After dealing with the crowds and delays at O'Hare over the years, we relish the opportunity to patronize small airports. In tropical areas these airports rarely have jetways. Instead passengers are summoned to go outside and wander around on the tarmac before climbing the stairs to their plane. When we checked in in Cabo, we were told that our plane was late arriving from Dallas, the city with the big airport that we were unfortunately scheduled to connect in. We weren't worried; we had a lengthy layover and waiting in an airport is waiting in an airport no matter where you do it.
By the time we were ready to board, two other planes had arrived as well. The waiting area cleared out as we were all called to board at about the same time. It would have been SO easy to board the Mexicana flight to Guadlahara or the Continental flight to Houston rather than the American flight to Dallas. Confusion was compounded by the fact that we were not all speaking the same language.
As we neared Dallas the plane circled and circled and circled. Even though I saw little but blue sky out the window, the pilot said that we were in a weather delay - thunderstorms were in the area. We circled and circled. The pilot got on again to reassure us that we still had plenty of gas, but he was wondering if we would have to land in another city. Oh, great. There goes our flight to Chicago.
We finally landed, went through immigration, got our bags and rechecked them with American. Then we saw the departure board. That flight to Chicago? - cancelled. While we waited in line, we phoned American and they assigned us to the 8pm flight. We would have time for dinner and a show before we could fly on. However, at the end of the line the friendly clerk gave us exit row seats on an earlier flight that was leaving late, again due to the weather.
Once we boarded we sat and sat and sat. Then we rolled a few feet and got in a line. There were twelve planes ahead of us that we could see. Passengers around us with connections at O'Hare squirmed anxiously. Once it was our turn we took a circuitous route via Wichita, Kansas to avoid the thunderstorms. And of course, the ending of this story was obvious. We waited at the baggage carousel to no avail. Lots of bags; none of them ours.
Outbound I would have been upset. But at home we had lots of clean clothes waiting for us and American promised to deliver the bags to our home within 24 hours. Lo and behold, they did. In a few weeks we'll be ready to go again....