Three Week, One Tripito: DFW

One year and a handful of months ago, I slowly crept up the wooden stairs of my parents house to wake up my mom and bid her farewell. I was minutes away from leaving the United States for a four month study abroad program in Chile. I kissed my mom and the cheek, said goodbye, and right before I quietly shut her door she looked at me and said, “I think you are going to get the bug.”

I responded, “What?!? Bug?!? What are you talking about?”

She quickly replied, “The travel bug. Son, I think you are going to develop the travel bug.”

As I lay on the cold marble floor of Dallas Fort Worth International Airport, DFW, trying to figure out some solution to kill time on my 12 hour layover; I now realize my mom was absolutely right. My day dreams are filled with tropical beaches, city monuments, and international dance parties. My largest expense displayed in my Wells Fargo spending report, is airfare, and my tongue feels deprived and incomplete when I go more than two or three days without speaking Spanish. I have the bug. I love to travel.

This brings me back to DFW, the first and hopefully worst step in my next little adventure.

Frugality always seems to bring me bizarre yet memorable circumstances. To demonstrate I will provide two concrete examples from my prior adventure with hetero-life-mate Devon.

1. The cheapest hostel in Pucon, Chile, which I of course booked because it was low priced, turned out to be an Israeli infested dwelling where within a mere three hours Devon and I felt, awkward, accepted, then loved… I still talk to some of members from the “Jew Crew” at Hostal Limay

2. 2. In Ancud, Chile I decided to stay at some old woman’s house because her price per traveler was half of the amount charged at any of the Hostels in the boring, worthless town of Ancud. Well this woman’s house was straight from a Rob Zombie horror film. The bathrooms were covered in black, most likely skin devouring, goo; the kitchen smelled of rotten meat; and the “hosts” of the house were crazy.

Good, Israelis in Pucon, Chile, or bad, Crazy Rob Zombie House in Ancud, Chile, both these cases definitely made a lasting impact on my memory. So in honor of my frugality and memories I decided to save $250 dollars by opting for a 12 hour layover in the one the only DFW airport, rather than flying from Denver to Dallas to Miami, then Costa Rica all in one day. Well this economical idea, which would get me a pat on the back from my sophomore year accounting teacher (Who by the way was great at increasing assets and owners equity), was a big mistake for at least 2 solid reasons.

1. Once a passenger has passed through the seven levels of Homeland Security, DFW has every kind of restaurant one would ever want, Chile’s, Steak Places, Sushi, Mexican, Irish Pubs, Pizza and more; however not one proper food eating establishment exists in their widely spread, pre security terminals. Thank God, my good friend Allison Filderman made me an excessive amount of homemade oatmeal, chocolate, cranberry cookies. Seriously those kept me alive during my unfortunate discovery of DFW’s flaw in food service options.

2.Who designed this airport?!? I want to walk into the architectural firm that drew up this building, storm into the office of the head of the DFW design team, look him square in the eyes and say, “NO!” “No, No, No, No, NO!” Then backhand slap him in the face and walk out.

Who draws blueprints for an airport where each terminal, pre security checkpoint, is separate by miles of highway and spiraling roads? It took me 20 minutes to get from Terminal C to D on a Bus… Those letters are neighbors in the English alphabet shouldn’t anything labeled C then followed by D be close together? Having everything so spread out would be like putting a 60 yard HD TV in a football stadium… it just shouldn’t happen.

What I have learned is… Saving $250 dollars is great, but in Dallas’ rat maze of an airport it is not worth it.