The Rush to Get Home

After I finished the last entry, I showered at 1:45 AM. The alarm woke up Eileen. We started the process of waking up the girls. Sasha the driver appeared at 2:30. We dragged the luggage to the car, and went to the airport.

We were quite early, so we were in the front of a line, one of four. The lines grew longer. Still we waited. Finally, a hole was opened in the barriers separating us from the checkin terminals. A small hole. The four lines vanished into a mob, trying to get through the hole. We still got through fairly early, and were fourth in a line to check in. But then we waited for an hour, while a sports team checked in their gear. They must have had 100 checkin items. We were exhausted, and now we had to stand and do nothing.

After checking in 7 bags, we had to go through passport control. Our agent was a bit grouchy. He asked to see a specific document. I did not remember which one it was, so I handed him a packet in a clear paper holder. He left the booth, and went to examine the papers. More waiting on our part. After 10 minutes, he came back and asked specifically for the document. I dug through my pack, and found a document that had a sticky attached that read, "save for later." Now was later. I gave this to him. He read it, gave a sigh, and asked for a passport from me or Eileen. The were both in my hand, so I gave him both. "One," he said, again sounding exasperated. OK, just one. He read through the two page document, and then stamped the girls passports and let us through. Big sigh of relief.

We walked down a hall, and got in another line. Why are we not moving? The boarding passes had to be checked. And who was at the front? A member of that sport team. These guys were not winning friends or influencing people. The time for the flight to leave passed, and we were glad we had a 6 hour layover in Frankfurt. OK, a little less unhappy about the layover. I did not think we would miss it.

The flight was no problem, except I sat behind one of the sport guys, the ones who stalled us for so long. The row in front of us was the exit aisle. The sport guy was quite large, and I suspected he would want to recline his chair. The seats in this plane were installed like bus seats. My knees were already against the back of the chair in front of me. So I got aggressive. I moved my knees to press hard against the back of the chair in front of me. I am becoming Soviet minded.

In Frankfurt, some reality hit us. We had left over Ukrainian Grivney. Would they exchange it? No. I had to exchange some US bucks for Euros. Ouch. The Euro was twice as good as the dollar. And the food in the airport was expensive. A one-scoop ice cream code for 6 dollars? Even McDonalds was not cheap. We wandered through the terminal, waited in more lines. We had to rescan us and our carry on bags. While waiting, a man cam to the front of the line. "I need to get through, my plane is leaving soon." The line keeper said, "There's nothing I can do." The man said, "Sure there is, you can let me through." "No," she said, "I cannot do that. Those are the rules. Contact someone from Lufthansa for help." What an attitude. I would have let one guy through, to spare him the hassle of missing a flight. We rode a train to take us to another location in the terminal. If felt like someone had designed the terminal, and after it was built, it was found it did not suit the real needs. So blockades and trains were added to make things flow correctly. We waited. I took Nastiya for a long walk down the concourse. On the way back, Sasha ran to meet us. "Come on," she yelled. Everyone was in line, and the line went a long way. What was up? For security reasons, everyone was being rescanned. We crept slowly to the front. We were allowed to use the business class line. "Pretend you are business class," the clerk said. "Adoption, hmmm?" More waiting, and we were allowed back in the waiting area. And more waiting. Everyone waiting for the plane was herded onto buses. We were carried out onto the tarmac. 10 butt-numbing hours later we landed in Denver.

We did not get to ride the underground train at DIA. I think Tanya is the only one who has not seen this. We were sent to the citizens (yay!) line. Waiting. The officer looked over the paper work and took Tanya's finger prints. On to secondary processing. We did our favorite thing: wait. The girls were finally processed. The magic manilla folders were opened. More finger prints for Tanya. The visas were stamped. And we had 3 new American citizens. It sounded like this is still temporary. More paper work and waiting are in store for us.

We let slip the fact that we had some sliced summer sausage in our packs. We weren't going to eat them, they were getting old and had been on the "shake and bake," so they might not be in the best of shape. But now we were an agricultural problem, which meant we got to wait in a line. The meat was removed. Our bags were scanned. And we were finally allowed to get the rest of our bags. And then we stepped out of the transitory world of customs into the airport and the arms of friends who met us with joy. Welcome home!