Airport Panic: That’s My Luggage. There are in life a few traumatic moments that while they last seem fearful and extreme. Then over time become the tales that make for joyous laughter as we come to see the humor in our misadventures. Today I get a twisted pleasure from the laughter I engender in the recall of times when mini terror grabbed my soul in the bowels of foreign airports. This was one of those moments.
In 1983 I had the blessing and opportunity to take a two week trip to the Holy Land. A friend was the tour guide and he had a free ticket. So in exchange for my help he let my wife and I travel on a twofer. My job description seemed simple enough. I was to make sure all the people and luggage made it from beginning to end. How hard can it be to count from 1 to 46?
We lived in Massachusetts. The drive to Logan and the flight to JFK were uneventful. We touched down in Vienna to refuel but no one left the plane. We flew into Amman Jordon. It was strange to see that security consisted of soldiers with automatic rifles. It was somewhat fearful. The group stayed huddled together with a close eye on our leader.
We spent the night in a good hotel with a warning to avoid talking to the locals, especially about politics. The queen of England was coming to town and security was on high alert. The next day we traveled to Petra and back. We crossed the border the following day at the Allenby Bridge over the Jordon. So far so good. We still had all the people and all the luggage. One day flowed into the next, “If it’s Wednesday it must be Haifa,” might describe the loss of time.
Each day, each stop I counted. One, two – forty six. It was easy to keep track because we all had big round bright orange tags on our luggage. They were easy to see, easy to count. At the Sea of Galilee I made the mistake of eating the lettuce and suffered with a travelers nightmare. Thank God for Lomotil.
We crossed the Sinai by bus and spent two days in Cairo to see the Sphinx and the Pyramids. I viewed the latter from the bus window. The last day we were to fly home beginning in Cairo with a short hop back to Amman before going west to New York. I began the day with little sleep as we left by bus to the airport at 4:00 am. When I arrived I needed the facilities. To my dismay as I entered there was an attendant handing out toilet paper – one little sheet per customer!
Not eager for the 17 hour flight, but eager to be on our way home we arrived once more at the Amman airport. We were all lined up, single file in the terminal along a big window overlooking the tarmac. Watching the coming and goings of all sized vehicles I noticed one that seemed out of place. It was an ordinary blue pick up. I watched it drive up to a plane and begin unloading luggage. It was our luggage. I could tell, even from a distance because of the big round orange tags and because by now I had counted it at least a hundred times.
Then to my dismay the man took one big blue suitcase and put it back on the truck. Immediately I began shouting and banging on the window. It was as if I had become demon possessed. The group was alarmed and dismayed.
“Stop that.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Don’t alarm the guards.”
I didn’t care. It was my suitcase that was driving away.
Our guide came and took me calmly by the arm and walked me to the front of the line. He gently explained to the airport attendant why I was distraught. They convinced me to get on the plane. However, I resolutely refused to sit until I saw the truck return and my luggage placed on the conveyor leading to the cargo hold.
I still can count to forty-six but one big blue suitcase is all that really matters.