«The fact is, we just had word that Frankfurt airport is closed. We’ll keep you posted with information as we get it, but Frankfurt airport is closed for the next seven hours.»

I hear the ever so slight tremble in the Captains voice as he gives this announcement, I know that he knows that this very same thing also happened yesterday. As he continues I hear the contradictions in his message as he announces that he hopes we can fly in two hours. He knows that we all got out of bed at around 2 AM to be able to be at the gate in time for take off at 6 AM. The airport in question is Oslo Airport and flying time to Frankfurt is only two hours or so. I am only one of many passengers hoping to get somewhere before Christmas. My destination is Flagstaff, AZ where I will celebrate the holidays with close friends and spend time on my writing.

 

I hear a moan from the man in the chair next to me, I look at him and he tells me his story. He drove five hours from his home to the airport yesterday, sat at the gate for the Frankfurt flight and was told the flight would not happen for hours. He stuck around for five or six hours and then drove the five hours back home. This morning he drove the same five hours, got to the gate and was now receiving the same information. He tells me that he is a journalist for a small local newspaper in his town. He is a big man, about 50, dark hair, and he speaks Norwegian with an accent. He’s on his way to Baghdad to spend time with family and then to Jordan where he will have a job interview for a newspaper job in London. With pride he tells me about his grandfather who was a Kurd from the north of Iran, he tells me that even though he is born in Baghdad he is a Kurd.

 

Seven hours pass and we are herded into the airplane, there is a quality of quiet excitement within the body of the machine on the runway. We take off and land in Frankfurt only one hour and forty minutes later. My connecting flight is scheduled to leave three hours after my arrival in Frankfurt so I’m not worried. If the airport has been closed for seven hours, well then my connecting flight has also been delayed seven hours. Wrong, it left thirty minutes before we landed at about 2:30 PM.

 

How can I make you understand the next two days, it’s too surreal to describe. When I enter the terminal there are no signs or indications as to which way I should go, left or right. I do not yet know that I have lost my connecting flight, so I’m rushing to find the information I need to be in the right place at the right time for it. I stop a person in uniform and am told to go to the Lufthansa Information desk, well yes, but where is it? After running three miles in the long terminals of Frankfurt I’m shown a very long line of people waiting to rebook their flight. Two and a half hours of standing in line led me to an enclosed area with a number in my hand, 706. I look at the digital counter on the wall and they are serving people with numbers in the 530′s. Not too bad is what I’m thinking and so is the young American student named Rick that I met in the line. He had just flown in from Paris where he is studying architecture and is on his way home to Virginia to celebrate Christmas with his family. As I grew up in the county next to Ricks in Virginia we actually had things to talk about even though there are almost 40 years that separate us in age. We agree to find seats near each other so that we can look after each others bags when we need to go somewhere or just move around. Soon after I sit down a young woman arrives and sits next to me, we introduce ourselves and I can hear that she too is American. When I ask what she’s doing in Europe she tells me that she is an exchange student in Italy and is flying home for Christmas, I think she’s from New Jersey. I decide to move so that these two beautiful young people can talk to each other without me as a barrier between them. When I move I notice two Arabic looking gentlemen across from where I was sitting, we smile at each other. I sit down on the floor because it’s close the an electrical outlet and watch a movie on my laptop. I’m watching “The Proposal” with Sandra Bulloc and I notice that the Arab gentlemen are noticing it every time I laugh, and I laugh a lot when I watch that flick. Before long the Arabs are laughing because I’m laughing and then we all laugh together. An older woman a couple of seats over asks me what I’m watching and then she laughs too, pretty soon nine or twelve people are laughing, communicating and the terrible situation doesn’t seem so terrible any longer. All of us get up and move around, some come back and some don’t, maybe they found a better seat further down or they just needed to be in a different spot. Restless legs are a sure thing when you’re an international traveler so some people just pace the floor, back and forth again and again. The place where we are is a closed off area on a balcony over the main hall of the airport. There are locked, frosted glass doors at either end of the space that we are in. We came in through the doors to the left where the Lufthansa counters for re-booking tickets are, outside there is still an incredibly long line of people who have either flown in too late to make their overseas connecting flight or their flight has been canceled. At a central location in the space they have brought in pallets of cases of water and pallets of plastic wrapped sandwiches. Happily people traveling with children, pregnant women and elderly are given a priority in the line. I don’t know how all those hours passed by, but at 2 AM I finally find myself on my way to a hotel in the center of Frankfurt. Lufthansa is paying for it, for the taxi and for a meal that I can’t get at the hotel restaurant because it’s the middle of the night. I notice the street sign on the main avenue that we are traveling to get to the hotel, Kennedy Alleen and I remember the words that JFK spoke while visiting the Berlin Wall so many years ago “Ich bin ein Berliner”. Sitting in the taxi I look at the airline ticket in my hand, it says stand by, destination Phoenix. My body is aching from 24 hours of sitting and walking, I long to stretch and sleep in a bed and when I do place my head on the pillow in the large, clean room I instantly fall into a deep sleep.

In the morning I’m surprised to find the hotel breakfast buffet offering Japanese breakfast, I love Japanese breakfast and throw myself over the miso soup, sea weed and other goodies. I have coffee and juice and can feel that this day is going to be just fine. I get a taxi and head out to the airport to be at my gate at least two hours before take off, I’m not taking any chances. Frankfurt international airport is big and when I finally make to my gate C15 I’m told that the gate has been changed to A65! This is far, far, far away from C15. They tell me to go as fast as I can because I also need to go through security once more for the terminal A, the one I had just passed through was for terminal C. I did make it on time and was happy and relieved as I sat down next to a lovely young blond American lady living in London who was on her way home for Christmas. She told me that her flight out of Heathrow Airport had been allowed out on runway and they were ready to take off when the tower announced that all flight were grounded as of then. The airplane was stuck out there with all of its passengers for eight hours. Finally they’re starting to board our flight, the blond woman goes to the line and I stay seated. She has a confirmed ticket, I don’t. We notice a screen and on it are the names of all the stand by passengers, there are 39! I’m number 25, my heart sinks and with good reason, four of five of the stand by passengers were seated on that flight.

I know the drill now so I race back to the line that will bring be back inside the frosted doors and feel optimistic because the line is shorter than it was the day before, it still took a good two or three hours before I was given a number and allowed into the compound – my number is 607, the previous day my number was 706. I go to the seating area that is quite full and find an empty seat near the center, I glance over my left shoulder and notice the two Arabs from the day before. I smile and wave and ask what number they have (this the culture here now) they show med their little slip of paper with the number 443, they ask to see my number and when I show it to them they wave me over. I get up and go to where they are sitting and one of them pulls a number slip out of his pocket, it says 449. I almost cry, I’m so grateful. They smile and wish me luck on my travels as I do them. In the line outside I had been behind a lovely American family from the state of Washington. They, a couple with their 21 year old daughter were traveling from Italy where they had spent time at a university. He had been teaching and the girl had taken a course or two. Turns out this family has a Norwegian last name and they have spent six months in the city of Bergen where I was born. I feel a nice connection with the family and I hope we will see each other again at some point. When I told them that I had “cheated” and received a much earlier number they cheered me on and said the same thing has happened to them the day before, so I took my number with a clear conscience. My number is called after only three hours or so, I ask the young man at the ticket counter if he can please find me a confirmed ticket, I really don’t want another stand by experience. He looks sad as he scans his screen for vacant seats to Phoenix, I get the picture and tell him that if he wants he can fly me to Las Vegas and I’ll find a way to get to Flagstaff from there. Hi face lights up and he says he can get me to Vegas via Washington Dulles Airport. Wow, my home town airport, the one I’ve been traveling through every time we flew back to Norway for a summer vacation during all my growing up years in Arlington, Virginia. I’m more than pleased and grateful when he sends me to the Holiday Inn North not far from the airport as my flight leaves at 9 the next morning. Holiday Inns in Europe are quite nice, like they were in the US in the beginning. I had a nice buffet dinner on Lufthansa again and the breakfast the next morning was fine. A woman from India who was also booked on the Washington flight and I decided to share a taxi to the airport as the hotel shuttle was already full. The woman now lives in Phoenix with her husband, her children are grown and she is enjoying the dry climate of the South West. We agreed that she probably got the last vacant seat on the Phoenix flight and that’s why I’m being sent to Vegas, we had a laugh about it and agreed to stick together while finding our way to the correct gate (which is not so easy in Frankfurt). When we are seated at a nice window table at the gate I notice the Washington state family are also at this gate. I’m so pleased and when we compare notes I learn that they were among the last to be booked on this Washington DC flight which was set up extra for all of us left behind passengers. This family had actually arrived at Frankfurt on Monday, a day earlier than I had so they got upgraded to first class on this DC flight! It works out, I got my early number, they got first class for waiting so terribly long – all is as it should be.

At Dulles Airport I had a three hour layover and the time passed quite quickly. I called my friends in Flagstaff and let them know that I would be flying into Las Vegas and not Phoenix and told them I would take the bus from there to Flag. They offered to book a hotel room for me and I was happy to let them but said I would get my bus ticket myself. Late evening on December 23 I stepped out of the airplane and entered an airport filled with slot machines, well this is Vegas so why not was my thought. I hurried to the baggage claim and was not surprised to not find my suitcase. I reported it missing, was given a receipt and then I headed out the doors to find a shuttle to take me to my hotel near the bus station. People turn and look at me here as they did in Washington because I’m still wearing the snow boots and winter clothes that I had on when I left my home in freezing Norway three days earlier. I headed straight for a shuttle, waited ten minutes and we were on our way. It took some time to get to the other side of town but I was relieved to get off the shuttle and to enter my hotel. The first thing that meets me there is a sign that says “This hotel is being renovated and we are not offering rooms at this time”. Shocked I back out the doors, look at the signs on the building and when they show that I’m in the right place I’m completely confused. I start to walk towards the street still wondering what I should do and there to my left is a shuttle for the elderly parked with the driver inside. I ask him if he has any information about this hotel and he suggests that I go ask the Hotel Las Vegas Casino across the street. When I get to the reception area they tell me that they are taking care of the business for the closed hotel. I get a room after giving them a fifty dollar down payment (?!) and sleep until 4 AM when I get up, shower, eat some nuts that I always have in my bag when traveling (no matter where I go) and head for the bus station. I’m there at five, the bus is supposed to leave at 6:15. They won’t sell me a ticket because the bus is overbooked! Speechless and dumbfounded I stand there with a confused and shocked expression on my face, I’m sure. This is turning into an unbelievable nightmare of a trip, what else can go wrong? She gives me a stand by ticket for the bus to Flagstaff, I get in line almost in tears from exhaustion but am able to keep my calm. I hear others complain about the bus being full the night before, about the nuisance of it and how it will delay them. I tell them that I’ve been traveling since Monday trying to get to Flagstaff, it’s now Friday, the morning of Christmas Eve. Most of the people in the waiting area hear my story and they say that if I can smile about then they can too about their predicament. When the bus is loading I pray to God that there will be a seat for me, the drives asks me to wait at the door while he is counting the tickets that he has collected. He looks at me, smiles and says – OK, go buy your ticket. Oh joy! I run to the counter, ask if I can cut in line, – yes, and I buy my ticket to Flagstaff. Everyoneis seated when I enter the bus, the only vacant seat that I can see is the one right behind the driver. I’m seated next to an African-American man named Eric. We have a nice time talking while the bus is taking me through the beautiful mountains and the Golden Valley towards Flagstaff. On a hill coming into Kingman we notice the bus slowing down and finally the driver pulls off the road and stops on the shoulder. He gets out of the bus, walks back to the engine and we hear the doors open. A few minutes later the engine stops, everyone is quiet while awaiting information of what is happening. The engine comes back on, the driver returns to his seat and ever so slowly we crawl up the hill and into the TA Truck stop on the outskirts of Kingman. The driver turns on his PA system and informs us that the transmission is broken at we can’t continue. He is calling for a new bus but it will probably be three or four hours before it arrives. At this point I’m numb to any problems that arise. I really don’t care any longer. I’m just going to go with the flow and see what happens. I borrow a cell phone from my travel mate Eric and call my friends Janis and Greg in Flag to inform them not to meet me in Flag at 1:15 PM because I’m going to be much delayed. I hang up the phone and go inside to get myself some chicken for lunch. Janis calls back on Eric’s cell and let’s me know that she has decided to come and pick me up. Two hours later she is there and we speed on to Flagstaff where I have a date to attend a sweat lodge at 5 PM. We arrive at the house at 4:30. I have 15 minutes to get my stuff and drive out to the site of the sweat lodge. At 4:55 I get there and am able to join my wonderful sweat lodge community in this sacred Christmas Eve event. Joyful, thankful and blessed.

 

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