No Regrets!

Another early start, leaving Glacier National Park before dawn. On the snowy road just outside the park, we came across two horses that had been hit by a car or truck. Bloody and mangled, one obstructed a lane, another was on the side of the road. It was gently snowing, and the horses were not covered in snow, so it must have just happened. A grisly, sad sight.

Heading south through Montana, the landscapes were beautiful and varied. Black cows dotting grassy, featureless hills. Slopes covered with red and green bushes. Giant, rocky mountains in the distance. Large, circular fields with center pivot irrigation. A blanket of dark gray clouds loomed overhead for most of the ride.

The roads between Glacier and Yellowstone are mostly narrow, two-lane highways. I can’t imagine how much traffic there is in the high season between these parks. But there was nobody on road today, so it was a breeze.

I did the driving. Stef hit the radio scan button repeatedly and entertained me with Mad Libs. She says I suck at Mad Libs.

It was just before Helena that a cop pulled me over for speeding. Stef had been doubling the speed limit all over Montana, and this guy stops me for going 86 in a 75. After telling him that we were on vacation and driving a rental, he cracked a half-smile, said he’d lower it to 85 in 75, and told me all I’d have to do is pay a $20 fine on the spot and that would be the end of it. Montana is cool!

We stopped in Helena for lunch. Seems like a fun, little college town.

As we neared Yellowstone National Park, Stef worked on a finely tuned itinerary for the next two days. We were a bit disappointed with the lack of wildlife we had seen up north, and we were very anxious to see bison and moose and bears in Yellowstone.

After passing through gateway town of Gardiner, we finally reached the Roosevelt Arch, marking the historical northern entrance to Yellowstone.

We checked in at the visitor center at Mammoth Springs and learned that almost all of the campgrounds were filled up or closed for the season (a strange combination). Our plans for the next couple of days in Yellowstone counted on getting strategic places inside the park to sleep each night, so now our plans were shot to hell.

Tempers flared. Stef and I eventually agreed to make the most of our last few days, sticking to our itinerary as closely as possible and promising to be flexible when things didn’t go perfectly.

We took a quick walk around Mammoth Springs. Surprisingly unimpressive. The little pools of water are sort of colorful, but the most of it looks like a white, chalky mess.

Hit the road in search of a place to stay for the night and saw our first bison. Such cool-looking animals!

I pulled into one of the nearby campgrounds, but my charm wasn’t enough to secure a space. Stef got on her Verizon phone (Yellowstone is not AT&T friendly) and desperately called every motel in nearby Gardiner. We made our way past a bunch of neon “No Vacancy” signs to a Travelodge, where Stef got what might have been the last available room in the area.

There’s a lot to see in Yellowstone. Since we’re not staying in the park, we’re going to lose a lot of time driving. We’re going to have to pretty much wing it tomorrow.

It was still dark when we left Great Falls. It was cold and drizzling, which was not a good sign, because we knew all of that would turn to ice as we made our way north.

The dimly lit highway made things even more ominous. Sulfur lamps every few hundred yards illuminated the roadway ahead, but the absence of cars and pitch-blackness all around made us feel like we were on another planet. Oncoming headlights every thirty minutes reminded us that we were, indeed, still on Earth.

Things started getting hairy when we got low on gas. There wasn’t much around, and a few of the gas stations were closed because it was either too snowy or too early. We finally found an automatic pump station in the tiny town of Valier that saved us.

On these open stretches of road, radio stations come in and out, and there are never more than three or four on at a time. Stef impatiently tapped the scan button, hoping to find something to keep us interested. One station featured a woman enthusiastically describing what every local school and nursing home would be having for lunch that day. On September 17, in case you were wondering, Shelby Senior Center had Sloppy Joe’s.

Rain turned into snow. As the sun slowly came up, we could see that the empty fields on either side of us were covered with eerie, white stillness.

The snow was a little discouraging. I worried that parts of Going-to-the-Sun Road, the main thoroughfare through Glacier National Park, would be closed, throwing our finely tuned itinerary out of whack. I knew we were cutting it close, as the Going-to-the-Sun Road was scheduled to close for the season in three days.

As we got closer to the park, the uphill roads became more slippery and more curvy, but we had enough daylight that things weren’t so scary anymore. The surrounding mountains were massive and picturesque, and all the trees looked like they were covered with powdered sugar. A veritable winter wonderland.

We finally arrived at the eastern entrance to the park, a town called St. Mary. After breakfast, we found a gift shop filled with a variety of huckleberry products. They’re marketed quite aggressively because they are indigenous to the region. Wine, cream soda, salad dressing, ice cream, chocolate. I bought a chocolate bar that oozed huckleberry filling when you bit into it. Tastes like a mix of raspberry and blueberry.

A quick stop at the visitor center revealed that they had closed the Going-to-the-Sun Road about 30 minutes before we arrived. The snowstorm hit the park quite hard at the higher altitudes, making part of the road impassable. Consulting the map, we quickly came up with a new itinerary that would take us on the Going-to-the-Sun Road as far as we could go, then back out and up to Many Glacier for a hike.

Inside Glacier National Park, the scenery is amazing. The massive mountains are dusted with snow, highlighting layers of folded rock. The sides of the mountains are covered with flecks of orange and yellow and green. Snow-covered alpine trees make the whole scene look like a Bob Ross painting.

Ironically, there aren’t many glaciers in Glacier National Park. There may have been when the park was first founded in 1910, but most have melted away. Some blame global warming.

We pulled off the road for a quick hike to a waterfall down below. All of the guides and signs posted around the park warned us that there are bears around and that it’s best to be somewhat noisy to announce your presence. Stef and I wanted to see a bear, but we didn’t want to get mauled in the process, so I made stupid clicking noises with my mouth as we walked.

We finally got to where they blocked off Going-to-the-Sun Road. It’s a shame, because the snow was letting up and it looked like we could have gone quite a ways further. But I guess the park rangers know what they’re doing.

At one of the viewpoints, we ran into a guy who had completed the entire Going-to-the-Sun Road the day before, he said the half we had seen was definitely the better half. That made us feel a bit better.

Aside from a couple of mountain goats wandering the road, we didn’t see much wildlife. Stef and I were a little discouraged, but I’m sure we’ll see more down in Yellowstone National Park.

We turned north and headed up to Many Glacier. More of the same scenery. After we stopped at Many Glacier Hotel for a tremendous view of Grinnell Point across Swiftcurrent Lake.

Stef and I parked the car and spent a few hours hiking through the mud and slush along Swiftcurrent Lake and Lake Josephine. The views are simply breathtaking.

We finally got to the end of the trail, a muddy embankment on the shore of Grinnell Lake. The view was simply breathtaking. Again, the whole scene looked like a painting. Standing on the water’s edge, Stef said that it looked I was in front of a backdrop.

We soaked in the scene as the sun began to set. Stef and I had to head back before it got dark. I didn’t want to know how cold and scary it would be after it got dark.

Instead of hitting the road and driving through the snow all night, Stef and I decided to splurge and stay a night at the Many Glacier Hotel. It’s a charming snow lodge with a lot of local history. The lobby is dimly lit, with paintings and historical documents adorning the walls. High ceilings, a giant fireplace, guests sitting around and relaxing on warm, comfortable couches, staff prancing around in their lederhosen, and a violinist filling the room with catchy tunes.

We had dinner in the restaurant, which featured huge windows and a beautiful view across the lake. After having huckleberry ice cream and a huckleberry martini for dessert, we called it a night.

Glacier National Park is truly magnificent. I struggle to think of a more magical place in the US, and not even the Grand Canyon can match it’s grandeur. While the snow made driving a bit treacherous, it helped to make the views even more impressive. I could definitely see myself coming back and spending more time here.

In the morning, we head south to Yellowstone National Park.

Woke up at 7am to see beautiful clear skies and a sunlit Devil’s Tower through the back window of our truck. It’s cold. Stef’s got a high-tech sleeping bag, but mine sucks. Hands and feet are frozen.

Hopped into the public shower at the campground to get warmed up. The “public shower on a road trip” dilemma. Do you shower with your sandals on to save your feet from fungus, or do you shower with your sandals on and risk them stinking up the car for the whole day? I kept my sandals on, and it turns out that Stef did, too.

We headed back over to Devil’s Tower for a morning walk around its base. Good to see it at different times of day, because the sun hits it differently. Again, I found that the walk around was a little too close to the base, and it’s hard getting the true perspective of the thing.

It’s not quite symmetrical like I had always imagined. One side has a gentler slope. If you get the right angle on it, it’s quite beautiful.

“Plop, plop, plop.” That’s the sound of a red squirrel systematically dislodging pine cones in the branches above and letting them fall to the ground all around us. Doesn’t matter if we’re underneath. The red squirrel has no worries.

Lots of senior citizens and bikers around. We’ve been surrounded by them for days. Seems like this is a popular route for them.

Driving west from Devil’s Tower, the Wyoming landscape is full of yellow scrubland, with bluish mountains in the distance. Lots of cows and horses. I’m a bit disappointed we haven’t seen a bison yet.

Heading north into Montana, hills of goldenrod, tope, white, and patches of faded green scrub surrounded us. A blanket of gray loomed overhead.

We stopped in Billings for a nice lunch and hit the road again. As we zipped across the scrubland, a drizzle and stiff wind battered us from side to side. Stef was a champ, driving between 90 and 100 mph most of the way and aggressively passing on the narrow 2-lane highway while I worked on my blog.

Cell phone service in this open country is spotty. Stef seems to be having better luck with Verizon than I am with AT&T. Wifi is hard to find, too. As everything piles up, this is going to make for some enormous blog entries.

We decided to stop for the night in Great Falls. At our guidebook’s recommendation, we stayed at the O’Haire Motor Inn, famous for it’s tiki bar/lounge called the Sip ‘n Dip.

We grabbed a quick dinner and then headed out to see the actual falls. At night, they are not so great.

When we got back to the Sip ‘n Dip at 9:30pm, the place was raging. Locals crowded the bar while an old lady sat in a booth and banged out some tunes on her keyboard. Through one of the windows behind the bar, a mermaid playfully danced in the adjoining pool. What a concept! She was quite the performer, constantly smiling, doing acrobatics, flirting with anyone who made eye contact with her. I was completely mesmerized by the mermaid. Stef was not impressed with the number of pictures I took (56).

After a few minutes, the mermaid was joined by a merman, who did nothing but float and stare awkwardly into the bar. Lame.

On the other side of the bar, “Piano Pat” wailed away on her keyboard. She’s a local celebrity.

We’re making it an early night tonight because we need to get an early start tomorrow morning. Our goal is to get to Glacier National Park by 8am, and there’s still a lot of Montana to cross…

Returned to Mount Rushmore first thing in the morning so that we could catch the morning sun shining on the presidents’ faces.

We walked along the trail in front of the memorial for some different perspectives, had a quick bite in the café, and then hit the road for Crazy Horse Memorial, the Native American answer to Mount Rushmore and a privately funded operation. The sculpture itself is massive but far from complete, so it’s not all that impressive.

Next to the parking lot is an enormous visitor center filled with “authentic” Native American souvenirs and cosmetic jewelry. All this schlock really cheapens the experience for me, and I appreciate the tastefulness of the National Parks in this regard.

At $10/person, the Crazy Horse experience isn’t worth it. The view from the highway is good enough.

Aside from the big billboards and cheesy attractions, the landscape of the surrounding area is beautiful. Craggy, anthropomorphic rocks carpet poke through a blanket of dark green forest. Stef and I think they should expand on the Mount Rushmore idea by carving American heroes, maybe one from each state, into the mountains everywhere. It would be a lot of work, for sure, but the place would make a killing.

Our next stop was Wind Cave, one of the largest caves in the country. Inside the cave, they didn’t allow tripods and didn’t have railings for me to use to take longer exposures, but it didn’t really matter. It was mostly a dark, narrow walkway through vertical cracks, no big expanses or creative lighting like they have at Carlsbad and Luray. Stef seemed to enjoy it, but I found it underwhelming.

Lunch was in Custer. We picked an authentic-looking Western restaurant and shared a buffalo burger. Tastes halfway between beef and lamb. I enjoyed it.

There seem to be a lot of Russian and Ukrainian exchange students in the area. Our young waitress was Russian. As I usually do with foreigners, I tried to joke around with her to show her that Americans (everyone assumes I am American) aren’t all stupid and humorless. When she ran through the list of dressings for our house salad, I smiled and told her I wanted Russian dressing. As I said it, it occurred to me that she might not know what Russian dressing is (it’s not really Russian), and that it might sound awkward. After an uncomfortable pause, the waitress excused herself. An embarrassed Stef glared at me and told me it sounded like a pick-up line.

We hit the road again. Stef volunteered to do most of the driving so that I could work on this blog and my photos in the car, which was a fantastic idea. I’m making slow progress on the blog, but with sunlight streaming in through the windows, it’s nearly impossible to see my photos. Do they have lightproof goggles that you can hook up to a laptop that can give you a view of your display? Nerdy, but I’d get a pair.

We stopped in Deadwood, Wyoming, since it has a cool name and is supposed to be a historic western town. Turns out it’s not much more than cheap-looking casinos and souvenir shops.

We made a pit stop at Mt. Moriah Cemetery, where “Wild Bill” Hickock and “Calamity” Jane are buried. By all accounts, Jane was an ugly hooker obsessed with Hickock, whose dying wish was to be buried next to him. She got her wish, but I wonder how Hickock feels about it.

The last leg of today’s journey was to Devil’s Tower. In the official literature, Devil’s Tower doesn’t have an apostrophe, but I’m going break convention for grammatical accuracy. Devil’s Tower is an oddly shaped magmatic intrusion made famous by the movie “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” It’s one of those weird places that I’ve always wanted to visit.

We arrived just as the sun was setting. At the park entrance, Stef and I bought an annual National Park pass for $80, which should save us a bundle on this trip alone. The drive into the park took us past a field filled with friendly, chirping prairie dogs. We pulled onto the turnout to sat hello, but we had to push on to beat the quickly setting sun.

The visitor’s center takes you pretty close to the base of the tower. Too close, I think. When you’re that close, Devil’s Tower doesn’t stick out from the surrounding landscape, and it’s much harder to appreciate its grandeur. We took a short walk around the base. The sun painted the rocks orange, and the sunset filled the sky with color.

After Labor Day, everything in the area starts to close down, including the restaurants. We were lucky enough to find a little diner just up the road, called the Tower View Restaurant, still serving food. The husband and wife who ran it and the adjoining gift shop were very friendly. Stef described them as a “Bob and Ethel.”

We arrived at our campground near the base of Devil’s Tower just as the last wisp of light disappeared into the night.

We’re spread out in the back of our truck, tucked into sleeping bags. I’m exhausted. It’s only 9:30pm, but it feels like it’s 2am. Another big day tomorrow.

After landing in Rapid City and getting a warm feeling inside when we saw our three bags waiting for us, we hopped over to the Hertz counter and picked up our shiny, big, white Toyota Highlander. Stepping out into the rental car parking lot, the air was fresh, with the scent of a distant wildfire. And the view was tremendous. Stef and I were excited to hit the road.

The short drive to Mount Rushmore took us through the Black Hills, so named because the dark green Ponderosa pines covering the hills makes them look almost black, especially when a cloud passes over. The landscapes were magnificent. Immediately, I knew that I’d need to resist the urge to stop the car every five minutes to take another landscape shot.

My trusty GPS took us straight to the Mount Rushmore parking lot, where Stef took extra care parking our big Highlander. After a short walk past the visitor center and café, there we were, standing right in front of George, Tom, Teddy, and Abe. After a bumpy start to the trip, it was so nice to finally be seeing something cool.

It’s bigger than I thought. And the perspective is weird. The trees below make it look like the whole thing belongs on a model train set. The sculptures are intricately carved, and striations in the rock slice through the presidents’ faces. Stef and I agree that the best thing about the sculpture is Abe Lincoln’s pouty lip.

We walked around a bit, and I took pictures like crazy. Unfortunately, the late afternoon sun is behind the memorial, so I vowed to return the next morning for some proper pictures.

When it got dark, we were happy to learn that there was a nightly performance and light show at Mount Rushmore, so we stuck around. I staked a good place for my tripod, and the crowd started to gather around us.

Having a tripod and a big camera makes me the go-to guy for “Can you take my picture?” We joked around with most of those people, but one particularly child-molester-looking guy that wandered over creeped Stef out. He had it all: the haircut that stayed unstylish no matter how many times he ran his hand through it, the engineer glasses, the mustache, the tucked in dress shirt, the Members Only jacket, the short pant legs, the awkward pauses, and the mistimed laughs. He made me take five pictures of him.

The “performance” was a park ranger coming out and giving us a melodramatic speech about the four presidents and their upbringing, followed by a short film about Mount Rushmore and its construction. The “light show” was a slowly illuminated spotlight on the presidents.

When it was time to find our campground, my GPS wasn’t so trusty. It led up into the hills on windy, pitch-black roads, and then told us to take a turn on a road that didn’t exist. Don’t trust the Garmin when you’re looking for the Mount Rushmore KOA. After stopping at three grungy motels for prices and availability, we finally bit the bullet and got a room. Probably best, since the beds were probably more comfortable than sleeping in a tent, and we badly needed a good night’s sleep.

It was a bumpy day, and moods flared, but everything worked out. We woke up this morning vowing to be in a better mood and looking forward to the first full day of our adventure.

Stef had a rough day at work and arrived at my house in bad mood. Her mood got worse when she realized I hadn’t packed yet.

True to form, I waited until the last possible minute to start packing. In fact, I didn’t even sleep last night, rummaging around my house looking for all my old Trek America paraphernalia while Stef tried desperately to sleep. Everything was finally packed at 4:11am, and the cab pulled up at 4:15am. The 5:45am flight is definitely the earliest flight I’ve ever taken.

Our first stop was Charlotte, due south from DC and annoyingly out of the way for a trip to Rapid City. But it’s a hub for US Airways, so a necessary stop.

After waiting for about an hour, we boarded our flight to Denver.

I like walking through first class and looking at all the people sitting there. Are they rich? Famous? What celebrity with a face I don’t recognize is sitting right in front of me? I’ve never actually seen a recognizable celebrity sitting in first class. Where do they sit?

We were the last few to board the plane, so all the overheard bins were full and there wasn’t any room for our carry-ons. This was exacerbated by the fact that we were sitting in 4A and 4B, the front row where there are no seats in front to put our bags under. Stef and I had a big carry-on bag, two big backpacks, and a tripod. So we had a problem.

I walked to the front and asked the flight attendant what I should do.

“You’ll need to check it,” she replied.

“What if I have stuff that needs to stay with me?” I was referring to the thousands of dollars worth of camera and computer equipment that I had in the two backpacks. I was hoping she’d be kind enough to help me look for space in the overhead bins further back in the plane.

“Then, you’ll have to take another flight,” she replied.

I didn’t like that. First of all, if they tell you at the gate before boarding that each person may take two carry-ons, and then there is no room for any of your carry-ons, they should at least make an effort to try to find room for you, not threaten you.

I ended up jamming my backpack between a couple of other bags in one of the overhead bins, and we got an offer from one of the celebrities in first class to put Stef’s backpack under her seat. Begrudgingly, we checked Stef’s big carry-on bag and hoped that it would meet up with the rest of our luggage at the end of our journey.

Annoyed, I sat down in my seat with my laptop. One of the flight attendants, an older woman with short hair dyed red so aggressively that her scalp was stained, told me that the laptop I was holding needed to be stowed in the overhead bin. She and I both knew that there was no room in the overhead bins, but she just had to say it as part of procedure.

I got up, opened up a bin, found the first available crevice, shoved my laptop into it, and slammed the bin closed with enough force to send a message.

Without missing a beat, this red-haired flight attendant asked if she could have a word with me out in the galley. The “galley,” for those who don’t know, is that little area by the door that you walk through when you first board the plane.

“This is a three and a half hour flight, and I don’t need to deal with someone who acts like that. Do you want to get off and take the next flight?”

“I’ll be cool,” I coolly replied.

“OK, then.”

For a moment, I was pretty sure she was going to throw me off the plane. I hear frequent media reports of disorderly passengers being thrown off planes, and I get the impression that they pull the trigger on that sort of thing pretty quickly. I guess I was lucky. If I looked Muslim, I would surely have been kicked off.

All of this, of course, did nothing to put Stef into a better mood. Three hours into our vacation, and she’s already fed up with me. She told me that we should have boarded earlier, when our “zone” was first called. OK, fine.

Looking out the window, checkered farmland gave way to an open, brown expanse, and finally, the Rocky Mountains in the hazy, blue distance. After landing, we booked it across the airport, only to learn that we missed our connection. Stef’s mood worsened.

We were placed on standby for the next flight out, but didn’t get on that one either. Finally, we got confirmed seats on the next flight to Rapid City. Hopefully, we’ll get to there in a couple of hours, where our bags and rental car will be waiting for us, and we’ll get out to Mt. Rushmore before the sun goes down.

I’ve never been to Denver before. It sucks.

This has been a really slow year for travel for me, probably my slowest in a decade. In 2010, I’ve been wrapped up with a lot of personal drama that hasn’t really allowed me to escape. A few weeks ago, when I saw a break in my schedule, I planned a last-minute vacation to Yellowstone National Park with my long-time friend, Stefanie.

After finagling our work schedules to get nine days off, we decided to make it a road trip that included Mount Rushmore and Glacier National Park. Seems like this is a pretty common route for tourists, although most usually take about two weeks to do it.

High last-minute fares mean that we have to take a 5:45am flight out of DC, but everything else seems to be working out perfectly. We’ll be taking the trip after Labor Day, so most of the family caravans will be home with kids back in school. The higher altitude and cooler weather means that the landscapes should be awash with fall colors, and there might even be a sprinkling of snow in Glacier National Park. And Going to the Sun Road, the main attraction of Glacier National Park, closes for the season on September 20, so we’ll just be able to get that in. And every night that the weather cooperates, we’ll be camping under the stars.

Stef and I have spent the last few days preparing. We got guidebooks and came up with a detailed road trip on Google Maps. Stef takes camping very seriously, so we took a trip to REI to get check out all the gear and get some new all-weather camping clothes. And since it’s looking to be a photographic extravaganza for me, I rented a huge telephoto lens to take with me. I hope Stef doesn’t mind carrying it.

Definitely looking forward to taking some time off, leaving my troubles behind, and breathing some fresh mountain air.

American Airlines lost my bag (and Doug’s) on our flight down to Rio de Janeiro. At the airport in Rio, a baggage service representative told me that I could spend US$25 to buy toiletries, and that it would be immediately refunded to me by American Airlines upon my return to DC.

I bought some toiletries to tide me over, and I also bought and a swimsuit and tank top, thinking American Airlines might extend themselves a bit and reimburse me for that, too. Finally, after 4 days on the phone talking to American Airlines people and Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport people, we got our bags.

When we returned to DC, I went to the American Airlines service desk. Instead of reimbursing me on the spot as the representative in Rio had promised, the disinterested lady behind the desk gave me an information card explaining what paperwork I had to mail into the AA corporate office to get the reimbursement.

Admittedly, I got tied up with a lot of things after getting home and put this on my to-do list. It took a while to get everything together, and a freak snowstorm meant that I had to wait an additional week before I could mail it. Finally, on February 15, 2010, I sent copies of my receipts and this letter to American Airlines:

American Airlines
Interim Expense Reimbursement
PO Box 619613 MD1322/HDQ
DFW Airport, TX 75261-9613

February 15, 2010

To whom it may concern,

On a trip to Rio de Janeiro in December 2009, American Airlines lost my bag for a total of 4 days.

After landing, I was told by the representative at the airport in Rio that it was “not in the computer,” but I was given a file locator number and told that they’d track it down and call me with more information when the bag turned up. He told me that I would have a US$25 credit for purchasing toiletries and essentials, to be refunded to me when I returned home on January 17, 2010.

We waited for a couple of days but heard nothing. At our expense, we called AA’s international baggage service number in the United States, but communication with the airline on this matter was ineffective. Nobody in your call center would pinpoint where the bag was or who was going to be delivering it or when. Each time they said it was on the way, it wouldn’t arrive, and we’d have to call the airline again for an update.

Since AA could not provide reliable information about when my bag was supposed to be arriving, and since no airline should expect any traveler to wear the same clothes for 4 days, especially when those clothes are jeans and a thick shirt in the oppressive humidity of Rio in the summer, I went to a local store and found myself a reasonably priced t-shirt and shorts.

In addition to the toiletries and essentials, I hope American Airlines is able to cover the costs for these basic articles of clothing as well. Receipts for both, as well as a copy of my file locator, are enclosed.

I apologize for not getting this letter out to you sooner, but the freakish snowstorms in the DC area have left me unable to leave my house for a week and without mail service.

Thank you,

Jeff Nyveen

I received this response from American Airlines on May 1, 2010. Apparently, it takes him two weeks to walk to the mailbox.

April 14, 2010

Dear Mr. Nyveen,

Thank you for your letter regarding expenses you incurred on your trip with American Airlines. Unfortunately, due to the unusual length of delay in requesting reimbursement from American Airlines, we are unable to consider your claim for your interim expenses. Our tariff specifically states that all claims for delay, loss and damage must be submitted within 45 days of travel.

For additional information regarding this policy, please visit us at AA.com.

Sincerely,

Mr. J. Blake
CENTRAL BAGGAGE SERVICES

Not only is Mr. J. Blake is wrong about the timeframe, but American Airlines is being shitty about the situation as a whole. At this point, maybe most people would shrug their shoulders and forget about it. But I can’t. I am a man of principle.

Here’s the reply I sent off today:

Mr. J. Blake
American Airlines
Interim Expense Reimbursement
PO Box 619613 MD1322/HDQ
DFW Airport, TX 75261-9613

May 3, 2010

Dear Mr. Blake,

I received your reply to my lost baggage interim expense claim on May 1, 2010. I am not satisfied with the response.

If you are suggesting that my request needed to be mailed to you within 45 days of the commencement of my travel, then you have me, as I mailed my letter 51 days after my initial departure date. But your “tariff” does not specify this. In any case, if you think customers without baggage should find extra time to draft a letter, find a printer, use copy machines, and buy foreign postage to address mistakes made by American Airlines while on vacation, then you are asking too much.

I did, however, return home on January 17, 2010. I understand that it took a while for me to send my letter, but I remind you of the freak, record-breaking snowstorm that disrupted postal service and prevented me from leaving my house for a week. This same storm grounded American Airlines planes in Washington, DC for several days, so I would have thought you’d heard about it.

I dropped my letter to you in the mail on February 15, 2010, which works out to a period of 29 days after my travel was completed, well under the 45-day limitation you are quoting. If the American Airlines mail distribution network took another two weeks to deliver my letter to your hands, that is not my problem.

Let’s be fair. I received your response on May 1, 2010. That’s 75 days later, an unreasonable delay in my mind. If you cannot honor my request for reimbursement because of the “unusual length of delay,” I find your response unacceptable for the same reason.

What about the “unusual length of delay” of my baggage in Rio de Janeiro? What about the representative in Rio de Janeiro Airport who said that American Airlines would reimburse my US$25 at the airport when I landed in DC? What about the resulting 4 days of inconvenience waiting for my baggage? What about the many incompetent American Airlines baggage representatives I spent hours with on the phone, at my expense? What about my calls to the airport in Rio de Janeiro to sort out the issue myself when American Airlines proved unable to locate my baggage?

Those are the real issues here. Does a supposed “unusual length of delay” in receiving my letter absolve American Airlines of all responsibility in this matter?

American Airlines’ obvious disregard for customer satisfaction will be a factor when purchasing my next flight. Given that other airlines price most of your routes competitively, I will be sure to consider them first. Your ridiculous excuse to save $25 on reimbursement fees comes at the potential cost of all my future travel. Silly, I think, given the current state of the airline industry.

With this letter, I enclose a copy of my original letter as well as a copy of your response, a useless waste of paper but necessary to ensure a continuous dialogue since American Airlines chooses not to communicate via e-mail with its customers on these matters. Realize that reducing paperwork would not only be environmentally friendly but would also save the airline money on materials and postage and surely reduce the “unusual length of delay” caused by snowstorms and inefficient mail distribution networks.

In addition, I am sending a copy of all paperwork to American Airlines Customer Relations. I also plan to post my letter and your response on my web site so that people around the world can read about how American Airlines uses silly excuses about postmark dates to avoid admitting mistakes and being fair to customers.

Sincerely,

Mr. J. Nyveen

And my letter to American Airlines Customer Relations:

American Airlines Customer Relations
P.O. Box 619612 MD 2400
DFW Airport, TX 75261-9612

May 3, 2010

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with the way American Airlines has handled my lost baggage interim expense reimbursement claim.

On a recent trip to Rio de Janeiro, American Airlines lost my baggage for 4 days. Upon my return, I submitted a claim for US$25.

Today, I received a response from American Airlines, stating that my claim could not be honored since there was an “unusual length of delay” in submitting my request.

Enclosed is my communication with a Mr. J. Blake, the American Airlines representative who has handled my issue. I would appreciate a review of these materials as well as the interim expense reimbursement I feel is still owed to me for a mistake made by American Airlines.

Sincerely,

Jeff Nyveen

We arrived at New York’s JFK airport at 6:15am. Pitch black outside. Just think, yesterday at this time, I was on Warren’s balcony in Buenos Aires, underneath a blazing sun.

A couple of hours later, we were back in DC. Including our connections, we took a total of 13 flights in 23 days. That’s a lot of flying.

We visited the American Airlines baggage desk to ask about our lost baggage credit, and the lady told us to send copies of our receipts to the corporate office. What are the chances I also get them to pay for the sweet Brazilian clothes I bought in Rio?

On the cab ride home, a few things stuck out. Mounds of dirty snow along the roads, relatively courteous drivers, and an uncomfortable familiarity with my surroundings. After three weeks of the exotic unknown, Columbia Pike is a bit of a downer.

Tomorrow, we’re back at work. Traveling somewhere amazing, and knowing that there are so many other places out there bigger and better that you have not seen yet, makes the daily grind at work seem pretty insignificant.

A friend once told me that one of the best things about traveling is that you’ll be sitting in a boring meeting at work one day and your mind will wander to some far-off place a lot more exciting. You’ll remember jumping the waves on Ipanema, being on Copacabana Beach for New Year’s, braving the streets of Salvador, being sprayed by the mist of Iguazu Falls, going into a hookeria, visiting the southernmost city in the world, or hopping around glaciers. And while everyone else is busy talking about something that really doesn’t matter, you’ll sit there and smile.

He was right.

This really was a great trip. We saw a heckuva lot in three weeks, and I think we timed everything just about perfectly. The food was amazing, truly a steakation. Doug (he’s “Doug” now that we’re back on American soil) estimates that we each put away about 30 pounds of steak.

Having completed two big trips with Doug, I’ve decided that we’re pretty compatible travel partners. While I took care of pretty much everything on our first trip, he really helped out with some of the trip planning this time around. He doesn’t annoy me, and we keep each other laughing. He took photos when I was too scared to take out my camera, and he proved to be quite the videographer. And he always let me have the window seat.

Where should we go next year? 🙂

It was just after midnight when we landed in BA. Our taxi took us to the address Warren had given us. Huge condominium. Walked into the lobby, signed in with the security guard, and headed up to the 21st floor.

Warren welcomed us with a big smile and led us to the balcony, where three attractive, dressed up young women were sitting and laughing and drinking. By the look of the empty wine bottles, it looked like they had been at it for a little while.

WTF? A moment to elaborate on our surprise. Warren is a nice guy who likes to have a good time, but he’s never been known to have women draped all over him. Now here he was, in a penthouse in Buenos Aires, with three attractive girls sitting on his balcony and getting drunk. Was this another hookeria?

Warren dragged us inside and gave us a quick tour of his enormous, ridiculous, four-bedroom penthouse. The 21st floor IS Warren’s place. Fully furnished, with giant couches, huge flat panel TVs, wood floors IN the showers, huge windows all around with a 360° view of Buenos Aires.

Warren is my hero.

Gog and I were wearing stinky Patagonia clothes and flip-flops, so we flipped a coin for bedroom choice (I won), cleaned up a bit, and joined everyone on the balcony. We sipped wine and chatted, with the red blinking lights of the Buenos Aires skyline all around us.

A couple of more people showed up. One, a local named Diego, offered to take us all out to one of his favorite clubs, Esperanto. So at 3am, we headed over.

People were pushing to get in, bouncers were screaming at people and each other. We arrived at Esperanto in two groups, and there was a bit of drama getting us all in, but we made it.

The place was raging inside. We walked upstairs to the main dance floor, which was packed. We drank, we danced. Why didn’t Gog and I discover places like this our first time through Buenos Aires? Why aren’t places like this in any of our travel guides?

And the girls… I was ready to concede that the women of Argentina were nothing special until we got here. THIS is where all the attractive women in Argentina were. Amazing. Diego told us to just grab them by the hand and start talking or dancing with them. I don’t do either very well, so I couldn’t hold any girl’s interest for more than a few seconds. You gotta speak the language.

We emerged from the club at 6:15am, with the sun blazing. The street was a mix of early risers and people stumbling out of clubs. What a night. I feel like Gog and I didn’t give BA a fair shake our first time through. We’ve only scratched the surface.

Read the rest of this entry »