Me, Varig and the Friendly Skies: Getting to Sao Paulo

I finished up my summer internship at Citigroup last Friday, and planned to fly to Sao Paulo on Varig, Brazil's flagship carrier, the next morning at 10AM. Stupidly, I stayed up very late that night, and arrived at the airport very, very tired, but ready to sleep on the 10hr flight, and excited to leave. I began walking up and down each row of ticket counters in JFK´s terminal 4. After two complete tours of the place and no Varig counter in sight, I asked an airport employee, who directed me to a solitary window located off from the main ticketing area with a Varig sign above it, and on the counter a little sign - the old fashioned kind you might see at a bank teller window - that said "CLOSED." More troubling was that our flight was not on any of the monitors. So, waiting around the window were the other less savvy passengers, who hadn't been following the news closely enough, or we'd have know that due to Varig's ongoing bankruptcy proceedings and selling off of the company, all flights to and from the US had been suspended, including ours. No one bothered to update the website, and no one was picking up the phone, either.

Luckily, some young American girls, all shiny and ready to go on holiday with painted toenails and matching luggage, had the idea to call United, which was Varig's Star Alliance partner. Lacking the energy to move, I listened inconspicuously with sunglasses on as they went through the trouble of calling information, and then United, explaining the situation at hand. Once it seemed United was helping them, I politlely asked for the number. A very nice woman gave me a reservation for the next evening out of Laguardia via Chicago. I was annoyed I wouldn't be travelling that day or flying direct, but I was grateful I wouldn't have to buy a new ticket. Since I had paid for my summer sublet through the middle of the month, I was fine with the idea of going home to get some sleep.

The next day I arrived at the airport, and was asked by the United agent for my ticket number. Varig never gave me such a number, so after waiting in line, I was turned away and told that I needed that number or I couldn't fly. In desperation I called Varig, and for some reason someone answered the phone and very efficiently gave me the number I needed. It was really weird. So I got back in the line, and then learned from the same employee that the very nice woman from the day before had reserved a first class ticket for me, probably just to get me off the phone. She then told me that I'd need to pay $4,000 to fly that day, or wait until Tuesday, incur a 6 hour layover in Chicago, and arrive in SP Weds at 10 AM. I was so angry that I was missing all of my classes and basically at my wit's end, but had no choice. Again, with about 100 lbs. of luggage, I got back in a taxi and headed for the Chelsea studio of which I thought I'd seen the last. By this point, I had spent a good $200 going back and forth between my studio and two different NY airports, and for nothing! Luckily, however, the next day went as planned (NOTE TO TRAVELLERS: United still serves good food on their Latin American routes. I chose lasagna over beef, both of which came with a spinach salad and some other good stuff).

So after 4 days´ delay and 18 hours of travel, I arrived in Sao Paulo. I took a cab to my cousin Lisa's house. Bemvinda, her housekeeper (love her), was there and gave me something to eat. I wanted so badly to sleep, but I had to present myself at school to let them know I got there and make sure I was in good standing to start classes the following Monday (since all of my classes meet Mon, Tues & Weds, I had missed the whole first week) . Getting there was no picnic, either, which you can say for getting pretty much anywhere in Sao Paolo. With 25m people it is the thrid largest city in the world. It's dirty and disorganized, and I can only imagine how out of place I must have looked getting there in Birkenstock sandals and clothes that scream "I'm foreign", especially because my Portuguese was a garbled mess based on Spanish and my best guesses (or portinhol, as they say here). I felt like a week-old, spoiled crock of feijoada, but I knew the next day would be better. It had to be.