- Forget yoga. I will arrive back in South Carolina with the balance and grace of a cat because I have ridden the German bus system. People line up with passes and the driver scans them through. The second he gets us all past the turnstile, he revs the engine and goes 1 to 60 in 5.4 seconds. I’m left dodging bodies and pulling myself forward against centrifugal force by grabbing hold of anything in sight. (I must learn how to say “I’m sorry, ma’am” in German.)
- I am suffering from smile withdrawal – not my own, but being on the receiving end. It has become my own personal challenge to get someone to return a smile. I have gotten precious few and they are treasures. I think it may be because of all the cold weather. On the other hand, when we manage to cross the language barrier and someone actually understands what we’re trying to say, they shout it out and everyone in the area joins in. Those are occasions for smiles.
- Have you ever had a hair stylist that asked what you want and you described it in great detail? Then they went ahead and did what they wanted? I was so pleased with myself today when we went to the café. I actually knew what I wanted – well, potato soup but they didn’t have that. Steve had gotten sauerbraten and spaetzle (lovely, tiny potato dumplings) on the mountain yesterday and it was excellent. So I actually knew a German meal to order. So I said “Sauerbraten and spaetzle.” Our server frowned and said (rather loudly), “NO!” No, we don’t serve that? No, I hate that stuff? No, you won’t like that? I had not a clue. They have an English translated menu in the back but the food doesn’t look very good. Which once again leaves me to wonder… But she pointed out roast pork, red cabbage and dumplings. I was enthused. I said “Spaetzle!” She smiled and brought me pork in brown gravy which was really quite good, red cabbage that was really not, and two mounds of something that looked and tasted just like dressing. I guess you can take the girl out of South Carolina…
- Nothing is free here – not the grocery bags, not the bread, the bathroom, water. I was irritated by it at first. But I’m beginning to realize how very environmentally conscious that is. Trust me, after Steve and I paid .2 euros (about $.27) for two grocery bags, we remembered every time we went to the store. There is no half-eaten bread sent back to the kitchen. If you pay for it, you’re probably going to eat it. There is just more care with what you have paid for. The country is so clean. The public waste cans are divided and labeled with recycling sorts.
- Children and dogs are extremely happy here. Yet there is no whining (not with the children, anyway) or begging (same goes).
- I was walking down the hill to the bus stop today and thinking how, once again, I seem to have come late to the dance. Only just now using a little German, knowing which buses to take, etc. Steve turned to me at that moment and said, “Do you feel like we just learned our way and now we have to leave?”
- Smiling and nodding goes a long way, no matter where you are. I have practiced a few short German phrases and have not had the courage to use them. Finally today, I was sitting in a window seat on the bus and a lady came in and asked if she could sit. I nodded. And I began to practice mentally, “Entschuldigen Sie, bitte. Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Entschuldigen Sie, bitte.” It means “excuse me, please” and I would have to use it to get her to let me out. I was extremely intimidated but determined. As we approached our stop, I tapped her and said very quietly, “Entschuldigen Sie, bitte.” She looked at me funny and ripped off a long sentence in German, not at all unfriendly. I started back with the old hand motions and we did a lot of nodding and smiling as she let me off the bus.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
On Germany
Some thoughts:
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
On to Oberstaufen
You left us sitting in first class on a train full of skiers and kids leaving the station at Uhm and heading toward Oberstaufen. Once the conductor gave us a pass, we could relax and enjoy our journey the rest of the way. We flew through a couple of stops and stopped at a couple of depots including Landau, Switzerland. There all the skiers went flocking off. We just settled in and smiled.
A stop or two later as we sat in the depot, they attached another car to the front and Steve remarked that there must be more skiers coming on at the next stop. Sure enough, he was right. We sat there snug and smiling in our first class seats as they finally all got on board and closed the doors. We moved on to the next stop, the skiers got off, and the extra car they had added to our front began to pull away. And we began to move backwards, again! So many expressions crossed Steve’s face, as I’m sure did mine as well. We were confident (after all, we had been through this before), concerned, amused, and the real panic seemed to hit us both at the same time.
We ran through the train trying to find someone who spoke English. Turns out Obersdorf is a big ski area as well as Oberstaufen. And when everyone is saying, “Obers…”, it’s possible for the brain to take a break and latch on to whatever it wants. Apparently everyone we had asked for help, latched on to the "Obersdorf."
We finally found someone who could help us head in another direction. We pulled into a stop and started to get off. A bunch of people yelled, “No! No!”; so we got back on. We got off at Sonthofen with the help of a man who looked very much like the sarge who used to say “Let’s be careful out there” on Hill Street Blues.
While I snapped some pictures, Steve went into the depot and came back out with a small handout which was labeled Sonthofen to Oberstaufen. But it only showed Immenstadt to Oberstaufen. I found Immenstadt on the train schedule and realized we only needed to change trains in Immenstadt to get to Oberstaufen. We met a man on the platform who spoke impeccable English; I know it’s not polite to hug strange German men, but his was the first English I had heard in a while. Meanwhile we saw a train that said “Immenstadt” and gathered our luggage and ran toward the train. He yelled “No! Other way.”
So we settled in to watch for the next train that came along going the opposite direction to take us where we needed to go. I watched people and listened to conversations I couldn’t understand. I saw a family with three adults and two children who were going on holiday. They had formed a box of skis and a long, wooden sleigh and their belongings were packed in the middle. The toddler had on a ski jacket and hiking boots.
Seems like it should have been an easy trip from there. However, we were very tired and a little hesitant. But we found another kind conductor who pretty much pulled us off the train at the right station. He even lifted the luggage off for us. I suspect we were more trouble than the cost of our train pass. But we’ll make a good story for someone,
By the time we arrived in Oberstaufen, pretty much any kind of room and bed would have been suitable. However we were so pleasantly surprised. The young women behind the desk spoke English and were dressed as milk maids. This pleased Steve more than I can say. They asked if we wanted fresh pastries and pretzels delivered to our room the next morning. The charge was not great. Our room is cozy, sweet and totally what we would have hoped for. I have rambled on about the trip, and I ask your forgiveness and patience. However this is also a travel diary for us and we would not want to forget any of these details.
It gets funnier. I just read this to Steve and he said, “You might want to add that we were at Immenstadt when the train started going backwards.” Bottom line, we were only twenty minutes away and couldn’t seem to get there.
A stop or two later as we sat in the depot, they attached another car to the front and Steve remarked that there must be more skiers coming on at the next stop. Sure enough, he was right. We sat there snug and smiling in our first class seats as they finally all got on board and closed the doors. We moved on to the next stop, the skiers got off, and the extra car they had added to our front began to pull away. And we began to move backwards, again! So many expressions crossed Steve’s face, as I’m sure did mine as well. We were confident (after all, we had been through this before), concerned, amused, and the real panic seemed to hit us both at the same time.
We ran through the train trying to find someone who spoke English. Turns out Obersdorf is a big ski area as well as Oberstaufen. And when everyone is saying, “Obers…”, it’s possible for the brain to take a break and latch on to whatever it wants. Apparently everyone we had asked for help, latched on to the "Obersdorf."
We finally found someone who could help us head in another direction. We pulled into a stop and started to get off. A bunch of people yelled, “No! No!”; so we got back on. We got off at Sonthofen with the help of a man who looked very much like the sarge who used to say “Let’s be careful out there” on Hill Street Blues.
While I snapped some pictures, Steve went into the depot and came back out with a small handout which was labeled Sonthofen to Oberstaufen. But it only showed Immenstadt to Oberstaufen. I found Immenstadt on the train schedule and realized we only needed to change trains in Immenstadt to get to Oberstaufen. We met a man on the platform who spoke impeccable English; I know it’s not polite to hug strange German men, but his was the first English I had heard in a while. Meanwhile we saw a train that said “Immenstadt” and gathered our luggage and ran toward the train. He yelled “No! Other way.”
So we settled in to watch for the next train that came along going the opposite direction to take us where we needed to go. I watched people and listened to conversations I couldn’t understand. I saw a family with three adults and two children who were going on holiday. They had formed a box of skis and a long, wooden sleigh and their belongings were packed in the middle. The toddler had on a ski jacket and hiking boots.
Seems like it should have been an easy trip from there. However, we were very tired and a little hesitant. But we found another kind conductor who pretty much pulled us off the train at the right station. He even lifted the luggage off for us. I suspect we were more trouble than the cost of our train pass. But we’ll make a good story for someone,
By the time we arrived in Oberstaufen, pretty much any kind of room and bed would have been suitable. However we were so pleasantly surprised. The young women behind the desk spoke English and were dressed as milk maids. This pleased Steve more than I can say. They asked if we wanted fresh pastries and pretzels delivered to our room the next morning. The charge was not great. Our room is cozy, sweet and totally what we would have hoped for. I have rambled on about the trip, and I ask your forgiveness and patience. However this is also a travel diary for us and we would not want to forget any of these details.
It gets funnier. I just read this to Steve and he said, “You might want to add that we were at Immenstadt when the train started going backwards.” Bottom line, we were only twenty minutes away and couldn’t seem to get there.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Bavarian Alps
So here I sit on my Alpine balcony, sipping afternoon coffee (with half and half, no small feat at the grocers, had to find a carton with 50% written on it and go for it) and sugared pastry sticks. Let’s go back to Ramstein because you all need to travel with us on the train.
We took some cash with us on the trip and, not knowing how much to carry, started out with more cash than euros – none of those in fact. I visited a machine in Rota, Spain and got us enough to get us moving in Germany. As I was getting ready to go down and explore the mall attached to the military hotel (did I mention there is a huge mall attached?), Steve came rushing into the room. “I found a Bank of America, main branch downstairs! We can exchange our money there.” We rushed down and presented our military ID’s and passports and, most importantly, our BofA cash cards. All was well until the young lady looked at our ID’s and realized we are retired. “No, no. All you can do is cash savings bonds.” Steve grinned and said, “No, it’s all right. We have our account with Bank of America.” A manager came up and told us that, while they have the name, they cannot let us use their service. They said we could do it at the base exchange. So we did.
I was excited by some of the shops and we decided to do our shopping on the next day before we left. We had decided to stay an extra day in Ramstein because we were tired. Also the fact that we had to travel to Frankfurt to get our rail passes gave us a good excuse. We ducked into the express shop and grabbed some water and the all-important gummi candy. I piled the stuff on the belt and showed the lady my ID. Retiree, shot down again. We’d have to go to the American Embassy and apply for a customs card. I do love gummi candy, but not quite that much.
Yesterday morning, bright and early, train schedule that I had pulled off the internet in hand, we began our trek. We caught a train to Kaiserslautern and on to Mannheim. We were so impressed with the trains – lots of room, easy to navigate, big leather seats. We changed trains in Mannheim and set out for Uhm via Stuttgart. We sat in the station for a bit at Stuttgart. Have any of you ever ridden the Alpine roller coaster at Disney World? The one that goes backwards? Our train began to slowly roll out of the station – backwards! We looked at each other and wavered between hysterical laughter and pure panic. We had passed a really big Bosch factory going in, still quite a ways from town. We passed it going backwards and I said, “We’ve seen this! I know we’ve seen this?” Presently the young female conductor came by and Steve started, well, sort of shouting, “UHM? UHM?” She was smiling and nodding and saying, “Ya! Uhm.” We were trying to give her hand signals that meant backwards but she all but patted us on the head and said, “Uhm, ya.” Finally the train took a large curve and broke out into beautiful hilly farmland.
As we pulled into Uhm, we were getting hungry and had plenty of time. Because we were pulling three rather large suitcases (don’t give me a hard time about overpacking – one had Steve’s inflatable bed for the plane trip), we began to look for an elevator. We finally found a really long ramp at the end of the platform and went underground and came back up, slowly, on the other side.
I had to go to the bathroom and Steve got directions for me and sat with the luggage in the terminal. I followed the signs that showed both men and women around a corner and down the stairs. I came upon a gate, beyond which were the men’s and women’s bathrooms. There was a sign that said “.5 euros” and a little German woman came scurrying out, big smile and I shrugged to let her know I had no change. She continued to smile to let me know she didn’t care. I pulled out my little passport case and got a 20 euro bill and gave it to her. She opened the gate and motioned for me to follow her to the office. She got my change.
I learned a very few German phrases before I left, general stuff, but I have been afraid to even utter a “guten tag” out loud. So I got really brave and said softly, “Vielen dank?” That means thank you very much and it’s usually not a question. She grinned really big and said, “English?” I nodded enthusiastically and said, “English.” She said, “NO.” But we both fell out laughing and had a moment anyway.
Steve and I went back down and up the two ramps, a shout-out to Steve who pulled all the luggage up, and settled down on a bench to share a sandwich. A train pulled in and back out (backwards again) and we enjoyed people-watching. We chuckled as they began to run by us. Then it occurred to us that we did not have full view of the entire platform. Our train had been hidden from view by the other one and it was ready to pull out of the station. Steve and I started to run with everybody else and heaved our bags up and in. The train was packed with skiers and kids. Not a seat to be seen. And the panic must have still been on our faces because they all stared as we made our way to the front of the train, helping us by and opening doors for us. We finally found 2 seats in the first car. We had a suspicion that they were first class but I could honestly say I didn’t see a sign. Of course I wouldn’t have understood it anyway. The conductor came through and I handed him our rail pass and waited to get kicked out. He just nodded and smiled and moved on.
I’m closing out for now. This makes me tired just reliving it and I know you’re tired of reading it. I’ll add more later.
We took some cash with us on the trip and, not knowing how much to carry, started out with more cash than euros – none of those in fact. I visited a machine in Rota, Spain and got us enough to get us moving in Germany. As I was getting ready to go down and explore the mall attached to the military hotel (did I mention there is a huge mall attached?), Steve came rushing into the room. “I found a Bank of America, main branch downstairs! We can exchange our money there.” We rushed down and presented our military ID’s and passports and, most importantly, our BofA cash cards. All was well until the young lady looked at our ID’s and realized we are retired. “No, no. All you can do is cash savings bonds.” Steve grinned and said, “No, it’s all right. We have our account with Bank of America.” A manager came up and told us that, while they have the name, they cannot let us use their service. They said we could do it at the base exchange. So we did.
I was excited by some of the shops and we decided to do our shopping on the next day before we left. We had decided to stay an extra day in Ramstein because we were tired. Also the fact that we had to travel to Frankfurt to get our rail passes gave us a good excuse. We ducked into the express shop and grabbed some water and the all-important gummi candy. I piled the stuff on the belt and showed the lady my ID. Retiree, shot down again. We’d have to go to the American Embassy and apply for a customs card. I do love gummi candy, but not quite that much.
Yesterday morning, bright and early, train schedule that I had pulled off the internet in hand, we began our trek. We caught a train to Kaiserslautern and on to Mannheim. We were so impressed with the trains – lots of room, easy to navigate, big leather seats. We changed trains in Mannheim and set out for Uhm via Stuttgart. We sat in the station for a bit at Stuttgart. Have any of you ever ridden the Alpine roller coaster at Disney World? The one that goes backwards? Our train began to slowly roll out of the station – backwards! We looked at each other and wavered between hysterical laughter and pure panic. We had passed a really big Bosch factory going in, still quite a ways from town. We passed it going backwards and I said, “We’ve seen this! I know we’ve seen this?” Presently the young female conductor came by and Steve started, well, sort of shouting, “UHM? UHM?” She was smiling and nodding and saying, “Ya! Uhm.” We were trying to give her hand signals that meant backwards but she all but patted us on the head and said, “Uhm, ya.” Finally the train took a large curve and broke out into beautiful hilly farmland.
As we pulled into Uhm, we were getting hungry and had plenty of time. Because we were pulling three rather large suitcases (don’t give me a hard time about overpacking – one had Steve’s inflatable bed for the plane trip), we began to look for an elevator. We finally found a really long ramp at the end of the platform and went underground and came back up, slowly, on the other side.
I had to go to the bathroom and Steve got directions for me and sat with the luggage in the terminal. I followed the signs that showed both men and women around a corner and down the stairs. I came upon a gate, beyond which were the men’s and women’s bathrooms. There was a sign that said “.5 euros” and a little German woman came scurrying out, big smile and I shrugged to let her know I had no change. She continued to smile to let me know she didn’t care. I pulled out my little passport case and got a 20 euro bill and gave it to her. She opened the gate and motioned for me to follow her to the office. She got my change.
I learned a very few German phrases before I left, general stuff, but I have been afraid to even utter a “guten tag” out loud. So I got really brave and said softly, “Vielen dank?” That means thank you very much and it’s usually not a question. She grinned really big and said, “English?” I nodded enthusiastically and said, “English.” She said, “NO.” But we both fell out laughing and had a moment anyway.
Steve and I went back down and up the two ramps, a shout-out to Steve who pulled all the luggage up, and settled down on a bench to share a sandwich. A train pulled in and back out (backwards again) and we enjoyed people-watching. We chuckled as they began to run by us. Then it occurred to us that we did not have full view of the entire platform. Our train had been hidden from view by the other one and it was ready to pull out of the station. Steve and I started to run with everybody else and heaved our bags up and in. The train was packed with skiers and kids. Not a seat to be seen. And the panic must have still been on our faces because they all stared as we made our way to the front of the train, helping us by and opening doors for us. We finally found 2 seats in the first car. We had a suspicion that they were first class but I could honestly say I didn’t see a sign. Of course I wouldn’t have understood it anyway. The conductor came through and I handed him our rail pass and waited to get kicked out. He just nodded and smiled and moved on.
I’m closing out for now. This makes me tired just reliving it and I know you’re tired of reading it. I’ll add more later.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Espana
I had set up this blog on the plane. When we found out we were on the flight to Ramstein so soon, I figured I’d just delete it; our plans changed. Some Spanish observations:
The temperature had dropped and it was pretty cool. Of course I was dressed for the high altitude, cold cabin – long underwear, long-sleeved tee, scarf, mohair sweater, wool coat (Remember this, it will figure in later.) I went outside to walk. A beautiful, full Spanish moon met me and I strolled under lines of tall palms, listening to Tori Amos on the iPod. Perfect.
I sat up all night in the terminal, what there was left of “all night”, about 4 hours. When the sky began to lighten I went outside and saw the sunrise on my left and that beautiful full moon against a dark sky on my right.
Our fellow travelers all still slept and visited in the terminal because they had to wait for the car rental agency to open. The agent arrived and they all cheered. The intense British lady stood visiting with us while her husband went to claim the car. He drove up in one of those funny little European cars in lime green. She shouted, “No! No! Green won’t do. Green is unlucky. Green is very bad luck in Britain.” When her husband came in to claim her and the bags, she talked him into going to the agent to trade the car. The agent said, “Nothing to fear. Green is very lucky in Spain.” They left in the green car.
There is no customs station on base – it is run by and located at the local police station. So we had to hire a taxi and drive into town to get our passports stamped in case we were not able to fly into Ramstein. The reason? (get this) They close on the weekends and are only open Monday through Friday from 9:00 until 2:00. So we carried all our papers inside. There were several very smartly uniformed policemen standing there staring at us. One of them marched over and said 386 words in Spanish in 18 seconds. Then he looked at us and said, “Comprende?” Steve and I turned into Lucy Ricardo and Fred Mertz. We stared at each other and looked back and said together, “No.” They all motioned for us to go sit down and went in search of the official who spoke our language. He turned to his fellow officers and said one more word in Spanish; I’m pretty sure we know how to say “idiots” in Spanish now.
After we impressed the local police, we decided to walk around a bit down by the ocean. I was struck that I was looking at the Atlantic from the other side. It was a pretty little town. We had planned to go somewhere to sit outside and enjoy tapas. However, I learned a little something about myself – 23 straight hours is my limit. I hit a wall. I simply could not go on. Of course the fact that we were dressed for the arctic tundra in a sunny little seaside town probably didn’t help.
Do you know how tired I had to be to stretch out in a public airport across a row of seats? I didn’t care. I couldn’t go on. Two hours sleep, a club sandwich and a cup of coffee later and I’m ready to take action and wait some more.
However, let me close with one more little travel miracle. Our plane sat on the tarmac. We were checked in and holding our boarding passes. We were due to board at about 9:45. 10:00 came; 10:30 passed. The agent walked up to the tower to find out what was wrong. Turns out there were no crew, no call for a crew, and mechanical problems. No flight. She said, “It’s just not going to happen.” Steve began to work with the agent looking at trains, flights, and a combination of the two. Nowhere in that equation was a bed or sleep. I sat in the back and prayed. I asked God to send us an answer. I told Him we were too tired to do this and, if He didn’t have it in His will to rescue us at that moment, would He please send us extra strength. We had pretty much reached the end. About that time a young agent, the one who had originally signed us in, came up. She had been away for a bit. She said, “This will not happen. The plane is sitting there; it will go. Flights do not just disappear. You have boarding passes and you are on the manifest.” She told us to continue to try to make other plans; meanwhile she got on the phone. When she hung up, she said, “The flight will take off at 4:00 and you will be on it.” The other plans would have cost us well over $400. God is good.
The temperature had dropped and it was pretty cool. Of course I was dressed for the high altitude, cold cabin – long underwear, long-sleeved tee, scarf, mohair sweater, wool coat (Remember this, it will figure in later.) I went outside to walk. A beautiful, full Spanish moon met me and I strolled under lines of tall palms, listening to Tori Amos on the iPod. Perfect.
I sat up all night in the terminal, what there was left of “all night”, about 4 hours. When the sky began to lighten I went outside and saw the sunrise on my left and that beautiful full moon against a dark sky on my right.
Our fellow travelers all still slept and visited in the terminal because they had to wait for the car rental agency to open. The agent arrived and they all cheered. The intense British lady stood visiting with us while her husband went to claim the car. He drove up in one of those funny little European cars in lime green. She shouted, “No! No! Green won’t do. Green is unlucky. Green is very bad luck in Britain.” When her husband came in to claim her and the bags, she talked him into going to the agent to trade the car. The agent said, “Nothing to fear. Green is very lucky in Spain.” They left in the green car.
There is no customs station on base – it is run by and located at the local police station. So we had to hire a taxi and drive into town to get our passports stamped in case we were not able to fly into Ramstein. The reason? (get this) They close on the weekends and are only open Monday through Friday from 9:00 until 2:00. So we carried all our papers inside. There were several very smartly uniformed policemen standing there staring at us. One of them marched over and said 386 words in Spanish in 18 seconds. Then he looked at us and said, “Comprende?” Steve and I turned into Lucy Ricardo and Fred Mertz. We stared at each other and looked back and said together, “No.” They all motioned for us to go sit down and went in search of the official who spoke our language. He turned to his fellow officers and said one more word in Spanish; I’m pretty sure we know how to say “idiots” in Spanish now.
After we impressed the local police, we decided to walk around a bit down by the ocean. I was struck that I was looking at the Atlantic from the other side. It was a pretty little town. We had planned to go somewhere to sit outside and enjoy tapas. However, I learned a little something about myself – 23 straight hours is my limit. I hit a wall. I simply could not go on. Of course the fact that we were dressed for the arctic tundra in a sunny little seaside town probably didn’t help.
Do you know how tired I had to be to stretch out in a public airport across a row of seats? I didn’t care. I couldn’t go on. Two hours sleep, a club sandwich and a cup of coffee later and I’m ready to take action and wait some more.
However, let me close with one more little travel miracle. Our plane sat on the tarmac. We were checked in and holding our boarding passes. We were due to board at about 9:45. 10:00 came; 10:30 passed. The agent walked up to the tower to find out what was wrong. Turns out there were no crew, no call for a crew, and mechanical problems. No flight. She said, “It’s just not going to happen.” Steve began to work with the agent looking at trains, flights, and a combination of the two. Nowhere in that equation was a bed or sleep. I sat in the back and prayed. I asked God to send us an answer. I told Him we were too tired to do this and, if He didn’t have it in His will to rescue us at that moment, would He please send us extra strength. We had pretty much reached the end. About that time a young agent, the one who had originally signed us in, came up. She had been away for a bit. She said, “This will not happen. The plane is sitting there; it will go. Flights do not just disappear. You have boarding passes and you are on the manifest.” She told us to continue to try to make other plans; meanwhile she got on the phone. When she hung up, she said, “The flight will take off at 4:00 and you will be on it.” The other plans would have cost us well over $400. God is good.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
En Route
Sitting in an air force terminal, I look around and I see two groups of people – retirees and soldiers, many of them, two busloads in fact. They are headed for Ft. Bragg, North Carolina and most of them are young. Some look nervous, some make an effort to look cool and unconcerned, and some small groups are clustered and talking. I am amused at first to see so many of them; then it occurs to me that they are all carrying rifles and I have to wonder if any of them may have to use them.
Almost immediately I become aware that I belong to the second group. And if anyone asked the young soldiers who was in the terminal, they would answer, “ah, just a bunch of old people.” I consider getting my feathers ruffled, but then I reason that the young folks are off to serve and we’re off to play. Happy seniors retired and seeing the world! One couple is trying to get to Spain to attend the wife’s family reunion there.
It’s early morning on Thursday, March 8th. When we checked in on Wednesday night, we found out that a great many people want to go to Ramstein, Germany! And there were only six seats available. As retirees, we’re very low on the totem pole. Active duty is a higher grade. With a family of five active-duty, there wasn’t much hope unless they released more seats. So here we are, waiting on Spain once again.
We don’t have to wait long. When they begin roll call, I’m back in second grade waiting for my name to be called for dodge ball. Will I make the team? Turns out there are more seats than people waiting to go; so it’s not an issue. Still, I’m relieved when Steve and I are called first. We go through the check-in process, just like a commercial flight. We agree to take the box lunch since the flight is 8 ½ hours long and there is no snack or beverage service.
I look around the preboarding area. There are only 9 of us and we are all retired. A British woman comes near and begins to inquire about our plans and to offer suggestions about what to do when we get to Spain. Another woman, the one going back home to Spain for a reunion, overhears her and moves over excitedly, joining in. The conversation moves to Spanish and British history, particularly the royals, and both ladies keep jumping in with even more enthusiasm. At this point, I’m just sitting quietly watching the verbal and facial tennis match with great enjoyment. Both women have very heavy accents and, one on one I can understand each of them. But trying to understand them both gives me a preview of what I am about to face. And they are speaking English!
We board a bus to come out to the plane, the very large plane, and we march in the back door one by one. I am amazed. Imagine a huge airplane, completely hollowed out. Look up and you see the round of the top about twenty feet above. As we walk around the cargo, shrink-wrapped and strapped onto pallets down the center of the plane, there is our luggage, also stacked and strapped together. And our seats wait along the side.
The noise is already enough for us to use the ear plugs we’ve been given. A crew member in camouflage approaches to brief us. It’s the standard “find the exits, fasten your seatbelt” lecture and I’m almost amused by the circumstances until they start to tell us about our flotation device (also standard). I sit up and pay attention; this is no small body of water I’m crossing. In addition we get briefed on some sort of plastic thingy you put over your head for oxygen in case of fume leaks. I’m pretty sure my mom told me not to put plastic over my head. I’m really hoping we won’t have to use that one.
So here I sit, only three hours into the flight and having gone through most of my nifty box lunch. It was a regular treasure trove of sunchips, nutri-grain bar, sandwich, Dr. Pepper, water and Snickers. I’m a little worried. Not about the food – of course I have more in my sling bag. But I have already finished the soda and most of the water and I have almost six hours to go. Ah well, I won’t miss the bathroom breaks.
Almost immediately I become aware that I belong to the second group. And if anyone asked the young soldiers who was in the terminal, they would answer, “ah, just a bunch of old people.” I consider getting my feathers ruffled, but then I reason that the young folks are off to serve and we’re off to play. Happy seniors retired and seeing the world! One couple is trying to get to Spain to attend the wife’s family reunion there.
It’s early morning on Thursday, March 8th. When we checked in on Wednesday night, we found out that a great many people want to go to Ramstein, Germany! And there were only six seats available. As retirees, we’re very low on the totem pole. Active duty is a higher grade. With a family of five active-duty, there wasn’t much hope unless they released more seats. So here we are, waiting on Spain once again.
We don’t have to wait long. When they begin roll call, I’m back in second grade waiting for my name to be called for dodge ball. Will I make the team? Turns out there are more seats than people waiting to go; so it’s not an issue. Still, I’m relieved when Steve and I are called first. We go through the check-in process, just like a commercial flight. We agree to take the box lunch since the flight is 8 ½ hours long and there is no snack or beverage service.
I look around the preboarding area. There are only 9 of us and we are all retired. A British woman comes near and begins to inquire about our plans and to offer suggestions about what to do when we get to Spain. Another woman, the one going back home to Spain for a reunion, overhears her and moves over excitedly, joining in. The conversation moves to Spanish and British history, particularly the royals, and both ladies keep jumping in with even more enthusiasm. At this point, I’m just sitting quietly watching the verbal and facial tennis match with great enjoyment. Both women have very heavy accents and, one on one I can understand each of them. But trying to understand them both gives me a preview of what I am about to face. And they are speaking English!
We board a bus to come out to the plane, the very large plane, and we march in the back door one by one. I am amazed. Imagine a huge airplane, completely hollowed out. Look up and you see the round of the top about twenty feet above. As we walk around the cargo, shrink-wrapped and strapped onto pallets down the center of the plane, there is our luggage, also stacked and strapped together. And our seats wait along the side.
The noise is already enough for us to use the ear plugs we’ve been given. A crew member in camouflage approaches to brief us. It’s the standard “find the exits, fasten your seatbelt” lecture and I’m almost amused by the circumstances until they start to tell us about our flotation device (also standard). I sit up and pay attention; this is no small body of water I’m crossing. In addition we get briefed on some sort of plastic thingy you put over your head for oxygen in case of fume leaks. I’m pretty sure my mom told me not to put plastic over my head. I’m really hoping we won’t have to use that one.
So here I sit, only three hours into the flight and having gone through most of my nifty box lunch. It was a regular treasure trove of sunchips, nutri-grain bar, sandwich, Dr. Pepper, water and Snickers. I’m a little worried. Not about the food – of course I have more in my sling bag. But I have already finished the soda and most of the water and I have almost six hours to go. Ah well, I won’t miss the bathroom breaks.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
At Ease
Soon it begins.
A little background before the excitement starts on Wednesday morning. Let me go back several years. Sweet Steve has always had one eye on his suitcase. No, not that hurry, scurry stress-filled business travel he once did. But travel at leisure, for pleasure and fun. He’s been ready.
I am a homebody. Give me a deck or a porch, some sweet tea, my dogs and a book and I have all the excitement I need. And overseas? No way.
Our church in Virginia sent mission teams. I prayed for them, supported them, applauded them. My cousins in Arkansas became more and more committed to mission work and I cheered for them. My thought was “if God intends for me to go, He’ll let me know.”
In Vacation Bible School this past summer, we had a mission emphasis every day. And every day, I felt a small urge, a need to get involved. I chalked it up to the enthusiasm of the moment and the kids. But the weeks passed and the urge didn’t. In fact it grew stronger.
I got in touch with my cousin whose heart for missions has always beat strong and true. He has been involved in so many mission trips that I suspected he would know the right one for me. He told me of English camps in the Czech Republic, where the people do not want to talk about God. But they are drawn to the tender-hearted Americans who keep coming. And all they do is talk! The Czechs want to learn conversational English. They’ve studied the grammar but they need the practice and who better to do that with than Americans – especially Americans who care about them and, little do they realize, are praying for them.
The idea of going excited me. But I was thrilled at the thought of Steve’s participation. This is his strength! He talks with strangers as if he’s known them for a very long time. He was enthused as I described the trip to him and we were set! We agreed to pray – and we agreed to go.
And God has been confirming our decision ever since. A couple of months later, friends of ours from church flew to Germany using military space available. We felt like they paved the way for us. Reluctant to go overseas? I had been. A person of extreme structure? Absolutely. Even though the travel is free for military, adventurous Steve could never get me to even consider it. I was not about to get on a plane unless I had a ticket in hand and a very firmly fixed itinerary.
But, once again, the ease came. This provided a way for us to go and to use the airline ticket money to do a little extra touring beforehand. And then, another confirmation. We found a timeshare they we could trade for in Oberstaufen, Germany. We would have a place to stay for an extra week and from which to take day trips. The plans began to become a picture.
We believed God intended for us to go and He had already begun to prepare the way. We would trust him for the right time and place. With Space A travel, we just had to wait until a few days before we would fly. As the time approached, we saw that our only option was to travel to Spain a couple of days before we had intended on flying. Spain is a twelve-hour train ride to Germany. We just trusted that all would be as God intended.
I started this blog post yesterday. This morning we discovered that the air force had added another last-minute flight bound for Ramstein, Germany – our original destination! Another confirmation that our plans are in God’s hands, that He is leading us.
We leave tomorrow night. I’ll be using Penny Jo’s Porch to “journal” our travels. I hope you come back and enjoy them with me.
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