I've been to Florida several times now. All without a hitch.
So I thought I knew how to holiday there without too many problems.
I didn't.
And this past year has shown me precisely how a combination of factors can combine to turn a dream three-week stay in the sunshine state, into a partial mental breakdown, financial ruin, bewilderment at what has happened across the state and then to cap it all, the return of a familiar friend at the end of the holiday.
This is probably going to be a long one. So strap yourself in, get yourself a stiff drink and if you are planning to head back there in what is left of 2023 or 2024, learn from my mistakes.
Disaster 1 - Departure Day - Thursday 3rd August 2023
You won't see a simile that reads "as beautiful as Manchester Airport on a cloudy August morning". It is by no means the ugliest airport, but I don't think there is a pretty airport really.
However it is its function rather than aesthetics that interest me today as we head off to catch our flight; four of us departing from home, my wife and I and my two parents.
The holiday had been a year in the planning. We'd enjoyed four-weeks in Florida in 2022 but felt that was a week too long.
We'd be back again this year, but for three weeks. Starting today!
So we had booked flights with Aer Lingus, and found a lovely villa in the Cumbrian Lakes gated community, just off North Poinciana Boulevard, a few miles south of the 192 and close to the Disney Parks.
We'd stayed there in the past and enjoyed it, plus with a lake at the back (with a resident Alligator or two) my dad could enjoy his joint passions of moaning incessantly and fishing.
My mum had the added bonus of hoping a passing 'Gator might take his bait and drag my dad in for a bath and a cuddle.
With the flights booked and villa deposit paid, we then looked for car hire, so let's now go to our first little sub-heading.
Car Hire In Florida
When we returned to Florida after over 10 years in 2019, we booked a Ford Mustang for three weeks and it cost us just under £1,000 including all taxes and extra insurance, plus an added driver.
It wasn't the most comfortable car if you sat in the back, which I didn't. It was also a weedy 2-litre version, rather than the big 5-litre one. That meant cheaper fuel costs, but nowhere near as much noise, pure terror/fun.
It also came with a convertible soft-top, which was great if you sat in the front, but guaranteed you a brand new super-confused and tousled hair-do at your destination if you were in the back seats.
However a check on the prices for car hire in 2023 revealed that following Covid, prices had crept up a little once holidays returned.
So instead of £900 for three weeks, you were looking at £900 per week, often without an additional driver. And that was for a bog-standard saloon car with standard insurance. Nicer cars and better insurance made it even more expensive.
"Sod that," was my initial feeling, so we looked around and after a good deal of searching we found a site called "Wisecars".
The premise was brilliant. If you weren't bothered about the exact type of car you wanted, or who you rented it from, you booked with Wisecars for a fraction of the price and then waited until 2 days before you arrived for your car hire voucher.
Wisecars would organise your car rental with one of their partners based on what they had available for the type of car you wanted at that time. That sounded much better to us, especially when the cost for the 3 weeks for a small SUV vehicle was a paltry £771, albeit with just the one driver.
I was so delighted with that price I splashed out on excess insurance too for another £50!
I'll admit, I did wonder how it could be so cheap compared to the other sites like Budget, Hertz, Sixt and Alamo but what did I care? I had a car confirmed for less than a third I would pay on other sites!
The truth of the matter would be revealed over the next few hours.
ESTA - The Easy More Expensive Way To Visit the USA
As well as sorting your flights, villa, car hire and holiday insurance, for a trip to the United States you are now required to have a valid ESTA for everyone in your party.
The ESTA replaced the little green and white cards you used to fill in on the flight over to the United States which you would then hand over to the Border Security officials to check over before they let you in the country.
You'd just confirm your normal personal details such as your name, address, age, passport number, where you were staying in Florida and whether you were a member of any terrorist organisations and if you had plans to run naked through the Everglades tempting Alligators and Snakes with your swinging plums.
This was free for every passenger, but of course this was not satisfactory.
So in came the ESTA as a replacement which basically saw you fill in the same details as on the green and white forms, plus a few more details such as your parents names, addresses, occupations, your social media details, your blood type, IQ, your favourite colour, whether you prefer Monster Munch or Space Raiders and all of your pets names, date of birth and toilet habits.
And in addition to completing this form for all in your party, you get to pay $21 per person for the privilege!
Once you submit your application you then have to wait for it to be approved by an eagle-eyed operative of the US Border Force, who will run the rule over you so that you are not going to go to the United States and cause trouble.
Given that it is a perfectly safe haven for everyone, they don't need any limey troublemakers going into pubs and saying "Excuse me, could I trouble you for some ice in my wife's drink..." when there's a perfectly good shooting going on nearby.
Then when you've been accepted, you get to print out your ESTA to prove the US has given you the thumbs up! Cheers Uncle Sam! The ESTA lasts for two years.
We got ours in June of 2022, which meant that we were covered until June of 2024 under our current ESTAs.
The truth of the matter would be revealed within 30 minutes of arriving at the airport.
Back to Manchester...
Our original plan on the day of departure was to get insurance for Josh to drive one of the two cars we have to the airport as they were more spacious than his hatchback.
However, we checked on the insurance cost for Josh to drive our car for that day and it would have been cheaper for us to hire Lewis Hamilton to take us in the Space Shuttle.
So, all documents safely packed and entrusted to my wife, we headed out the door, put our two suitcases in Josh's boot and squeezed into his car for the 35 minute trip to the airport.
It was good training for the flight on the plane, I reckoned. Most air companies seem to feel passengers can exist within a 30 cm space and that comfort, mobility and having some feeling in your lower extremities should be classed as an optional extra available for upgraded clientele only.
Anyway, Josh got us to the airport in good time and dropped us off, we waved him goodbye and checked that he'd be back to pick us up in three weeks. We stopped for 10 seconds, but it cost him a fiver for the privilege.
The airport was not too busy and our check in line moved quickly until we were at the desk with a friendly Polish lady whose name I can't remember very well but which probably had a lot of Ms, Cs, Ls and Zs in the surname.
We smiled as she said hello and handed over our passports and the ESTA to check us all in.
She scanned the first passport no problem and asked us to put a suitcase on the weighing machine. 22.1kg with an allowance of 23kg, well done my wife on her packing skills and judgement.
The next passport was scanned with no issue, then the third and fourth and then it came to the ESTA.
"Err, do you have a valid ESTA?" she asked.
"Yes, we've given it to you there with the passports. Valid until June 2024 for all of us."
"Ah ok!" she smiled and went back to her machine. She scanned again and her brow furrowed. "Hmmmm', she tried it again with no obvious success.
"It's saying that there is no valid ESTA for Janet John and Blair John..." she said.
"Eh?" I said somewhat incredulously, "It's on the form there, June 2024..."
Surely this was a clerical error somewhere and could be easily sorted.
Suddenly a hint of realisation swept across her face. I felt relieved, until she spoke.
"Have you changed passports since you got this last ESTA?" she asked my mum and dad.
And guess what, they had and furthermore, what they don't tell you is that your ESTA isn't linked to you as a person, but rather your CURRENT passport.
Oh on the ESTA form you print out it says it is registered to you! Of course it does! Nor does it mention anywhere on that form or on the ESTA site, or on the UK Passport renewal site that you will need a new ESTA if you get a new passport.
No, passengers are expected to know this by either (a) alien abduction, (b) osmosis, (c) clairvoyance or (d) being the person that invented this unnecessary piece of shite in the first place.
As realisation sunk in to me, I felt my stomach go cold and my heart drop like a stone into it.
"So, what you are saying is we need to get new ESTA's for my mum and dad, now, in Manchester airport within the next two hours?" I asked to confirm the situation.
"Yes" she said somewhat too breezily for my liking.
"Go over here and try and sort it and then you can come back to me..." she smiled helpfully.
By now my mum was in full ESTA panic mode, I was guilty of ruining the holiday, Katharine was trying to keep everyone's spirits up and my dad was looking at me like he wanted to shoot me in the face.
I started to fill out the ESTA form on my phone, but it was slow and stupid. Then I realised, I had my laptop in my hand luggage which I had with me!
So I dragged it out and went over to the section in the airport for people with mobility issues to sit before they were carted off to security and their terminal.
The man there looked like he was about to tell me I couldn't sit there, but the fact I was sweating, angry and probably looked like I was about to either (a) punch a hole in someones face or (b) have a coronary, dissuaded him from doing so.
My mum sat with me as I tried to race through the ESTA application form, which as I said earlier is not the shortest form to fill in for each person.
I completed hers and then my dad's, submitting them within about half an hour of being informed they were out of date.
It was at this point that I remembered that ESTA's are not just accepted automatically and sent back quickly. There is a delay, usually of an hour or more. Sometimes much more.
At this point, we had 1 hour and 30 minutes until Check In closed.
For those 90 minutes we stood around refreshing my email on my phone hoping to get confirmation that the ESTA's had been accepted. 30 minutes went by. My wife got me and my mum a drink. The man at the Check In desk checked again for us. Still no Esta.
Another guy was there who had the same issue as my parents. He too was checking in with the Check In guy to see if his had come through.
"You'd better call Aer Lingus and see if they can put you on another flight..." the Check In operator said helpfully giving me the number. I rang it immediately and it continued to ring unanswered while all what follows happened.
Another 30 minutes went by. Still no ESTA. The Check In man checked again. Still no news.
What the fuck are we going to do? 20 minutes later, still no email. Phone still unanswered. A few minutes later the man came up to us with a glum look on his face.
"We are going to have to close check in shortly... You'll have to make a decision on what to do..."
Shit Shit Shit. Do you know what the feeling is like of ruining someones holiday? You don't? Well good. Because it's shit. Almost as shit as having done it right at the airport on the day you were supposed to fly out.
There was nothing we could do anymore. We'd have to leave my mum and dad here until their ESTA came through. Then hopefully Aer Lingus could rebook them on the next available flight, ideally tomorrow, to get them over.
We decided to take their luggage with us and as it was being loaded and weighed, I contacted Josh to see if he could come back to pick them up from the airport. He could thankfully.
With the baggage checked in at the very last moment, we said our goodbyes as my mum and dad went to meet Josh as my wife and I walked into the security checkpoint.
And if you want the definition of a bad son. That was me right there. I'm getting a tattoo of "Twat" on my bald spot as a mea culpa.
While my mum and dad would be picked up by Josh shortly thereafter, my wife and I now embarked on a rush to get to the terminal.
Onto the Plane and Flight...
Boarding for our flight had already started and by the time we had gone through security, time was not on our side. Once we got through, arrows directed us to "All Terminals" which was through a host of Duty Free shops, which passed us by in a blur as we raced to the terminal numbered 231.
Signposting at Manchester airport is more form than function. We followed the signs all around purportedly taking us to Terminal 231. We walked/sprinted/jogged/rolled all the way through Duty Free, galloped down an alleyway, down some stairs that led to toilets and a dead end before learning we were supposed to double back on ourselves at the foot of the stairs.
Then we took another wrong turn before we rushed back upstairs and emerged...back in the fucking Security section of the airport we had just come through 20 minutes previously. Only this time on the other side of a thin wire fence that separated the main security area from where we now stood looking bewildered and about to cry.
We had spent 20 fucking minutes running a loop around the Duty Free section at Manchester to come back to where we had been previously.
Fortunately through the doors lay the terminals and we got to Terminal 231 as the last few passengers were getting on the plane. We had enough time to go the toilet, where I didn't use the facilities but instead washed my face and tried to get my heart rate down below 270.
We got on the plane and saw that there were a couple of people in the seats we'd been allocated, but the ones in front (which would have been my mum and dad's) were empty, so we sat in them and if anyone said anything, I'd smash them over the head with my copy of The Satsuma Complex by Bob Mortimer.
Nobody did and in the one pleasant surprise of the day thus far, the seat was far more comfortable than on the Virgin flight we went on last year. I mean, it was still poorer quality than caged chickens have, but it was still MUCH better than Virgin.
I switched the air con on and aimed it directly at me so I would stop sweating like a nervous terrorist and reflected on what I had done wrong. How could I put it right?
I had to switch everything off (including my phone call to Aer Lingus which was still not answered) as we took off, but once in the air I paid €20 for the privilege of Aer Lingus on board WiFi.
Here I tried to contact Aer Lingus customer support on an Internet connection less reliable than an MPs promise. That failed, so I messaged my mum and dad, now back at home, and gave them all the details of the flight and booking and suggested they phoned up Aer Lingus to rebook the flight once the ESTA's came through.
At 11.20am, 20 mins after we had taken off, they came through. However, I didn't know this as my internet connection was so bad and my phone was in airplane mode. It was only a short time later, after I said "fuck it, if we spiral to a fiery death below I don't care" I switched my phone on to normal Wifi and I saw the email in my inbox.
I immediately messaged mum to get onto Aer Lingus and rebook.
A little while later I got the message I wanted to hear. They'd contacted Aer Lingus and rebooked on the same flight but for tomorrow. However it had cost them an additional £715 for the privilege to do so. Shit.
My chances on winning the "Worst Son of the Decade Award" were increasing by the minute.
Still at least they were booked on. They could still come on holiday. Admittedly a day less and £715 worse off, but they'd be out here tomorrow.
For the first time, the knot in my stomach subsided a little. And while I didn't enjoy the flight, I didn't spend the rest of it wanting to strangle myself with my Ipad charging cord.
The Aer Lingus cabin crew were great. They treated me like I was a normal holidaymaker. Not a ruination of a year's planning and lumbering oaf that oozed additional expenditure.
The aim now, was land, collect the two suitcases, get through border security, collect the car, head to the villa, then go shopping for bits and bobs before having a bite to eat to relax.
After all that, nothing could go wrong, we assumed.
Wrongly.
Orlando Airport Terminal C
Unbeknownst to us, we landed at Terminal C at Orlando Airport, the new terminal which no longer requires passengers to be transported over from the baggage collection and security hub to the main airport.
It is actually far better designed than the other two terminals. You collect your baggage before you go to security at Terminal C, rather than after. This means far smaller queues (if any) at security, once you have collected your bags.
Of course, if you don't have any bags to pick up and have just hand luggage, you can whizz through baggage collection and security in no time at all.
But we had our two bags to pick up, assuming that they had made it onto the flight as they were checked in right on the deadline.
Hey, maybe because they were packed on last, they will be unloaded first, I speculated using foolishly naive optimism.
So we waited. And waited. We watched suitcase after suitcase go round the belt. 30 minutes. No sign. 45 minutes, no sign. Finally after an hour, we saw my parents suitcase and claimed it, and a short time later ours eventually deigned to show up.
"I don't know what you're moaning about, I didn't fuck up the holiday and dump my parents at an airport, an hour's wait is what you deserve, you crap son of the year" the suitcase seemed to say to me as we headed through security.
I think US Border Control have been told to try and be a bit more friendly to passengers coming into the US. They did treat everyone like they were the more worrying of Osama Bin Laden's siblings for many years, but now they smiled and even wished us a happy vacation in the country when we went through.
I can remember when they held our baby son Josh aloft like he was some kind of unexploded bomb with some yankee lady shouting "Where's the father? Where's the father?" as I tried to collect my bag, pack my stuff in it and put my shoes on, while Katharine was waiting to come through security.
"Fucking hell love, do you think his nappy is made of Semtex or his shit is comprised of sticks of dynamite?" I thought to myself as I took him off her. Silly old bag.
So security completed we had a relatively short walk to the Car Hire desk and, hallelujah, the queues were much shorter than at the other two terminals!
We should be done in 20 minutes or so I reckoned!
Car Hire Surprises!
I joined the queue while my wife tried to get me a drink from a dispensing machine which happily took your money but refused to dispense any drinks and then begrudgingly refunded you thereafter.
There were around five sets of people in front of me in the queue with the first of those already being served by the man.
I say served, but after 45 minutes, they were still at the front with little happening, confusion and consternation on their faces while the rest of us in the queue all thought the same thing.
"JUST SORT THE FUCKERS OUT WITH A CAR WILL YOU!"
The couple in front of me decided that they would go to the empty Hertz Car Rental to hire from there instead and I can't say I blamed them. I didn't have that luxury as my booking through Wisecars was with Budget alone.
Eventually, the family at the desk were sorted after an hour. The three sets of people in front of me took a further hour. By which point, my voice was almost gone as my mouth was drier than Gandhi's flip flop.
When I eventually reached the desk, I mustered a smile and attempted to say "Hello" but what instead came out was a wheeze of air and a throaty "Hhsshhaahhahllo"
The chap serving me smiled a lot, which was nice as he took my details. I was half expecting him to say "no, we don't have this booking" given how the day had gone, but no he found it quickly and informed us that we had the car we wanted, a Mazda SUV thing.
I asked about putting my wife on as an extra driver and that we were willing to pay the extra, but he smiled and informed me that my wife would be included as a second driver free of charge.
I fucking loved this man. He delivered good news on a bad news day!
Now it came to the local insurances. I knew they were coming as on the booking form it did say that some providers may charge local insurances on the vehicle. I asked what the options are.
"Well there's the standard package at $49, but you can get the deluxe package for $69."
I mean what's $20 more for the deluxe when you are saving nearly £1500 on car hire? I felt deluxe was the way to go and was about to cheerily say so when he added.
"Per day of course."
"Eh? Per day?" I said.
My mind raced through some mathematics that Carol Vorderman would have been proud of..."We're here 3 weeks, 21 days, what is 21 x $49? I know. It's a fucking lot of money - that's what it is."
"Err... Is this extra insurance? I already have some with Wisecars you see..."
"No, no sir," he smiled "This is mandatory to have with this rental"
I smiled and sighed but my mind was thinking "Fucking hell". I handed over my Credit Card to him.
"And there's also the $200 deposit, which we will refund to you when the car is returned in a satisfactory condition."
Of course there is. Do you want me to bend over so you can stiff me some more?
"I'll have the standard insurance then," I said as my mind worked out that this was going to cost me an extra £1,100 or so, $200 of which I'd get back.
That's more than double what I pay for an entire year to drive either of our cars. Robbing baskets.
But by now, I was so fucked off, tired, sweaty, thirsty, I'd have paid whatever to get the car and drive off. I am sure they bank on people being that way. That's why they take a fucking age to sort anyone with their keys.
Eventually, he printed out the forms which has the tiniest print known to man on it, which I signed and he then handed me the keys and told me where the car was parked. Which fortunately, was just outside the exit of where we were at present.
We drove out of the airport, £1,850 extra spent between us, and with half our party still in the UK.
Great job Ian. Well done on that. Still, there surely can't be any more nasty surprises on holiday?
Yeah right. Things were just getting warmed up as they often do in Florida.
The Villa and Essentials Shopping
The drive to the Villa should have been simple. It was simple. If we weren't tired, stressed, running on adrenaline and generally in a bad mood.
My wife misread a road sign and we ended up turning off a junction too early and heading south on a road that went to Tampa, which also turned out to be a Toll Road.
Being a prick, I snapped at her for getting it wrong before I then made a mistake when trying to navigate myself, for which she didn't snap at me because she's a far better person than I am.
However, we eventually ended up on the John Young Parkway and then from there it was a drive down to the 192, along the 192 to Oren Brown Road and then a left turn and a short drive to Cumbrian Lakes. Easy.
Only, it wasn't. First I missed the Oren Brown turning as it came a lot more quickly than I thought. No problem, I knew that there was a turning to Poinciana Boulevard at the top of the bend in the 192, I'll just go down there.
I drove up to the turning positioned myself right only to see "Road Closed" signs up.
"Shit! What the fuck? Why is the road closed?"
I did have my wits to perform a U-turn at the earliest opportunity and then followed the diversion signs back to Oren Brown Road before finally turning onto Poinciana and heading down to Cumbrian Lakes.
It was an extra 20 minutes due to the rush hour traffic and queues at the lights at Oren Brown.
We reached the Villa and collected the keys, fumbled with the door locks for a while before realising how they opened (sounds daft, but you had to half turn the key, then take it out, then do the same for the other lock - a full turn kept it locked or nearly snapped the key).
The Villa was, thankfully, lovely. The cool air con felt like a hug from Frosty the Snowman, it was clean, cool, big. We unloaded the car and sat down. We snatched a drink of cooled water from the fridge dispenser as that was all we had. I downed one glass, then made another.
By now the time was gone 7pm Florida time after our 3 hours+ at the airport and hour journey that should have been 30 minutes. So we headed off out to get the essentials in.
I felt we had to do this as a mea culpa for fucking up my parents flight. So we headed off to Publix, which is kind of a Floridian Sainsburys or Morrisons.
We travel light to take just two cases with us on the way out so we tend to buy toiletries in the US. We have done that for many years as prices were comparable with the UK.
Not anymore. We grabbed a trolley and filled it with essentials, water, drinks, snacks, breakfast items, butter, bread, other food essentials and treats. Then we loaded up with the other items we needed, loo rolls, washing liquid, kitchen towel, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant and some we didn't need but felt we would at some point, such as beer.
The trolley had a fair bit in, but was by no means full. The smiling lady put it through the till while a lovely polite young man packed the bags for us and put them in the trolley.
She smiled sweetly as she turned to us and told us the price.
"That'll be $500 and..." something else that my mind could not comprehend at the time.
My wife looked at the $200 she had in her hand ready.
By now I was resigned, so out came the debit card this time to pay. We had set up a card with Chase Bank to use expressly for times such as this on holiday, but with my parents not here, it did not feel right using it. So it went from our bank account. Serves me right I suppose.
We drove back and unloaded the car and looked surprised at how empty the kitchen cupboards looked considering we'd spent almost £400 on stuff. Just how that had happened became apparent when we checked the receipt.
There were a few bargains. Well one. A prawn ring, usually around £20 - £30 over here, was $9. Drinks and water were reasonably priced, about the same as in the UK.
But that's where the good news ended. Two share-sized packs of crisps, $7. A jar of Dip $5. Washing liquid $20+ dollars, Shampoo and Conditioner $10 - $20 each, deodorant $8, a bag of sweets $12. Some small sausages $5 for a small pack, bacon $9 a pack.
Suddenly all those shows where people have billions of coupons to get all their shopping for free made immediate sense.
At the villa, we ended the day with my wife burning the Mac and Cheese by accident and in truth, it tasted better burnt than it did cooked normally. The cooked chicken was lovely though.
However, we both felt that the holiday hadn't started. We didn't head out into the pool. We ate our tea, had a few glasses of water, had a shower and went to bed.
Tomorrow would be more shopping for the things we hadn't remembered to pick up at Publix and then picking the parents up from the airport.
Day 2 - Collecting Parents, More Expensive Shopping
After Day 1, Day 2 could not be any worse and thankfully wasn't. We woke up late at around 9am and after a breakfast of toast and a cup of coffee, I headed out into the pool area to take a look at the pool and lake behind us.
The pool did look a worrying shade of green and I turned to Katharine and said "That looks a bit green doesn't it?"
"Yes it does, it's probably from the rain..." answered a male voice to my left which made me jump.
The Pool man came in through the door with his stuff and explained how the rain washes chemicals into the pool turning it green. I knew this with my pond at home and filled in when he struggled for words.
"There's a word for them chemicals...can't remember what it is..."
"Nitrates?"
"Yeah them, and they react with the stuff...err..."
"Chlorine?"
"Yeah that's right year, and it goes green..."
He'd obviously studied the scientific aspect of pool care in consummate detail, but he was a nice chap from England and he kept the pool in great shape while we were there.
A short time later, with the pool already crystalline clean, we headed out to the supermarket mid-morning to pick up some of the extra items we'd missed.
That was another $300+ from the bank account heading to Walmart this time.
We also went to the liquor store to get some Southern Comfort for me and some Vodka for my wife and mum. This was a pleasant surprise as both were much cheaper than in the UK.
Was Florida starting to appeal to the alcoholic crowd I wondered? I mean, you'd have to be pissed to want to live in a state governed by Ron De Santis wouldn't you?
He's the man who wants Floridian schoolchildren to learn that slavery was actually a good thing for black people for a variety of reasons that beggar belief but which to him make perfect sense. Essentially, because he's a racist cockwomble.
Anyhoo, we returned to the villa, had the rest of the chicken for lunch and my wife sat and read while I consulted the map to avoid any wrong turns on the way to the airport.
 |
| Day 2 - Katharine waiting at the Airport |
Well, fortunately, Day 2 went fine. We got to the airport with no fuss. Waited for my parents who, without the need to collect luggage, waltzed through Terminal C in record time and were out to greet us shortly thereafter.
At last that sick feeling in my stomach started to go away as we drove back to the villa, once again without incident.
It had been a busy two days for the parents, hence the following photo.
 |
| All too much for some |
However, the holiday had now officially begun.
You'll have to tune in for Part Two for further details of what other misadventures we had.
Comments
Post a Comment