Forty-two hours to get to Rio

A two-day diary, and a columnist’s friendship with Dave

RIO DE JANEIRO— So, you are going to the Olympics! Congratulations. But be warned: it may not be easy. Tennis star Agnieszka Radwanska had to get to Rio through Portugal, after starting in Montreal. The Nigerian men’s soccer team barely made a soccer match in time.

Here is one way to get to Rio. There may be others, who knows?

1. Start in Toronto. Have your backpack zipper break. You love the backpack: it has accompanied you to four different Olympics and everywhere else in between. Your wife had told you the zipper was going to break and you scoffed, like an idiot. It will break at security. Spend 20 minutes fixing it. Say hello to a fellow Canadian, a man in his mid-50s with a white moustache. His name is Dave; he’s a swim official from Brantford. Nice guy. Fly to Miami.

2. Now here is where we get creative. A savage storm in Miami will send you circling Orlando, which if your pilots flew from L.A. first, means you have to land and get a new crew. Do this. Wait on the tarmac for a while. Make small talk with the young women who are trying to get to Lima, Peru. They are adventurous; it is good to be adventurous, when you are young.

3. Break your backpack zipper again. Realize there is no food at the Orlando airport at 10 p.m. Eat the airline cookies they give you. Fix the zipper again. Miss your connection.

4. Now: reschedule your flight. This will take four American Airlines employees, led by the fabulous Renee, about half an hour. You will ask, is this the only way? She will say honey, it’s the only way.

5. Get a new crew. Land in Miami, an hour late. The rebook line is literally 1,000 people long, and moving slowly. Commiserate with Dave.

Wait! Come across a delayed flight to Rio that is boarding. There are coach seats, they say. Can we use them, you ask? No, they say, not without talking to the airline. Call the airline. They say there are no empty seats.

Give up. Go ask for your bag. Get told you cannot have it.

6. Book a hotel over the phone, The Coconut Grove Courtyard. Make sure the cabbie gets lost. Steer him in the proper direction carefully, like he is a SpaceX rocket or an old-timey bike.

7. Notice that the hotel elevators are ringing. Also, at 2 a..m., there is a line. The gentleman behind the desk, Carlos, will say at one point, “I need help. I cannot handle this alone.”

8. But he can. Get told the systems are down because of the storm, and there is water in the elevator shaft, and one guy had to climb 19 flights of stairs to reach his room. Two women in their late 30s will arrive, dressed to party. When told the elevator is busted, the brunette in the thigh-high stilettos will not break stride. “Whatever,” she will say, “let’s go work out those buns.” Some people are inspirational. Look over at Dave and ask, “By the way, Dave, where are you from?” He will say, straight-faced, “I don’t remember.” It is 3 a.m. now. Climb nine floors. Realize you got a kingsized bed. Dave will offer to sleep in the chair. You will say nah, take that side of the bed. We’re Canadians. We’re all in this together.

9. Wake up a few hours later. Wonder where Dave got to. Shower, put on the same clothes, back to the airport. Wait in line for 45 minutes to make sure they pair your bag with your new flights. Make them promise. They will not.

10. Eat at La Carreta, Gate 37. Eat it all. See Dave. He made it! Share your key lime pie with him, he’s had a rough day. You both left home about 24 hours ago. You have reached Miami. You could have driven.

11. Leave Dave. Fly to Manaus. It’s near the Amazon, where Brazil built a soccer stadium for the 2014 World Cup and then basically left it to rot. Lose your bag. Fill out a Baggage Irregularity Report. Pass the stand where they sell frozen fish. Break your backpack zipper for a final time. Buy the only decent-sized backpack in the airport. Throw the old backpack away, after all these years. Moment of silence. We had some good times.

12. Fly from Manaus to Sao Paolo at 1:44 a.m. Who flies at that time? Lots of people. People with kids! Those poor parents. Those poor kids.

13. Sit in a middle seat. Sleep the straitjacketed, lolling, awkward half-sleep of the damned.

14. Connect in Sao Paolo at 6:45. Make your middle-seat connection with about 10 minutes to spare.

15. Rio. RIO! There’s a mascot dancing creepily and everything. You left your house 42 hours ago. Your bag is in Miami. Maybe it got an apartment, found a job, met someone. Hope it is happy.

16. Realize one reason air travel is exhilarating is the stakes. You go somewhere new, or you get plunged into a parallel universe where Kafka lurks on every plane, in every baggage carousel, at every counter. Either way.

But finally, Rio. The Olympics. Leave the incompetence, the mindless lineups, the things that do not work behind. Right?

Ah, crap.