The night prior to a long trip is torture for me. I know I need to sleep yet rarely can. Instead I usually sleep very lightly, if at all. So many details to manage. I had weighed the 10 pieces of luggage over and over again but still wasn't sure. I would weigh them one more time before lining them up in the morning. In the meantime I have the same feeling I get when I am on a roller coaster ride and the cars are going up the first hill; you know what is coming. It's too late to change anything, even if you could. You just have to go into a 'let's-get-this-over-with' mode.
The mobile alarm clock rang at 5 a.m. and I started moving and getting the girls moving. Our family is getting good at traveling and soon everyone is up (yes, there was the requisite complaining the night before but we are all in the 'go' mode now). Breakfast is eaten and everyone dresses and brushes their teeth. I check the bags one last time and line them up at the door. All is a 'go', now we wait for the man and the van at 6 a.m.
But 6 a.m. comes and goes and no van. Bob calls to check on the van; there is no record of any reservation, no one is coming. In the moment my anxiety level ratchets up a couple of notches. There are questions in my mind and things I would like to say to that company (such as, how they just missed out on a good tip since we couldn't tip them last time because none of us had extra cash and were planning to make up for that). But that is not the priority now. How to get to the airport with 15 pieces of luggage, 5 travelers and 2 small cars?
Wanda and the girls will walk to the train station, I pack the luggage in the 2 cars. Miriam takes me to the train station and buys us the tickets with her train pass card and they take all the luggage in the 2 cars and head to Schiphol. Only when Miriam tries to buy the tickets the machine won't let her. Time is a factor, the train is coming in 5 minutes and the walkers aren't here yet. Quickly we pool money together and with our coins purchase 2 tickets, for Wanda and I. Wanda and the girls come up to the station, we go up the steps to the platform and the train comes. As they say in baseball for a close call, a 'bang-bang play'.
As Bob and Mim race to the airport with our luggage we are now in a race by train. With 2 tickets among 5 of us, we wait and hope that the conductor will not come around checking tickets. In our 2 ½ weeks in Europe riding the rails, the only time the conductor ever checked our tickets was for the long distance train from Amsterdam to Basel and back, all local trains and trams one never saw a conductor. But that doesn't mean they won't check. It happens. But will it happen on our time? I try to think about what I would say by way of excuses. Of course our reason is legit, the ticket machine wouldn't take my cousin's pass card. We are on the way to Schiphol to leave. See, we have 2 tickets we purchased with cash! Please don't take our children away! When the doors finally swing open at the Schiphol stop we exit quietly with the other passengers but the feelings of release and relief wash over me. Wanda later says that she would make a bad law breaker, her anxiety level that a conductor would come was so high that she could hardly stand it. Me too.
Our momentary high dissipates as we are now back in anxiety mode trying to get to the right part of the airport and to find Bob & Miriam with all our luggage. Where could they be now? As we take an escalator then an elevator I try to find the right desk for us to get in line. As we step out of the elevator coming in the front doors with our luggage is Bob. What timing! Thank you Lord! So as Wanda races with a couple of girls to get in the line for desk 26, I go out to help bring in the carts. We found each other in this huge airport on the first try. We overcame the van man's sabotage.
We say warm, happy and sad good-byes to Bob and Miriam, thanks for everything you did for us. Now we need to check-in. For a moment there is a small hiccup when the woman at the desk says, do you know that you will be charged for all the extra baggage? We had heard that the airlines would be starting to allow only 1 bag per person, but didn't know when. But on our tickets it clearly states 2 bags per person and I am quick to point this out (trying not to do this too forcefully). Our tickets originated in Ethiopia, we have the right . . . The woman makes a phone call and somewhere, someone says ok. Sigh of relief, we're back to normal mode. Except that our woven basket barrel is too big for the luggage conveyor belt, it needs to go to the oversized luggage area (where is that?). Ok, fine, I'll get it there, and I do. Oh, one other thing the lady tells me, because you are landing in the U.S., you will need to get your luggage and re-check it to Toronto. (You are kidding, right?) Those are the rules, which makes sense from a security stand point but makes us really wish we would have booked a flight direct to Toronto. This will be a long day (longer than necessary).
Security to board an American plane bound for the U.S.A. is an experience in and of itself these days. Full body scans and your own personal interview with a security official. Children have to get into the body scanner too. A young Asian girl, maybe 5, doesn't want to go in so her mother says, I'll go in first. She steps into the round capsule, lifts her arms above her head and remains motionless for a second until they give her the all clear sign. Then she gets out on the other side and motions for her daughter to come next. The daughter is convinced and steps into what looks like a time machine, places her feet on the painted footsteps on the floor and lifts her small arms high and waits, then bounds out to her mother. Our girls have become veteran travelers so there is no worry on our part, they do it and get through it. We all do.
The flights both across the Atlantic and from Newark, NJ to Toronto were uneventful, in and of themselves. Everyone had their own monitor to watch dozens of movies, TV shows, do games and other things to divert our attention from the 8 hour cross Atlantic flight. The food was good and the crew kept the liquids coming (a good thing for our bodies but it meant more than 1 trip to the bathroom for many).
But in between was where the craziness was. Welcome to America. We landed in Newark, NJ but with what I thought was a 4 hour layover I didn't want to admire the scenery too long (did that as we landed, saw the Hudson River, the NYC skyline and the incredible busyness of the eastern seaboard with roads and docks). After we exit the plane the first order of business; find our luggage. I found the luggage carts, what's this $5 USD rental for each cart? We just came from a dirt poor country in Africa and a wealthy country in Europe and the carts are free. Welcome to America. I am already mumbling under my breath but spend the $20 to get 4 carts. We have no choice with 15 pieces and a family of 3 small (but very willing) daughters and a wife. Thumbing our noses and doing it ourselves is not an option, they got me left to right.
Our luggage all arrives except the woven basket barrel. I head out to look for where to find it. A couple of workers standing around talking to each other, not looking like they want to be busy or on the job, mumble directions. I go down to the end of the long hall, find an empty office and two doors that say, if you open us we'll start ringing off alarms all over the place. I go back to the two guys, exasperated, but in my best friendly voice say, can you help me? Acting as if they are doing me a huge favor by stopping their conversation and coming to look, one of them comes down, goes into the far end of the empty office, where there is an industrial elevator door, opens it and voila! There is our barrel. I thank him a couple of times (thank you, your majesty, for gracing me with your presence and helping me by doing something you should have jumped to do in the first place) until he feels obligated to say, you are welcome.
Now we have all our luggage, paid out $20 for the privilege. Time to make our way through customs. As all of us passengers are streaming to the customs area we find at least 30 stations for customs officials but no officials. Where are they? Did they all take a break at the same time? Other workers are around and they also are acting like they don't want to be here. They see each other and greet warmly, almost oblivious to us. Welcome to America. Finally a few officials mosey on in and the line starts moving. The officials are professionals and we move through at a normal pace.
Now to re-check our luggage. Fortunately it is just down the hall, not far. In this area at least the guys are hard workers. The one guy says, where ya going? Toronto. Let's see your luggage tags. YYZ. Ok leave it with me, I'll unload it and send it off. Don't worry. So I do as told and try not to worry.
Now to find our gate. We need to be in another terminal. We need to take the sky train from terminal B to A. We follow the signs and get on the train/ tram. When we get off I look at the large board to find our flight and our gate number. Can't find it. Strange. Hope we're in the right terminal. We go down the escalators and find a world of restaurants and shops. Again I check a large board, again no listing. I ask people. Yes, you are in the right terminal, just go down the hall. Finally I find the gate itself and there on the large board our flight is listed. Why wasn't it listed on the other large boards? How do they expect travelers to find their gate number. Welcome to America.
Everything just less ordered, less professional at this airport. Is every American port of entry like this? I don't know but all I know is that some Americans have told their government, it doesn't matter if things are falling apart, don't make everyone pay their fair share of taxes. So then we have to pay $5 for a cart and an airport that is second rate in everything compared to European airports (and Asian, so I hear).
Our girls have been pulling their carry-ons all around as we make our way through the maze that is called an airport. They are troopers. We stop for lunch. We buy fast food, not much fruit and fresh veggies are available. Welcome to America. We have time to eat, then we make our way to the security check at the gate, go through that after partially undressing ourselves (you want my watch, my baseball cap and shoes off as well?), the redressing. We find our gate, only to find out that the Air Canada flight is delayed by an hour. So is that again, welcome to America or now is it welcome to Canada?
By now our bodies are tired, 4 p.m. feels like 10 p.m. to our bodies. Tired, hungry, half way to brain dead, we wait for our final flight. We pass the time in a mindless game of Scrabble (it is possible), the girls walk the stores and window shop, oh no they bought some candy . . . Finally the call comes and we wearily line up to get on the plane.
Maybe by some magic when we flew across the border into Canada our luck changed. The flight was good. We landed and went through customs rather quickly, we found our luggage, including our oversized barrel, all in one piece. We only had to pay $2 Cdn per cart (still I grumble, but better than 5). We have one final customs guy to pass, he asks what's inside the barrel and I say clothes and a wooden stool. What kind of wood is the wooden stool. I am stumped, what does he want? He asks again, is it raw wood or is it painted or shellacked or varnished. I actually don't know and a small sense of panic arises. But Sophia is right behind me and immediately says that it is varnished. And that was the right answer, he lets us pass. Thanks Sophia for thinking quickly when I couldn't any longer.
Family greets us as we pass through those final doors. Freedom. We're back. I am too tired to jump for joy. Just a feeling of anxiety falling away and relaxing. It's like unclenching your fists or gut after spending 18 hours in that mode. Two vehicles, a truck to take the luggage and a van to take most of the people. A Swiss Chalet stop to eat supper (thanks everyone for taking us there, very appropriate first meal in Canada). Finally to Tavistock where beds await us. The girls cannot wait for the beds, they are already asleep in the van.
A long, long day has ended well. Thank you Lord. Thanks to all our family and friends who helped us through the day.
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