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 8^th.  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.