HOLA!

Well, about 7,000 miles and 17 hours later, we’re across the Equator and fumbling with non-existent Spanish in Santiago, Chile, the start of our three week ground-and-cruise trip around South America.  We left L.A. Friday about noon, on a totally full flight to Atlanta on Delta, there to make (hopefully) a connecting Delta flight to Chile.  For whatever reason (cheap seats, no doubt), we were in the last of four groups to board.  Delta works on the social-class boarding system, and we paupers feel the pain.  Things were so crowded they were asking both for volunteers to take a later flight, and for all those in the third and fourth boarding herds to step up now and volunteer your carry-ons for at-gate checking, because the bins will be full!  Given the ridiculous sized bags that they were allowing people to take on board, I wasn’t surprised.  Loni and I did manage to weasel our way up to the head of the desperate fourth pack (hey, don’t glare at me, lady, you do what you gotta do!), and got almost the last of the bin space for her bag.  Mine was stowable under the seat.  We got a newer plane, with in-back-of-seat video screens but, alas, no freebies on Delta.  You want to actually see something?  Fork over $6 each for each movie or tv show.  Nuts to that.  Brought plenty of newspapers, magazines, & books.  We were happy to be off at last, despite this crummy photo (I’m wearing a headset).

Delta did serve a dinner, which was fairly decent, but not up to Air France standards.  Flight was unusually smooth, with nary a ripple.  Got to Atlanta’s Hartsfield International (self-proclaimed the “World’s Busiest”) on time, but ended up in a queue of planes waiting for gates to open up and spent another half hour on the ground.  Hartsfield, if not the busiest, is certainly one of the most spread out airports, and we disembarked at the gate that was the farthest possible from the one we needed to get to for our Chile flight.  Much walking and a tram ride later, we were at gate E2 with the ravenous cruiser wolf-pack:

We were in group three of four for boarding this time, and it took some determined sidling to maneuver to the front.  Same nonsense about no bin space, and they were collecting lots of bags for checking.  Still, it was high entertainment after we were seated to watch the bin-stuffing follies.  Some of those bags just wouldn’t fit, but it didn’t deter the slow-of-wit from trying.  Sorry, more bags consigned to the hold.  One gal kept trying to slam the bin door shut over and over again, with the bag visibly bulging out and nowhere to go.  Kudos to the Delta attendants.  They kept their cool and got everything under control.  Have to say, these were my first flights on Delta in over 30 years, and I was impressed with the personnel.

This plane, however, was an old warhorse.  No in-seat videos here.  Nope, ancient CRT screens dangling from the overhead every twenty feet or so.  You’d need binoculars from some seats, the resolution was crappy, and the colors were all off.  Also, since it was not an “on demand” system, you had to watch what they were showing and when they chose to show it (“Water for Elephants” at 3:00am anyone?).  Watched Clooney’s “Ides of March,” which I think was a decent film except the dialogue was so soft so often that I didn’t have a clue what was going on.  Second film was “Moneyball,” the Billy Beane (Oakland A’s) story starring Brad Pitt.  Being about sports instead of politics, that one was much easier to follow, and was pretty good.  At least Delta didn’t charge for these on international flights.  Food was again adequate, and beer and wine were gratis.  Well, all right.  I may be off wine, but can still down a Heineken thank you. 

Delta must be part of some alliance with Qantas, because the seat pitch was just as meager.  The women in front of us, as soon as we lifted off, immediately put their seats into full recline, and kept pushing back for anything more they could get.  As a result, no knee room, and my nose was four inches from the top of the seatback.  I made a point of giving the seat a bump every time I moved around, just to get even a bit.  There’s no way to sugarcoat a ten+ hour flight in cramped conditions.  It sucks.  Restless leg syndrome strikes.  This flight had quite a few bumps, so Loni put on her wrist bands and loaded up on dramamine. 

We survived, sleepless, dawn broke, and as we approached Santiago the landscape looked just like southern California:  arid hills, fertile valleys.  Since we were an early landing flight, we had the immigration and customs facilities to ourselves, and breezed through.  After, of course, the obligatory stop to pay the $144 (each) “reciprocity fee” that Chile charges to travelers from the five countries that impose some fee on Chileans entering their countries.  The U.S., Canada, Mexico, Albania (of all places) and China.  Americans, of course, paid the most.  The good news is that you have to pay it only once per passport.  Whenever you come back to Chile on that passport, it’s free.  Whoopee.  Can’t see I’ll ever get to take advantage of that.

We pantomimed our way to hailing the hotel shuttle, and are ensconced in the very nice Hilton Garden Inn near the airport.  Have yet to see anything resembling a garden, but the rooms are nice, people friendly, and this internet connection is just fine.  We keep thinking we’re in Phoenix or Albuquerque. 

More adventure tomorrow.  We have no confirmed way of getting to Valparaiso, the ship’s port, which is 80 miles away.   The front desk said they could arrange a car and driver for $288.  Ah, no thankee.  We will figure something out.  Heck, the ship doesn’t leave until 7pm.  [Cue ominous music.]