So for two weeks, we went to Western Europe, primarily Belgium, to visit our former exchange student, Ine, and her family, and get to know them and their country and culture. It was an absolutely incredible trip, we saw and did so much. I don't know how her family crammed all that into a mere two weeks. It was literally the trip of a lifetime. Yesterday was departure day.
Now, you may have heard that Europe has been under threat of terrorist attack, and in fact Belgium was attacked in March and France was attacked while we were there. Tensions are high, which is understandable, and while we hear in the US that there is a flood of Muslim immigrants and refugees coming into Europe, until you are there, you don't really understand how big the situation is. We saw many, many more Muslims in Europe than I have probably ever seen in my life. And with extremists attacking, the situation is a bit "delicate".
Ok, so Monday morning, Ine and her mom drop us off at the Brussels Airport, which is back to normal, looks great, you'd never know anything happened there. To even get into the airport, you have to go through a large tent and in the tent, the soldiers tell you go either to the left or to the right. If you get sent to the left, you're scot-free, you go right into the airport. If you get sent to the right, you and your bags go through metal detectors and screening. As if you're not going to have to do that once you're inside. But they're taking no chances because the bombing of the Brussels airport took place near the international ticketing, where there are no security measures. Guess which line Leah and I got sent through? You guessed it. The right. Not only do you have to hoist your suitcase into the X-ray machines (and we had 2 suitcases, each of which weighed 50 pounds), but if you have backpacks with any sort of electronic anything, you have to unpack it. So my carefully packed backpack had to be completely ripped apart to get the electronics out.
That really set me off. Because you don't have time to repack everything neatly, so we had to just cram everything back in the bags and proceed.
Once inside, you have to locate where your particular airline has its window. There are 10 zones in Brussels, and each of those 10 zones has 12 windows. That's 120 potential ticket windows from which you have to find your particular airline. That doesn't count the windows along the back wall of the departures area. We checked a sign and it said IcelandAir was in Zone 9. We go, and as far as you can see, the area is literally PACKED with primarily Muslim people (or so I'm guessing based on their dress), and all the airlines are Turkish Air, Saudi Air, all Middle Eastern airlines.
And one thing I have learned in the course of my travels in South America and Europe, as well as from hosting students from Asia is that concepts of personal space and good manners vary widely from country and culture to country and culture. For instance, when Leah and I were riding on the Metro in Paris recently, we were nearing our stop, so we moved to stand in front of the door. I asked her, "Are you ready? This is our stop" and she said yes. A young Caucasian man who had been riding next to us and speaking English with a friend (I say this so that you know he spoke English) stepped in front of us into the maybe 6 inches between us and the door, stepped on my foot, and without an "excuse me" or a backwards glance made sure he was the first one out the door. We were banged into mercilessly while we were in Europe and it finally got to a point where Leah stomped on one person's foot and I refused to correct her--a grown man on the Tube in London literally shoved her out of the way so he could have the one seat on the train before she got to it, men and women constantly banged into us, walked in front of us and stopped, stood way too close to us for comfort in situations where it was most definitely not required (ie NOT on a crowded train but in a museum), it was exhausting.
So to know that we had to go through this massive crowd of people was daunting to say the least, but we HAD to find our ticketing window. So Leah, me, two huge suitcases, and two backpacks put our heads down and started working our way through. Our repeated cries of "Excuse me!" "Excusez-moi!" "Pardonne!" were totally ignored, and meanwhile we were getting banged into on all sides by Muslim men, women, and children who were packed into Zone 9, so we finally had to skip being polite and just get on in there and do battle. Only to discover there was no IcelandAir counter in Zone 9.Which meant we had to battle our way back out. It had been a mere 15 minutes and I was already totally exhausted.
So we found an electronic departures board, and that said that IcelandAir's window would be in Zone 3. We walked down to Zone 3, and not only wasn't IcelandAir there, there wasn't a single solitary ticket window open in Zone 3. We started walking up and down all the zones looking for help, but there wasn't an information desk, there were no airport employees to ask for help, nothing.We were on our own. Finally we decided that we were just going to camp out in Zone 3 and wait for something to happen. When we had arrived at Dulles 2 weeks prior, IcelandAir's window was closed until 4:45, so we figured it might just open later than when we were there. Eventually we noticed other people milling around, and finally a young woman came out and flipped up an IcelandAir sign.
And then, as she was the only employee there from IA, proceeded to mess with the TensaBarriers for five minutes to create as intricate a maze as possible for us all to follow, after we had all jumped into the barriers once the window was opened.
Finally she was happy with the arrangement, and we started to move through the line. Somehow we were in the first 30 families, but I think due to the fact that IA is a lowercost carrier, there were a ton of backpackers and large families there, and of course, everyone is already exhausted from the effort of finding the window and even getting into the airport, so the pushing began. I was really losing it. And the fact that they had exactly one person working was really infuriating.
Fortunately the check in process for us was fairly smooth. Once it was our turn, it took less than 5 minutes to drop off our bags and get our boarding passes. Of course, by this point, Leah had to use the bathroom, so off we went to the toilet.
Now in Europe, most public toilets require a fee to enter. In the airport, thankfully this was not the case. But the stalls are about 2.5 feet wide and maybe 5 feet deep, and Leah is terrified of using the bathroom alone, so we were crammed into this tiny space with our backpacks. She went to the bathroom and then it was my turn, and as I went, I discovered, to quote the IT crowd, that I had "fallen to the communists"... Yes, Aunt Irma had chosen that moment to pay a visit, and I sat there on the toilet and moaned, "OH NO." Because I had come prepared for this eventuality, but of course, all supplies required were now somewhere between my present location and Reykjavik, and I didn't want Leah to know what was going on, as she doesn't know all these facts of life yet.
I panicked. Using "We haven't gotten Winston a present yet!" as my cover story, Leah and I shopped in every single store in the Brussels airport, and not a single one had feminine supplies with the exception of the duty free store which was selling a box of Tampax for 10 euros, which I resolutely was NOT going to pay. There were no coin operated machines in any of the 6 toilets we went into, and I could not find a medical or first aid station to go in and beg supplies at. I finally had to MacGuyver a solution, which was not only uncomfortable, but I was rather insecure about it, and Leah was going crazy with the sheer number of times I was going into a bathroom.
So we eventually got called for boarding, and onto the plane we went, only to discover we were seated across the aisle from each other, not in seats next to each other. This really set Leah off completely. I told her I would ask the people who were sitting with us if they would consider trading seats so we could sit together, but unfortunately, sitting next to her were a father and daughter, and sitting next to me were a pair of brothers, and no one wanted to trade. So we were stuck. We held hands across the aisle as much as possible, but for a child with serious separation anxiety, it was hard.
They brought her a meal (adults don't get any kind of food, not even snacks on board IA's international flights), and she ate her sandwich, raisins, and drank her juice and we watched movies (I can't say much for IA, but their inflight entertainment was excellent--I watched Eddie the Eagle on the way over, which I had wanted to see for forever and which I LOVED, and on this particular leg of the journey, I watched Spotlight which I didn't think I'd enjoy but very much did and then started the 11.22.63 series, which was awesome). I made a quick bathroom stop and looked all through the bathroom for rogue supplies, but there were none, so I made do. Things were going pretty well.
Then we got to Reykjavik and all holy hell broke loose.
I hadn't been real impressed when we got there on Monday July 4 because IA cuts its connections VERY close, and we initially had only 90 minutes to get to our connection, which thanks to a flight delay was cut to 30 minutes, and very nearly missed it. IA doesn't pull up to a jetty or gangway attached to the airport's physical building--you have to climb down stairs, then get on a bus and get bused over to the terminal. Then, because Iceland is a gateway to the EU, we had to go through customs to get into the International Departures area, and they had a guard posted at the one escalator you can go up and she only allowed 20 people at a time to go up the escalator. Once up there, there were 4 lines to get through customs, and there were literally hundreds of people trying to make connections. All around us, flights were being closed, and there was nothing we could do. As we neared the front of the line, the flight to Brussels was announced as boarding, and almost immediately flipped to "Final Call". We managed to get through customs, although the officer tried to give me some shit about traveling "without the father" ("I'm a widow" shut him down pretty quickly), and I told Leah "RUN!" We got to the boarding area for our flight with about 30 seconds to spare, then we sat on the bus for 15 minutes with no idea what was going on--did we miss the plane? Were they holding it for us? Were other people coming? Thankfully they were just waiting for any straggling passengers.
Ok, so back to 7/18. We get to Reykjavik and I'm thinking "This will be a breeze, we have almost 2 hours and we don't have to go through customs this time!" How wrong I was. We had to go through customs again. Why, I have no idea. But we did. It was the same rigamarole, but for some reason it went much more quickly and we were through customs in about 15 minutes. And were immediately dumped into the Duty Free shop, which contained the one toilet in the terminal that I could find and that shop let out into the ONE restaurant in the terminal--a convenience store/bar type mock up where you could buy sandwiches and snacks. Given that IA refuses to feed you, there were a LOT of hungry people and the line was stretching into the duty free area. Why? Because in its wisdom, IA decided to have literally 6 flights that were leaving within 20 minutes of each other all at one section of gates that was approximately 150 feet long and 50 feet wide. It was total and complete chaos. The cashiers for the shop were set up the dump people into terminal area and each of the 6 flights were to major American cities like DC, Denver, Chicago, Minneapolis, etc. Here's kind of a drawing I did.
Again, all these flights were scheduled at these 6 gates for within 15 minutes of each other. They finally opened the doors for the gate next to ours (which was going to Denver) and some of those people went down a small hallway, where they got to stand around and wait. Our doors opened, and there was no indication that any particular class should come forward, that people with children or disabilities should come forward, nothing, so people went totally NUTS pushing into that area because it was clear a riot was close to erupting in the little hallway inside the terminal. We got up to the front, our tickets were scanned, and immediately I was told that our tickets "have a seating issue". I was told "You chose comfort economy but you should be in economy, your seats have been changed."
Now, bear in mind, I chose the seats BEFORE I paid for the tickets, so any mistake in pricing would have been on the part of the computer, NOT on my part. Also, on our trip between Reykjavik and Brussels two weeks prior, we were in the same seats, and it was not a problem whatsoever. I was totally furious, but "there's nothing we can do, those seats have been sold to someone else." NICE, right?
So we get on the stupid bus, get bused to the stupid plane, but of course at this stage, they are running 30 minutes late because of the sheer quantities of people they have, the mass confusion, and the lack of buses, We find our new seats, and I tell Leah that if no one sits next to us, we will spread out. Well, immediately, a burly Englishman comes and sits next to me (I was in the middle seat, Leah is in the window seat) and proceeds to manspread across his seat and half of mine. He literally has his arm over top of mine. And the instant, THE INSTANT, the plane takes off, the woman in front of me fully reclines her seat, which is now one hand's width away from my nose. And that was how much room I had for the entire flight.
The crew comes around and they have food for sale. I decide I have some Euros in my pocket that I'm not going to use, I will buy myself some dinner. I order the curry chicken, hand the lady my $13 Euros and she says they will not accept cash, only credit cards. My bank charges a foreign transaction fee every time I use it outside the US, so I ask why they can't accept cash and she says they just can't. I was not willing to pay an extra fee on top of the fee for the food, so I hand her the food back and that was that.
Now, the chap next to me orders two bottles of red wine, a hoagie, and a can of chips. And he settles in, and Leah has her free meal, and suddenly Leah decides she has to go to the bathroom. I apologize profusely to Manspread, and he picks up his glass of wine to move, and the stewardess backs into him and dumps his red wine all over his white shirt and jeans. And he is F***ing FURIOUS. And so the stewardess is trying to address this, and I'm like "PEOPLE! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE AN ADDITIONAL MESS ON OUR HANDS HERE UNLESS YOU LET ME OUT"... And between being hungry, hormonal issues, lack of supplies available, jet lag, getting pushed around by strangers, and having ZERO room on this flight, I am starting to completely and totally lose it.
Eventually, we get in, Leah goes, I wait for Manspread to go and clean up, but of course, getting red wine out of a white shirt is going to take more than a well-intentioned can of tonic water, so he comes out of the bathroom wet and absolutely fuming, I go in and discover some "issues" that I do my best to resolve, and we go back to our seats. I wedge myself into my half seat, Manspread does his thing, and I go back to watching TV. Then Manspread calls the head stewardess, who apologizes profusely and gives him a claim form to be reimbursed for his shirt, and he lights into her about how he agreed to swap seats so some damned married couple could sit together and he hates small children and he hates the small seats and now his clothes are ruined, and I'm listening to this and just thinking "I'm in hell. I'm trapped in hell and I cannot move." And that's when the turbulence starts. And if you're a nervous flyer like me, you don't handle turbulence well. So I do the one thing I can do: I turn on "Police Academy" and hide my tears behind some laughter.
A couple of hours later, Leah needs to use the bathroom again, but Manspread is already up, so it's no big deal. As we come back, we discover that the second round of complimentary beverage service has come to our area, and the stewardesses are giving everyone a second drink. They move the cart on our behalf, and then walk off, and did not serve me a second drink!!! The people in the same row but across the aisle from us got drinks, everyone around us got drinks, but they didn't even ask if I wanted anything! Good job I'd brought a drink with me!
We arrive in Dulles about 30 minutes late, gather up our stuff (Manspread has left a complete trail of destruction in and around his seat, so I just say "Screw it" to leaving a box of cheez-its and a chip bag under the seat--I was miffed about not getting my drink and just exhausted and off we go to face US Customs. I know there is a citizen line and a non-citizen line, so I'm thinking "This will be a snap!" No. In its infinite wisdom, the US government has decided to further complicate the customs process. Used to be you'd get in the customs line with your form filled out already, hand it to the officer, answer a few basic questions, and out you go. Now, you have to go get what's called a 'passport receipt'. Now, Leah had fallen asleep the last 2 hours of the flight, and was BARELY clinging to consciousness. For this passport receipt process, you have to scan your passport, answer all the questions that you have to answer on the customs form, and then pose for a picture on the computer, which then prints out said picture and you have to hand that paper to the customs official. Trying to hold up a half-comatose 7 year old for a picture when the computer can't find her because she is too short and get her to open her eyes for the picture, that is NOT fun. We get our receipts and then I'm thinking, "Well, maybe this means we don't have to deal with customs because we've answered all the questions." Oh no, you still have to go talk to the customs officer, who checks your receipt against your passport, and you still have to answer all the same questions you've already answered on the customs form and on the computer for the receipt. So, in case you're keeping track, that's 3 times we've answered these questions in some way, shape or form.
We get done with that, and we go to baggage claim. I get a text from my sister that they are in the cell phone waiting area. earlier in the day, I had sent her an SOS about bringing needed supplies to the airport, so I tell her to park and come in, we should be through the arrival doors literally any minute. We find our suitcases, I get a baggage cart, pile everything on top, and Leah collapses in a heap. I move towards the doors to get out, only to discover that there's another layer of customs security. so I dig back through my bag to pull out all the paperwork, and stand in line for TWENTY MINUTES trying to get to the door, to discover that at the exit, they have two customs officers whose sole job it is to collect the customs receipts from you and make sure that they match your passport. And because everyone thinks they are done when they leave customs, everyone has put their passports away, and now everyone has to dig them back out, including a group of 30 Chinese exchange students whose passports had been collected by a chaperone who was now frantically trying to dole them back out before the students arrived at the front of the line. The students, who didn't understand the American way of taking alternating turns (each of the two officers had two lines to process), were trying to just jump through and cut the lines, and the officers were constantly sending them back to the 'starting' line position to await their turn, but they had no idea what was going on.
I had really hoped my sister would be there waiting when we came through the arrival doors, but she was trying to find a place to park and I hadn't texted her in time to get inside, and she also had my niece and nephew with her, so we came out and no one was there to greet us, which made me kind of sad, but eventually we found them and it was all I could do not to just burst into tears. The kids were screaming "Cioci! Cioci! Did you bring us presents!?" I had the foresight to know they'd be there and want their presents early, so I had put them in my backpack, and gave Dot her little golden Eiffel Tower ("Oh, Cioci! I just LOVE it! I have always wanted my own Eiffel Tower!") and William his build your own airplane kit (he was struck dumb), I grabbed my sister's backpack and ran for the bathroom, and then paid the parking and we got the hell out of there. My sister had in mind that she would mess with Waze to see what was the fastest way home, but it wasn't cooperating and I said, "Take the stupid toll road, just get me the hell out of here." so she did. We made it home in about an hour, which was amazing, and although she offered to stop and get me something to eat, I decided I was far more exhausted than I was hungry, so I told her to just bring me home. We got Leah into bed and that was the end of it. I fell into bed almost immediately and was asleep in minutes, curled up with my kitties who had apparently missed me.
This was by far the worst travel experience I've ever had in my life. I don't' think it's one of those things I will ever even laugh about down the road. It was almost traumatizing. I just tell myself "Hey, I'm home!" and that's going to have to be that. I hope future trips will be far less stressful... It's good to be home.
