Homeward Bound

Oh Canada, you were beautiful in the light of an October Sunday afternoon. The warm Autumn sun shone in a clear blue sky making it feel like late August/early September. And I am leaving today on a jet plane . . .

I was escorted to Pearson International Airport by friends (thanks Lyn & Ken!) where Terminal 1 gleamed new and impressive. The high rounded white ceiling reminded me of a cross of Quonset hut and a classic railroad station. Light and airy. I got in line to get my ticket and check my 2 bags and box. Too much weight, it would cost me. I tried to get the airline hostess to forgive some of the weight and in the end she overlooked about 5 kgs. At least it was something. I said good-bye to Ken & Lyn went into the international departure area.

Nice area to shop, eat and use the free wi-fi (way to go Pearson!). It allowed me a quick email and to check on the scores. The sunshine was shining brightly into the terminal. Well designed, convenient and well built. The scene was orderly, peaceful and spoke of good government . . .

The time came for us to board the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. The flight wasn’t full so many of us could spread out. As we lifted into the western sky, into the sun I could look down and see the city of Toronto. I could see the 401 below like a long ribbon. As the jet airliner slowly turned east we could see the skyline of the downtown core. The city was beautiful in the afternoon Autumn sun, the late-in-the-year angle gave it a warm glow. We rose ever higher flying over the northern shore of Lake Ontario. The many lakes to the north of the city were visible. As we flew eastward the night came on at a fast pace, the palette of sky colours turned from shades of brilliant yellow into mellow orange, into deep purple then into the blackness of night. On the ground the towns slowly became lit, clusters of lights popped on everywhere. Was that Montreal as I looked down? I couldn’t be sure but it was about where the pilot said it would be.

After that I stopped looking out the window. Dinner came and went. They had a vegetarian dish, lasagna, available and I gratefully chose it. Airline food isn’t all that bad these days, except for meat, an uneven proposition at best. Then many folks settled into watching their own personal viewing screens or trying to close their eyes for the overnight trip across the Atlantic. I did a little of both. I watched the beginning and end of The Simpsons Movie and dozed through the middle. I find it hard to sleep on flights. It’s like sleeping in hospitals, there is always someone or something waking you up. So I settled on a dozen catnaps.

We landed safely in Frankfurt at 6:30 a.m. local time, which was just past midnight by my internal clock. I knew the routine by now; wait patiently as passengers disembarked one by one, from the warmth of the cabin to the cool morning air go into the waiting shuttle bus, arrive at some distant terminal and try to find where my next departure gate is. I first looked around the duty-free area where all the shops were. From alcohol and tobacco to reading material and candies with perfumes and electronics crowding shelves as well.

Eventually I looked for the big “I” for information and was pointed in the right direction. Down long corridors I walked until I found the shuttle train that would take me out to the gate where I needed to be. When I got out there I realized that I was in a veritable dead end wing with nothing to do but sit. No stores to shop in, but that’s ok, no temptation either. It had restrooms and that was sufficient. As I waited I decided to see if there was free wi-fi at this international airport. I found several wi-fi sources, including one that said ‘free public wi-fi’ but all of them proved unavailable. One needed to pay or to have a password, I didn’t want to pay and I didn’t have access to a password. So I sat and read and waited.

The second leg of the flight (Frankfurt-Khartoum-Addis Ababa) went well. The plane was mostly full but not sold out. I was joined in the 2 window seats (Airbuses have a 2-5-2 arrangement, as opposed to the Boeing 3-3-3 seating, which I prefer, especially if I am stuck with a middle row seat) by a man who spoke English with a thick accent so neither of us talked during most of the trip. In the light of midday I saw parts of Europe below. In the mountainous terrain below I was gratified to see the Alps were snow covered, Switzerland was still as it should be. The snow line stopped suddenly and gave way to brown mountains, I guessed I was looking at the Italian Alps. Soon we were flying down the western coast of Italy with the Mediterranean below and the outline of land off in the distance. We flew over Sicily and back over the sea again and I lost interest.

The next time I looked I saw way below what looked like snowed covered desert, the Sahara looked white but I knew that could not be. But at 37,000 feet the endless tracks of sand in the afternoon sun looked like it had been hit with a snow storm. Eventually in the late afternoon we began our descent to Khartoum and the desert looked brown and dry as it should. What would it take to revive all that wasted space, I wondered. What if global warming suddenly started dumping lots of rain over the Sahara, the Sahel of Africa? Would the desert spring to life like a vision of Ezekiel?

We spent over an hour on the ground getting refueled. I said good-bye to my seatmate. We started talking at the end and I found out that he was from Italy, near Venice, and he was working for a company in Sudan, making rolled sheet metal. He had worked all over the world as a consultant, helping to start companies in some cases; Venezuela, Jordan, etc. But now he was just playing out the string, looking at the end goal of 3 more years until retirement. His wife and daughter were living in Italy and he visited every 3 months. And that’s the way it is, he shrugged. He liked his job, he liked the people he was working with now and the pay was ok. He probably could do better buy why start over somewhere else when things were working out here? After we said good-bye to each other I got up and stretched. About one-third to one-half the passengers left and no one came on board, there would be lots of room for the final, short leg of the journey.

The last 2 hours of flight was in the dark and uneventful. We were given cellophane wrapped sandwiches which were pretty good. The Germans can make good sandwiches at least (hearty ‘voll-korn’ bread is a good start). Soon the lights of Addis came into view, I was almost home. I tried to guess, by the directions of the street lights, what we were flying over but was never sure until we had almost landed. I figured out the Ring Road just as we were landing, the road I was going to take back to the MCC compound, back to where my little family waited silently for me . . .

The landing went well. I was grateful for a safe flight. As I get older I tend to think about all the things that could go wrong in flight and have to have an internal argument over and over about the general safety of air transportation. No need to voice those concerns, it only alarms one’s family and unnerves fellow passengers. So I quietly say a prayer of thanks and disembark.

Next stop was the customs’ line-up. The queue wasn’t too bad for 9 p.m. at night and I got through in 15 minutes. I stood around with the rest of the group waiting for luggage. As people got their luggage and the crowd dwindled, I became uneasy, did my 2 suitcases and box make it? Another worry about flying (albeit much less traumatic) is losing luggage, there are horror stories out there. But eventually the conveyor belt spewed out my stuff, to my relief. I had a safe trip, I had all my luggage, my ears were fine (a common malady for me when I fly is my ears hurt from the change in pressure upon landing as well as the inability to hear; ‘swimmer’s ear’ in the air). One last hurdle, standing in line to wait for our bags to be x-rayed on the way out of the airport (does this make sense? Checking luggage of passengers as they leave the airport? I leave that, dear reader, to you to decide). Apparently there was only one screener available, thus only one line and there were by now two flight loads of passengers trying to squeeze through all at once.

With no discernable line a bottleneck sooned formed. I acted like everyone else, I pushed my cart forward into the fray. If I didn’t, if I acted like a gentleman, I would never get through (not true, of course, but it felt like that to me, and to all the others as well, chaos can make good people take unfriendly actions). It was hard to see the value of this exercise, no one was questioned about the contents of their luggage. It seemed like a rote procedure that had to be done. So we all dutifully submitted, to protest was to invite delay. No standing on principal at 10 p.m. at night at Bole International Airport.

After making it through the line I turned on my cellphone and called Wanda. The girls were just going to bed. Amani couldn’t make it, she was too tired. But Wanda said she would tell Abby and Sophia. It was time to find the Toyota Landcruiser that had been parked in the parking lot, load up and go. I travelled for 3 weeks with the key so that I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone into waiting for me. It is a good system. There were the eager young men, ‘porters’ they called themselves, who insisted on helping me with my luggage in spite of my assurances that I could do it myself. Consequently they all got 1 Birr (about 10 cents) which they sullenly accepted, a Westerner should be tipping more in spite of the going rate (should I point out for their 5 minutes of work, if that, I am paying them the equivalent of 20 Birr/hour?) of 25-50 ‘cents’ for Ethiopians.

The Ring Road was mostly empty although I needed to watch out for pedestrians. Dark and quiet, I drove uneventfully to home. It took a couple of honks to get the guards to come to the gate but when I pulled in I saw three figures in the porch light, two small girls waving flags and jumping around like cheerleaders. I parked and as I opened the door to the Landcruiser I was welcomed by Abby and Sophia. Warm smiles, big hugs and happy kisses, still jumping up and down and cheering, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!” And there was Wanda, smiling and waiting for me with a big hug and kiss and saying, “Welcome home. I’m so glad to see you. We’re all glad you are back home.”

The guards lugged all the baggage inside, I’m sure they wondered what the heck I had in them, what was I bringing back, the kitchen sink? Inside there was a big Canadian flag taped up across the opening to the hall, a big ‘Welcome Home Daddy” sign and dozens of little ‘welcome home’ hand-crafted messages around the house. Abby and Sophia were literally bouncing around for the next hour as we enjoyed the homecoming together. Of course they wondered what I brought for them. Too much to open tonight but, I said, there is some Swiss Lindt chocolate that you can have now. That was good enough (along with the promise of more gifts to come the next day). Dear Amani didn’t even wake up when I walked into the bedroom with her chattering sisters (the next day she told me she was aware that I was in the room; her mind told her to turn over and say hi but her body wouldn’t let her do it).

So, family and friends, I am back, safe and sound along with all the ‘loot’ I brought back. Soon after all the greetings had died down I asked Wanda if she knew the score of Game 7 of the ALCS and I could tell right away it wasn’t good news. I had tried to find out how the Tribe did in Frankfurt but it wasn’t possible. Another drubbing by Boston. How very disappointing. I suppose I should be thankful that I saw the Indians at all and that, hey, I wasn’t going to be able to watch them in the World Series anyways. Small consolation. What went wrong? I think a day off at home is one excuse. The no-show of our 2 aces is an even bigger reason. Will there be a next year? Hard to say with the comings and goings of players, but ’08 will be 60 years since the Tribe last won a WS, wouldn’t that be a wonderful coincidence? At any rate, I need to stop the ramblings of an early morning writing session (I couldn’t sleep and got up at 3:30 a.m., I’ll try not to do this again tomorrow). I have good memories of the past 3 weeks, thanks again to all who hosted me in their homes with billeting or for meals. I am happy to be back. Lots of work awaits ahead . . .