Back in 2019, Max and I planned a vacation to New York City for May of 2020. As you may recall, the world wasn’t vacationing anywhere in May of 2020, least of all to New York City. We all spent the spring of 2020 hunkering down in our bubbles. We tried not to breathe when we made our potentially deadly trips to the grocery store. We hoarded toilet paper. We collected large wardrobes of fashion-forward face masks. We called driving through a temporary medical facility to get a COVID test a “date night.”
The hotel we had booked in Manhattan was open in May, but it was too soon for most people to even consider traveling for pleasure. I had a relaxed attitude about COVID, but even I felt faintly queasy about shooting my shot with New York City. Besides, nothing besides the hotel was operational. I couldn’t see the point of being tourists when the only sights we could see would be within the four walls of a cramped hotel room. We cancelled our trip.
Somehow or another, the idea of New York became permanently tangled in my brain with the idea of a deadly worldwide pandemic. After there was a vaccine, after the pandemic waned, after the world started breathing in the produce aisle again… I still became overwhelmed with the thought of another New York trip. It was not that I could not face traveling. I led the charge to re-engage with tourism in November of 2020. It was just New York that paralyzed me. It may be that the whole process of planning a trip to New York City scared me as much as COVID. Once the first trip got shoved to one side, the momentum of my tourist courage shattered in an irrecoverable kind of way.
I was born in the Bronx and lived on Long Island until I was five. I have memories from a few trips when I went to see family as an adult. In those instances, I visited New York City, but I always had a keeper. I never needed to be responsible for any decisions or directions. I just kept both eyes and one hand on whatever family member accompanied me and hoped for the best. I found even that to be scary.
So, what in heaven’s name made me think it was a clever idea to become the designated travel agent for a fun New York City vacation? I blame it on my cousin Raymond. Last year, I decided it had been way too long since I had seen him and his family. His younger son, my godson, was going to be celebrating his 21st birthday in July and I decided to visit them on Long Island for the occasion. On one of the days I was visiting, we planned a trip to Manhattan to see a play. I survived the ordeal easily. The thing is- my beloved Raymond and his wife made it all too easy for me. They helped me select a hotel near them, provided my airport transportation, picked me up at the hotel every day to shuttle me around to anywhere I wanted to go, and provided all my entertainment. When we went to Manhattan, I was able to employ my tried-and-true method of getting around by keeping both eyes and one hand on some member of my New York family at all times. Their generosity, in every way, was almost embarrassing. I certainly did not expect it. I did not want them to feel they had to make that kind of effort again- at least not without me making a similar effort for them in my own stomping grounds.
Bottom line- I was duped. Because this foray into New York tourism was a spectator sport for me, I convinced myself that it was possible for me to do it on my own. Nope. Not even a little bit. Our five-day trip (including two travel days) showed me that I am delusional about my competency in this arena. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count all the mistakes I made.
My original plan was to use Uber to get to the hotel from the airport and for all our transportation needs on Long Island. We planned to take the train into the city on our three whole days of the trip. I had hop-on/hop-off bus tickets for transportation around Manhattan. In the week or so before we left, I started re-thinking- something that is almost always an error in judgment for me. I noticed that the drive from the airport to the hotel was only 18 miles and I did not remember it as being a bad drive when Ray transported me last year. Eighteen miles, I thought… how bad could it be? I decided that, if I rented a car, it would be more convenient to get to the hotel and, also to get to the train station, restaurants, etc. on Long Island. I checked the prices for rental cars and found a great deal. I made the reservation and convinced myself that I could do this thing.
On the day of our trip, we arrived at the Orlando airport in plenty of time. As we sat in front of Starbucks, I received a call from the hotel. They were calling to tell me that the two-bedroom suite I reserved over six months ago was, unfortunately, not going to be available after all. The hotel assured me it was not a problem because they were going to comp us another room so we would have separate sleeping spaces. Not ideal, but we could live with it. It did leave us with the question of how a room that we reserved months ago could suddenly not be available, but we decided to go with the flow.
Our flight was scheduled to arrive at JFK at 1:00pm. We got there around 1:30, thanks to some random pre-flight taxi-ing around the Orlando airport. While in the air, I received a text from the rental car company. They were cautioning me to bring proof of insurance. No car rental company has ever asked for that in my experience. I, of course, had not packed my handy-dandy insurance card. Still, I told myself not to sweat it; I could probably access my account online and get a digital copy of the card. Then, I kept reading (the text had many, many words.) The rental company clarified that said handy-dandy insurance card was not sufficient. They required a copy of the policy as well. No need to fret, they said, because they conveniently sold insurance at their counter.
Well, fret I did. I felt faintly sick to my stomach thinking of how much they probably charged for such “convenient” insurance. Still, I was not yet in despair. The text gave directions on how to get to their pick-up counter at JFK. After we picked up our bags, we embarked on that adventure. The first stage was getting on the AirTrain out of the terminal. We boarded the AirTrain, despite Max’s protestations that we should wait for the next “less crowded” one. About 843 people, give or take 122, piled on behind us on the already overfull car. I had nothing to hold onto as the train lurched forward, but that was okay because I was unable to move. When we reached the place we were to exit the train, Max made it out, but I was trapped in the horde of people who were paying no attention to my pleas that they “excuse me.” Finally, a lady several layers closer to the door than I took hold of my suitcase and used it as a battering ram to get it (and me holding on behind it) out the door.
We exited the train in front of the office for two rental car companies. Neither, unfortunately, was OUR rental car company. Still, not to worry- of course the cheap rental car company would not have a premium location. I opened the War and Peace length text from the company again. It informed to “follow the signs” to their location. I looked to the left, and I looked to the right. No signs. The text also mentioned turning left and walking to the traffic circle to find their office. We did that. We found the traffic circle. Sadly, however, we found absolutely nothing resembling a rental car office. Undeterred, I thought maybe the right and left got reversed so we retraced our steps and went past where we disembarked from the train. We found another traffic circle. Sadly, however, we STILL did not find anything resembling a rental car office.
At this point, if I had had a single brain cell that was still operational, I would have reverted to my original plan to get an Uber and rethink the rental car issue when we arrived at the hotel. However, I did not have a single remaining operational brain cell. I was hungry, tired, and faintly shell-shocked. I already had a significant case of Travel Trauma. As is likely to happen when infected by this disease, I made an extremely poor decision. I decided to rent a car from the company located right next to the train stop. There was a sign announcing that they had cars available.
I entered the office and joined the line that looked like it probably stretched to New Jersey. Max, who was beyond ready to get on the next plane back to Florida, waited outside the office guarding our luggage. After a lifetime or two, I reached the front desk and rented a car. I rented a car for THREE TIMES the cost of my original reservation with the apparently mythical company of The Office That Did Not Exist. I immediately went on my phone, transferred the astronomical cost of the car rental from my savings account to my checking account, and made a payment of that amount to my credit card. I could not bear the thought of seeing a credit card balance taunting me for my financial stupidity.
The good news? Nobody asked for proof of insurance.
Another minor piece of good news is that the car came with GPS. My car at home comes with GPS, so I thought I understood what that meant. On this rental car, though, there was no navigation button on the dashboard or screen to view the directions right in front of me. The GPS was a tired old tablet with, as it turns out, several different directions apps. It thought even slower than I was thinking at the time. Also, I somehow managed to have several apps going at the same time. I tried my phone but could not get it to talk to me through the car’s tech system.
By the time we accomplished all this, it was about 4:30pm On Friday afternoon. In New York City. On the way to Long Island. That 18-mile trip looked vastly different at 4:30pm than it probably would have looked at 1:30pm. Also. The various voices in the GPS choral rendition of driving directions took us through many neighborhoods that I am certain we had no business being. I understand that GPS systems are programmed to avoid traffic. Avoiding threat of bodily harm might be a good consideration, as well.
The 18-mile trip took almost 2 hours. We finally reached the town where we were staying and me Raymond and his oldest son for dinner. That was the eye of the hurricane… a time of peace, fun, and family bonding. It seemed that the worst might be over.
Nope.
Have a peaceful day!
Terri/Dorry 😊