Sunday, January 5, 2014

One bag, two bags, three bags, four but we have many, many more.

Our daughter finally got rid of us today by taking us to the Washington Dulles airport and dumping us at the curb at 6 PM for our 11:30 flight.  While she and Sandy waited at the curb, I went inside to see if we had procured the much-sought-after “privileged baggage” allowance I had been working on for more than a month.  We managed to get approval for one extra checked in bag at no cost.  We had asked for two, one each, but half a loaf is better than none.  That brought our total checked bags up to five, about 250 pounds en mass.  This means we will be able take 50 pounds of books for the kids in Kasavai that we would otherwise have had to leave home.

But this is only half the annual battle.  Now, with us in line with the five bags to be checked plus two overstuffed carry-ons and two bulging back packs (i.e., “one personal item each”), much to our consternation, a fellow came by checking carry-on bags for weight and size. 

We cringed.

Miraculously he skipped us.  So, our next move in this game of hide (the bag) and seek would be to walk leisurely toward the counter demonstrating how light our carry-ons and “personal items” must be.  Sandy’s probably weighed 35 pounds and mine came in around 30 pounds.  That’s not counting my back pack that weighed 25 pounds at least and Sandy’s that would have tipped the scales near 20 pounds.  And, the agent at the desk had just weighed the carry-ons of all the passengers in line ahead of us.  The woman in front of us had one that weighed in right at the limit, 18 pounds. 

Again we cringed.

“How many bags do you have to check?” the agent asked as we approached her.  “Five” I said while Sandy stood back with our carry-ons which were snuggled up to the counter, hidden by her clever move.  One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed – “Your bags are checked all the way through to Nairobi.   No need to pick them up in Istanbul.  Here are your boarding passes and luggage claim checks.  Have a nice flight, you leave from gate B39.” 

T’was yet another miracle.

And, do you recall that woman who had her carry-on weighed just in front of us (if not, read more carefully).  Well, she, Sandy, and I tripped over each other repeatedly in the security line as we took off our shoes, belts, coats, and sweaters and put everything in those bins for x-ray and then stood with our hands over our heads for the electronic pat-down.  Her name is Larisa.

We met her again on the shuttle train to terminal B and again as we proceeded to our gate and looked for a spot for dinner.  Might as well have dinner together at Harry’s Tap Room right across from B39, so we invited her to join us.  She’s from Moldova, has one son, Ivan, in graduate school in the US, another, Andre, employed in Moldova, a step-son who is a physician in San Diego, and she lives in Istabul (near Hagia Sofia) with her husband and she speaks almost no English.  Perhaps we’ll contact her when we are in Istanbul near the end of our trip.  Or we might visit her son in Moldova next time we are in the area.  After all, it’s a small world.   

Monday, January 6, 2014

A day without sunshine.

We were in the terminal at 6 PM EST, in the air at 11:30 EST, on the ground at 5 PM on Monday in Istanbul, in the plane at 7:50 in Istanbul, in the air until 3:45 AM on Tuesday in Nairobi, and in our hotel room at 5:30 AM on Tuesday in Nairobi.  All without a minute of daylight.   A three day span in the dark is too much.

This is what we saw outside for 30 hours or so.

Do you want beef or chicken?

They say that your choices on an airplane are warmed over beef, warmed over chicken, or warmed over salmon.  All too true, but Turkish Airlines tries to do it with panache.  They give you warm damp towels before the meal is served, fancy menus, typical Turkish appetizers, then the choice of beef or chicken or of salmon or chicken.  I give them a grade of B.