Travel editor eats crow

If you read this column last week, you're probably curious how the story of my family's recent ski trip from Pittsburgh to the Laurentian Mountains of Canada turned out.

If you didn't, I was recounting how my "trip-idations" -- the pre-trip worries I'd expressed earlier about the uncertainties of travel -- had come true.

To recap, our journey to Montreal was fine. Our nonstop flight from Pittsburgh had landed on time. Unfortunately, two pieces of luggage, one of which contained most of our skiwear, took an extra day to arrive. An annoying problem on a four-day trip, but a minor one compared to the trip home.

When I ran out of space last week, my wife, two sons and I had breezed through departure formalities at Montreal's Dorval Airport and were waiting in the Cheers Bar. We were an hour and a half early for our flights, three of us on a 6:30 departure for Pittsburgh and my older son for a 7 p.m. departure to Washington, D.C., via Philadelphia. Problem was, the snow was starting to close in, and we had no idea whether our flights would be leaving on time.

One reason was the deteriorating weather situation. The other reason was that our Pittsburgh flight hadn't been listed at the designated departure gate, although the Philadelphia departure was listed. About 5:30, when I wandered down to the gate to check again, the Philadelphia was showing on-time, but there was no sign or notice of our Pittsburgh plane.

Figuring I had time to spare, I remembered that I had intended to get some information regarding the Value Added tax refund the Canadian government gives nonresident travelers on many goods and services, including hotel bills. The province of Quebec offers a similar refund, and together the two totaled a 13 percent refund, no small change. I knew drivers could claim the refund at the border when they leave the country, but air travelers have to pick up a form that must be mailed from outside Canada.

I found a pamphlet explaining how to apply for the refund, but since it was written in French, I wanted to speak to someone who could answer a few questions in English. Strolling up the corridor, I saw a sign that said "Customs" and an arrow pointing down a short flight of stairs. Walking down the steps, I saw an young airport police officer standing nearby.

"Can you tell where I can get information about these tax refunds," I asked him.

"No," he answered with official courtesy. "And I'm afraid I can't let you go back up those stairs."

"Excuse me?"

"You're in a secured area. Regulations require you to go through customs again. Do you have your boarding pass and ID?"

"They're with my wife upstairs."

He nodded understandingly. "Unfortunately, I can't permit you go up there alone, and I can't leave my post. I'll call security and have someone accompany you." He mumbled a few words into his shoulder microphone and then returned his attention to incoming passengers.

Suddenly, as Rod Serling might have observed, I was in the Twilight Zone. As I waited for my escort, I considered bolting or protesting loudly, but since I thought there was plenty of time, I decided patience was the more prudent course. Five minutes passed, then 10, and I asked the officer to call again for help.

This time, another officer quickly appeared. After the two spoke in French, the second officer motioned for me to follow him up the stairs. Unfortunately, when we reached the restaurant, my family wasn't there. The officer, who didn't speak English, got my meaning when I tried to explain they must be at the departure gate.

Sure enough, my wife was at the gate, waving her arms with some consternation as I walked up, the officer at my side. It was nearly 6 p.m. "Where have you been?" she asked, somewhat heatedly. "They're boarding the flight."

"No time to explain," I said, grabbing my wallet. I showed the travel documents to the officer, and he motioned for me to follow him.

I broke into a sweat as I dashed back to the customs area, out through the exit gates and back up through the four checkpoints that led back to the departure lounge, at each stop being waved through after a brief explanation of my situation.

By the time I got back to the gate, it was about 6:17, a full 13 minutes before departure, but my younger son was shaking his head. "We missed the plane," he announced, with more than a touch of exasperation in his tone.

"It's an international departure," my wife explained, "and since you weren't here, they've taken our luggage off the plane."

Even though the plane was still at the gate, the flight was officially closed, two gate agents explained. The next Pittsburgh departure wasn't until 6:30 in the morning. Furthermore, they could offer nothing in the way of assistance or compensation, since I had to accept responsibility for our delay.

Neither did they offer my older son any assistance when his flight was canceled because the storm had shut Philadelphia's airport entirely.

Talk about hassle and expense. I booked us a room at the Airport Hilton. We had to retrieve our luggage and schlep it over to the hotel, where we spent a restless and rather expensive night before heading back to the airport at 5:30 a.m. for a departure scheduled at 6:30 but which didn't actually take off until almost 7:30.

We arrived back in Pittsburgh the next morning, about 12 hours after we'd planned, while my son got back to Dulles International Airport about 11 a.m., also about half a day late. Ironically, there was no snow at either destination.

Now, this column is not meant to be an indictment of airline or airport personnel. Our unnecessary inconvenience and added expense were a combination of circumstance and official policy, clearly set in motion by my walking down that flight of steps.

I've traveled a fair amount. Normally, I'm careful about following the rules and not walking into forbidden places. This time, the only sign said "Customs," and the situation seemed benign.

I understand that the airport officers and airline personnel were doing their jobs and following security regulations.

It must, however, also have been clear to all of them that a simple mistake had been made by a misguided tourist, not a terrorist or someone trying to sneak out of Canada without paying the $10 airport exit fee. That should have been particularly clear to the second officer once he'd seen my documents and family. Perhaps, as my wife has reminded me, if I had protested loudly at that point, I might have convinced him to let me get on the plane.

Apart from our delay, the cost of the airport hotel and all the portions of crow I've eaten as family, friends and now readers have heard about my faux pas, my Montreal misunderstanding was relatively minor. Every day the schedules of thousands of travelers are interrupted by a wide variety of circumstances.

Our mishap was at least partly my responsibility, but travelers to Philadelphia, New York City and Boston that night also had to scramble to find overnight accommodations when their flights were canceled, and they didn't get a bit of assistance, other than being rebooked on morning flights. The lounge at the hotel was filled with business travelers on cell phones rescheduling meetings.

Truth is, although travelers can try to protect themselves against travel inconvenience, there's no absolute preventative. The best-laid plans can go awry.

It's also understandable why airlines don't accept responsibility for cancellations caused by weather and other issues over which they have no control. How can they be expected to bear the financial burden, especially for travelers flying on relatively inexpensive tickets?

But I do regret that there seems to be a certain callousness on the part of carriers and an erosion in the customer service attitudes of the people who keep the wings and wheels of the transportation system rolling.

Rather than exercising personal judgment to assist the misguided, they seem more concerned with following the letter of their job descriptions. Although it is by no means the only cause of the general deterioration of the travel experience, it certainly is a contributing factor.

It can be best summarized by the reaction of the first airport officer we passed on the way to retrieve our luggage before going to the hotel.

"We missed our flight," I said, with more than a tinge of hostility.

He gave me a casual shrug, as if to say, "Not my problem."

The one consolation I can extract is that these negative experiences sometimes make the best travel stories.

It's regrettable so many other travelers have these sorts of tales to tell, too.