We got up about 7 AM, and had breakfast in the hotel. It was somewhat better than the previous day, and at least it was included in the room rate.
The desk clerk called a taxi for us, and we left about 10:30 AM. Another 30 EU to the airport. We thought it was very strange when the driver went into the parking garage and up a couple levels to drop us off. She indicated that the Departures were right through the door. While Ron was paying her, I found a trolley, and we loaded the carry-ons. Ron's roll-on bag was heavy, and his "briefcase/tote bag" even heavier with the computers and paperwork.
Once we were inside and looked at the departures board, we realized that the driver had left us off at a very inconvenient location. The check-in desk for our flight was an incredibly long walk. If she had dropped us in front of the terminal, we would have been right there. Pushing the trolley wasn't easy, as it was one of those on which you have to push down the handle to move forward.
To make matters worse, Ron had used zip ties to close up my walker so it would easier to handle, but also totally unavailable to use, carry luggage on or to sit upon. Thus, it also had to be piled onto the trolley. Slowly we made our way across nearly the entire terminal. Finally I said I didn't think I needed to go to the counter since we already had boarding passes (received the previous day in Geneva). The only place we could see for me to sit was near a crowded, counter-serve coffee shop. I waited until a seat came open, but couldn't order anything, as I didn't want to leave luggage unattended. Ron continued on to the KLM assistance area to find out what was going on. This is when he found out we didn't have comfort seats, and that the entire plane was full. When he came back he said we had to go back to KLM assistance.
Once we arrived there, we met with the woman Ron had spoken to, a very helpful customer service rep, who let me sit in the area, and she accompanied Ron to the check-in counter. The agent there said it was in the computer that we were to have wheelchair assistance. So, she and Ron came back, got me, and she escorted us another long way to the wheelchairs, as per Ron's comment, "Wheelchairs wouldn't come to us".
At the assistance waiting area, I sat next to a lady who began coughing so much that I retrieved an old "Covid" mask from my bag. Finally, two wheelchairs came and took us through Immigration and to the plane.
There we walked down the aisle of the A350, not realizing how long a walk it would be. In place of comfort seats, we were assigned seats in Row 51, the absolute last row, surely the worst seats on the plane. I had my small tote bag, and Ron was saddled with his roll-on and briefcase (which I already mentioned were heavy), plus my carry-on (filled with both our medicine bags) . Unlike the previous day on KLM, there were no cheerful, helpful attendants offering to lend a hand aboard Delta. I arrived at Row 51 about 10-minutes prior to Ron, who was struggling along while trying to find a place in the overhead bins to store his roll-on. The seat configuration was 3-3-3, and we were in the middle section, so I had the very middle seat. It's been about 40-years since I sat in a middle seat since if we fly economy we always request aisles across from each other. Thankfully, the young Dutch fellow next to me was pleasant, and even offered me a chocolate cookie, commenting "Sharing is caring."
That guy didn't think the seats in our row reclined, and I was trying to no avail. We were really upset then, but finally, Ron found the right button and showed me. I then told my Dutch seat mate, and we were all a tad happier.
Knowing that unlike the previous day there would be no "adult beverage" handed to us within moments, I commented, "They will run out of wine before they ever serve this row". Ron said, "The galley is right here, they will start here." Ha!
The chosen meal selection for the three of us in middle Row 51 was chicken, but of course by the time the food server got to our row, there was only one chicken left. Ron gave me the chicken, and he had the pasta, which neither of us could identify by taste or consistency.
There were several interesting sounding new release movies, but my Delta "earbud" headphones did not work properly, so I couldn't take advantage of the seat-back entertainment. But, overall I was surprised that the seat was not as uncomfortable as we had expected. Ron was still irate, but I didn't find it so terrible.
The flight was a little over 9 hours, and we arrived in Atlanta on-time around 4:30 PM. Of course we were the last passengers to deplane. We walked up the jetway to the terminal.
Eventually, one wheelchair assistant showed up. He was annoyed that the order hadn't been correct but said, "No problem" and began pushing us both, moving along at a brisk pace. It was truly unbelievable what a long distance it was. The architect who designed that international arrivals area should be barred from the profession. We told our "driver" that we had "Global Entry" for Immigration so could use a kiosk instead of standing in line. He said that the Global Entry area was about another mile, and if it wasn't busy it would be easier to go through the line. Of course, he was able to access a special lane, so we got through very quickly. He had been chatting all along the way, and I said he must be in shape to run a marathon. He told us he had been working in Atlanta airport five years, and had trained many of the help assistants. Previously he worked in Detroit, and mentioned Woodward, John R, and Livernois, all streets I was very familiar with.
The next challenge was dealing with the checked bags, which the driver and Ron collected from the carousel and placed on a trolley. The driver then told Ron that he would be responsible for pushing the trolley in front of his wheelchair and steering it (which involved pushing down on that bar again), and he proceeded to push Ron, me, AND the luggage trolley another long distance to the pick-up area in front of arrivals. We should have had a picture of that procession.
Ron had arranged to be picked up by a woman named Janet, who lives in Deaton Creek, and been recommended by other residents. Janet was chased away by the traffic cop, but managed to get back to collect us and fit all the luggage into her orange vehicle (we didn't notice the make).
Janet is a heavy-set black woman, and when she began talking about moving to Deaton Creek, some of the things she mentioned seemed familiar. I finally placed that I had played Mah-Jong with her once at a neighbor's home. I wasn't sure, so I didn't mention it, as I thought it might verge on that "all black people look alike" phrase.
The traffic was as expected for Atlanta rush-hour, slow-going. When we finally got to Braselton, Ron asked Janet to stop at JAX. He didn't think there was any Scotch at the house, and it was needed to settle the nerves of the long two days.
The house looked pristine. No piles of paperwork stacked around, and everything in its place unless you looked for the inch of dust on every surface.
Janet rang the doorbell shortly after we got home, and returned the two umbrellas we had left in the car. At that time Ron mentioned that I thought I had played Mah-Jong with her at Angela's, and that she had driven me home. She said she thought I looked familiar. Maybe "all white folks look the same", too.
"To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted." - Bill Bryson
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