it was recovered and delivered the next day. After two weeks in New York where I spent time visiting with my sister and working at a German bank through a temp agency because I desperately needed money, I returned to Rome without any issues.