The flight to Buenos Aires (May 10/11)

Not much happened during the flight.  Except, that we left Toronto an hour late (without any explanation) and had dinner at 12:30 am.  Except, that my beloved Air Canada wasn’t quite straightforward about the nature of the stopover in Santiago.  In my restricted passenger mind, a “stopover” on a flight would mean that the plane lands at some place between the initial and final points; those who reached their destination, deplane, those, who continue stay put, the new ones board, then the plane takes off.  That’s how budget carrier Southwest does it.  Unfortunately, they don’t fly to South-America, because this isn’t what happened.  After the plane landed in Santiago, we were told to deplane with our entire carry-on luggage and walk to gate 10.  I think we landed at gate 80 or so.  On the bright side, Buenos Aires passengers didn’t have to go through Chilean immigration.  However, it was a long walk.  There were two closed doors (so called checkpoints), if I remember well, that needed the passport and the boarding pass to get through.  Then we arrived to a third door, and behind it, a full security inspection.  I wanted to throw myself on the floor, and kick and scream:  I JUST SPENT 11 HOURS ON A PLANE!  I GOT ON THAT PLANE AFTER A SECURITY INSPECTION!!!  WHY AGAIN?

But I didn’t.  Passengers don’t have the right to ask questions or to throw tantrums.  We only have one choice: to comply.  Thus I obediently removed my jacket, emptied my pockets, discarded the Air Canada water bottle, took the laptop out of the backpack and pushed all that through the tunnel, then myself through the gate.  To their credit, the shoes could stay on.  To their credit, there was no full body search.  Maybe they don’t have the machine.  If there is a machine, I’m tested, eight times out of ten.  Last time in San Francisco the machine was followed by a female agent who performed a throughout manual mammography exam and in the end even pulled down the zip on my sweatshirt and checked that there was only a bra underneath – in full sight of everybody who cared to look.  I am a Grandmother, a 66-year old petite.  Do I really appear that dangerous?  (Look at my photo and verify.)  Or am I the tool to prove that there is no profiling?  That everybody is suspect to the same extent?  Or is it just that it’s easier to fill the quota with grannies as they are less likely to fight back? 

I used to love to fly.  I still love the flight part, when the pilot says “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff” (or something along that line) and the plane starts to roll, faster and faster, then breaks away from the ground and becomes air-borne.  But the torture to get there overshadows the joy.  Next time to San Francisco, I consider taking Amtrak.

Back to the subject, the flight to Buenos Aires.  In Santiago there was really a “stopover” in the sense that after all the torture we could board the same plane with the same boarding pass.  Not that it mattered.  The procedure bore all the characteristics of a plane and terminal change.  Had I known this in advance, I had flown Delta.  In that case, each way I would’ve needed only one (real) plane change in Atlanta.