A Touch-Base Blog. A Ramble.

What a big pot of steaming, vitriolic poo this year has been in so many ways! The garbage and vileness, the debasement, the gore seems to gurgle up infinitely from everywhere. If you’ve ever been to Yellowstone or in any other part of the earth where hot, steaming, gurgling poisonous materials come to the surface of the earth, in a stench you can barely take, hot and lethal - you’ll get the very picture of what our world is like today... 

I don’t even think it has to do with one country or another. Sure, there are better and worse places you can be in - but as a whole, even the so-called “good people”, the people on the “right side of history” - even those ... have their blame and their contribution to the current state of the world ... 

There are people literally fighting with their bare chests for their freedom and their lives - and those are the people who are put down and made fun of. The other people, no, not just the aggressors, but the other people, sitting on the sidelines are judging and pointing and laughing and masquerading as political gurus and protectors of freedom. But they are all but actionless. ... Sickness to my stomach sometimes ... 

The world has not yet learned that demonizing the opposition does only one thing: burns the fire under their feet hotter and makes their revenge that much more gruesome. No, I am not saying we should sleep with the enemy, as it were, but we should dang-well make a better effort to understand how they have come so far as to rule the order of things. We should shut up for a minute and listen. And learn. 

It’s a game (their game)  that we (the “good” people) know nothing about. A new game with new rules. But blinded by our rage we fail to learn what the rules are. Cutting our nose to spite our face in the process ... 

Because of where and how I grew up, I know that humans against the system rarely renders humans the victors. Most often than not, the system wins, albeit for only a period of time. I still hope for heroes and wish that people would actually honor their oath. Because so many of them aren’t, right now. But life is seldom fair, and this time is one of those times where fairness has become in dire short supply. 

I decided that I am too small and too powerless to make a significant difference in turning the world on its head to make it “normal” again. I decided a long time ago that I am not of the heroic or patriotic persuasion. I know this of myself and I don’t see it as a failing. 

So, if your people didn’t win, and if you’re a little person with no power to make a difference, your only weapon is to conserve your energy and try to stay sane. You at least owe it to yourself to survive, however you can. To survive and help your kin survive too. 

So, I do what the communists taught us to do: stay low, for a lowered head is rarely severed, and try to protect your own identity. Only staying whole and true to yourself will you weather the storms. This is my full-time focus instead, because this is the only thing I can control. I try to be kind to myself and mine, and to whoever comes in contact with me. I am scared and bloody-knuckled at the end of every day, but I try to build a survival kit for us, too. It’s all I can do to stay sane or preserve some semblance of sanity. I am grabbing tight to those sharp, stoney shores while the torrents are trying to rip my arms off and carry me away ...   

But this does not want to be a political blog. This is just a  “touch-base” blog on our lives, for those who normally keep up with those things ... 

It’s been a busy year for us already, which is amazing given that half of the world would tell you that two middle-aged childless people have absolutely nothing to show for themselves ... Well, anyone can walk a half mile in any of our shoes and they’ll want their lives back, I am sure of it ... It’s perfectly OK. I would not want anyone’s life, either. 

Despite the crazy world stage and the fear of traveling anywhere, despite the fear of maybe never seeing our families abroad or of never seeing them alive or the fear of never coming back home if we venture outside the borders ... life still goes on, as it must. We find things that keep us going and keep us engaged and attentive. 

It’s been a hard year on every level - material, historical, familial, professional, global, emotional - but it’s also been a good year, too ... The blessings are many. I am still not sure if this blog will get posted, or  erased, or would render me in jail, but for now, I am going to post it. To do that - that is a gift. I am not sure if it’ll last, but when are we ever in the business of believing that anything is forever? 

We have learned to be more focused, live more in the moment, and we have learned to help more if and where and how we can. I help my family, my family’s friends, and I keep people who matter close to me. I can only hope they, too, can keep their inner circles close and healthy and so, one circle at a time, we could all become a more empathetic and healthier, and stronger, and less poisonous community. 

There are so many god-awful things in this world of ours that we have no way of changing. None. No power. No means. No reach. But what we can do, we should do. And little by little, the interconnectedness of us all will amount to something better. It must. Do two rights make a wrong? I ponder ... If there is any hope left in the world, maybe not. And there is always hope, we are told. 

We are moved by the belief that what we are witnessing is not new. It’s just humans being human. And they’ve always done this. In some shape or form and intensity, this is the human world in action. It’s just more prominent now as it seems particularly more “everywhere”. It’s not just one country or one group of people - it is everyone. And with the amazing communication we have nowadays (thanks, technology!), it’s in our faces a lot more often than ever before - and being visual is what makes it more gruesome, more real. More “there”. 

I am trying so hard to establish a healthier routine for consuming the news. I try (it is so hard, I won’t lie because my brain’s been re-path-ed already and I am old - so re-learning is not easy) to re-train myself on what to do with my time - not to pick up the phone and start scrolling.

I read three sources or so (four if you count a Romanian one) of news. Because I do want to keep up with the news to see how our lives are changing with the world (faster than ever, and not for the good, I would say). But I try to avoid social media as much as I can - because I am poisoned by everyone’s bias and opinion about the news ... I want the facts alone and I want my brain bandwidth to make up its own bias. 

I avoid Facebook but I am still there every day. I find that Instagram is a lot less poisonous. And I love pictures. So that helps. I absolutely hate memes (yes, “hate” is the right word) because some people stop there with their education. This is unfortunate and does no one any service. 

I try to write more and read more, and more consequential stuff. I subscribe to things that keep my focus captive for longer, more complex thought. Yes, it takes longer but my brain feels so much better and I feel a lot less hateful at the end of the day. 

We go to museums and book launches. We go to concerts and speaking engagements and learn. Kids, I am here to tell you that you will never in fact stop learning. And you should never even consider it. When you do consider it, consider your life over, too. 

We take weekend trips and long walks. It’s an old, rusty, moldy, decrepit cliche that nature nurtures the soul. But truly: there is something restorative in a walk in nature. We take advantage of the freedoms we do have for now - and we believe that there are no guarantees for tomorrow. We recharge to be ready, physically, emotionally, mentally, for what might come ... 

We’re planning for a long and once-in-a-lifetime adventure, and we pray that our years-long plans for this won’t be foiled. But, again ... there are no guarantees. We lead with hope and try to have patience. And still, even in this rotten world, where a big, steaming turd seems to be handed to us every day, we look forward to the good plans we work so hard to keep together. 

I am so incredibly grateful for my family who keeps us sane. We talk, we cry, we laugh, we despair together. And we take time to celebrate the wins! The health, the peaceful days around us, the beauty of our shared children, the beauty and strangeness of the seasons. We take lots of pictures - of good and bad. We want to hold on to the moments we do have, so we document. One day, they might serve as history to someone. 

We are our loudest cheerleaders and that’s OK. As people are more and more self-absorbed and guarded, or reprehensibly vitriolic, we shelter within our own selves, like snails. Waiting for the storms to pass. They might not stop during our lifetime, but we hope to be deep inside, taking care of our own and still breathing. We hope. 

Cardinals have visited us way too often lately. They usually tell me that something bad will happen but that in the end it will all be OK. So, as we all sit on this powder keg of a world, we heed the advice of the cardinals and we wait. 

There is this belief inside me that moves me every day which is made up of some simple truths that give me energy and reason to wake up in the morning.

They go like this: 

What we are witnessing is not new; we are stronger than we think, if only we’d shut up and listen to ourselves; we are deeply human, and deeply flawed - we will never win or lose the war in one battle; there is work to be done; start with the person next to you and do well by them, even when that person is yourself; smile to rejuvenate the brain; it will help you when it’s at peace, and not when it’s at war with itself; think before you do; drink coffee; smell the air after the rain, or even after a forest fire. See the difference. 

These are some of the simple, unarguable truths that move me every day. And yes, I still stray and I get lost - or else I would not be human. But I try to be back at it the next day. And I hold the candle of hope that it will all end well. One day, hopefully with me as a witness ... 

Our guardians, our hope ...

The Longest Trip

I have not written one of these in a long while. Part of it is, I guess, that we have not had this much un-luck with the airline business for a while and part of it is the fact that about a year ago we stopped flying altogether for about a year. But let me tell you: it caught up with us during the most recent trip to Romania, and back.

Grab a long cup of something. We'll be a while!

It actually started with the trip to Romania, first. We made it to Iasi, our final destination there, but our luggage did not. We filed a 'lost luggage' claim in Iasi for both our suitcases, but they could not tell us where they were tracked last. In the US they can tell you almost instantly when the luggage was last scanned, what airport, but in Iasi they told us it takes up to three hours for our claim to become actualized in the computer system and for them to get an answer back.

They called us from the airport the next day to tell us that we need to come and pick up the luggage, and that it had made it to Iasi, finally. They could deliver it to us, but they would have to open it to ensure there is nothing illegal in the suitcases (for customs purposes, since we were coming in from a non-EU country), and they do not recommend us not being there when this was happening. Plus, being a Saturday, they could not deliver it till Monday to us. Their delivery system does not work during weekends. (forget that people travel, the airport is open during weekends, and people lose luggage, but … delivery not working. OK!)

So, we go to the airport, to find that only one of our bags had made it to Iasi, but the other one had not. We ask why but they could not tell us. They tell us that the other one is in Bucharest, and it will be shipped most likely with the next flight (in 2 hours) and we should come back for it.

As those of you who follow our Facebook feeds know, my uncle is some sort of a big shot for the Romanian airlines, TAROM, in Iasi. So, he made a couple of phone calls after this episode and found out that they could not send both suitcases at the same time because the weight of the plane was at the limit, and our suitcase had to be left behind, as it did not make the overall plane weight. One suitcase. 50 lbs! Threw off the entire plane weight. All right!

We drove back to the airport for the second time that evening and collected the second suitcase. I was just grateful that everyone there was very kind, patient and really helpful and we did not even have to bribe anyone.

After spending two weeks in Iasi with my parents and seeing some friends and family, we were scheduled to come back home on May 4. I spent a whole weekend trying to book this trip, because it was close to impossible to find connections that made any sense at all. Due to various reasons, we did not book this trip way in advance, like I normally do. We booked it about a month and a half (barely) before we flew. So, the number of really good flights, with layovers that made any sense in airports where you do not risk being blown up was really limited. One of the connections we kept finding was through Dulles, Washington, DC and that was one of my biggest requirements to not go through that airport, as it is hell! Especially for international flights, it is hell! (as a fun fact, the three letter word for the Dulles airport is IAD. Those who speak Romanian know that spells “hell” quite clearly).

Another major requirement was that I did not want a 12 hour layover anywhere else. But a compromise had to be made, and I finally did book our trip with a 9 hour layover in Bucharest, on our way back to The States.

So, on May 4^th, we got up around 8 AM and packed to leave Iasi and return home. Our flight from Iasi to Bucharest (serviced by TAROM) was scheduled for 7 PM. After that, we would sleep at a hotel in the airport and be back at the Bucharest airport at 6 AM the following morning to fly to Paris (serviced by Air France) , and then from there directly to Raleigh-Durham (serviced by Delta). That was the plan. But plans as they come are made to be messed with.

My big shot airline uncle calls us around 12 PM the day of our departure and says “hey, did you guys receive a confirmation from your airline/ booking service or whatever that you have been redirected to fly through Frankfurt tomorrow, before you get to Paris?” I had received a confirmation ONLY from Delta about the flight from Paris, that it was coming up and it looked on time and that I need to prepare, bla bla bla, the usual. I told him “no, we did not receive such a confirmation”, and where in the world is he getting Frankfurt from?!

Mom already knew from the radio that Air France is on strike and their flights are grounded but did not think that we were going with Air France, so she had not told us anything. She also ran into one of their strikes before and TAROM serviced the flight instead, as their partner, so she was thinking TAROM might take us from Bucharest to Paris, since Air France was on strike. But nope, TAROM had no available planes, evidently, and the flight from Bucharest to Paris now became two flights: Bucharest to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to Paris through Lufthansa. This would put us in Paris before the Delta flight to Raleigh-Durham, since we had a 3 and a half hour layover there and had some time to kill. This is why I usually like layovers between 2 and 4 hours – to leave enough room for changes, delays, and airline whimsy-ness...

Thank God for nosy relatives in high places, I guess. If it were not for my uncle searching our flights for our return trip simply out of curiosity and being a flying geek we would not have found this out till we got the Bucharest the next morning. Not that knowing in advance helped in any way really, other than giving us a new perspective, and real expectations. We were to thank God and curse airlines and airline services several times during what it was to follow. But let's not jump ahead.

The flight from Iasi to Bucharest was uneventful, except for my backpack beeping when it went through the security belt in Iasi. They asked me if I had electronics in it. I said “sure, I did.” I had a camera, a couple of power banks, an MP3 player, chargers, etc. They opened it and scanned them all separately. This was news to me, that electronics might get you in trouble at the check-in line, but there you go. You live and learn. Or fly and learn, rather. I still don't know which of my electronics beeped or was the problem. My iPad was already in a bin by itself, and my husband had a camera and a phone in his backpack, but his didn't beep. I also had batteries and power banks in mine, and he didn't. Who knows?! They never tell you.

We had to pick up our luggage in Bucharest, because they do not check it to your destination from Iasi, for some reason. We picked them up there, and went to our hotel for the night. The hotel stay was lovely, to have a place where you could at least stretch for a bit. A million times better than the dirty chairs in the airport, for sure. We did not sleep much those few hours in the hotel, but the quiet, and relative cleanliness of the hotel was nice.

The next morning, we were in the airport at 4 AM, to check in for our flights that day. Because my uncle told me we are flying Lufthansa from Bucharest, we knew to go to their counter to check in first. As my booking company never sent me a confirmation from the flights that day, I would not have known that I was to show up at the Lufthansa counter, and I would have shown up at Air France. No idea if anyone would have been there to even redirect me, since the company was on strike and all. Like I said: thank God for nosy uncles!

We board the flight in Bucharest, after checking in our luggage, passing through security and passport control. Our luggage was tagged to go through Frankfurt-Paris-Raleigh. We were given tickets from Bucharest to Frankfurt, and from Frankfurt to Paris, but they could not give us tickets for the Delta flight. They said they cannot access that system and we should get boarding passes in Paris, when we get to the gate. Lufthansa is not a Delta partner. This happened before, so this was not a surprise really. The luggage was tagged, as I mentioned, all the way to the destination, in Raleigh.

After boarding the flight to Frankfurt in Bucharest, the Captain came on almost immediately as the scheduled time was up and said they are having to reboot the computer of the airplane as they are seeing some errors, so the lights will go out and the air will stop briefly in the plane, as the computer would reboot. So, they did that, then we waited for another 20 minutes or so after that. He came on again to say, “Well, we rebooted the computer, but that didn't fix it. So, now, we are calling a technician to have them look at it and try to fix it.” How does one fly with a broken computer is beyond me and why do you find out that the computer is broken after you have loaded your plane with 100+ people?! The Captain also said “I cannot tell you how much longer this will be, we put an order in for the technician and we have to wait for them to come.”

We waited for another hour or so. People started getting antsy. We had 45 minute layover in Frankfurt, and we knew if we waited any longer we would not make the flight from Frankfurt to Paris. I started looking online (thank God for turning on our phones for the International Data plan, so we could do this!) to see if there were any other flights from Frankfurt to Paris that day that would possibly get us to Paris in time for our Delta flight to Raleigh. There were two more flights that would allow us to still make the Delta flight, so I was hoping the computer will get fixed so we can make it.

The technician came and spent probably 10-15 minutes trying to fix the computer (after waiting for him for half hour or so). The Captain came in again on the speaker to say that the technician could not fix the computer so now they have to replace it. So, they will put an order in for another computer and once they replace it, we'll be good to go, but that he doesn't know how long that will take.

All in all, we waited for the computer to be replaced about two and a half to three hours. We missed all of our connections from Frankfurt to Paris and at the end of this wait we knew we could not get to the Delta flight we had book out of Paris and directly home. In all likelihood, there is no other flight directly from Paris to Raleigh, NC, so we knew we were in for some major rerouting …

You have to understand a thing or two about some of the airports in Europe. I am not sure why they all do this but they do: instead of parking their planes right on the terminal gates, they park their planes sometimes miles away from the airport building. This was the case with the Lufthansa flight in Bucharest: there was nowhere to go. We all sat in our chairs and waited for up to three hours for someone to fix the computer of the plane. The thoughts everyone had about flying with a possibly not OK computer are the stuff of nightmares, I am sure.

While we waited, the head steward came to almost everyone on the plane to reassure everyone that everyone will be rerouted and everyone will be on a different flight by the time we get to Frankfurt. He also said they will obtain the rerouting information and will share it with everyone so that once people get off this plane they will know where to pick up their next connection. This was true: he came on the speaker and told everyone who was supposed to fly to wherever next where they were being rerouted – what new flight number and what new destination. During this entire crazy day, the staff on this Lufthansa plane were definitely the most considerate, patient and thorough people out of everyone. When we heard our redirection information, we were not sure what direction we were going to be rerouted in, but we had some flight numbers and times that we could see on the airport monitors.

Before we even got off the plane in Frankfurt, I went on a Lufthansa website and put my reservation number in. My uncle said no matter what happens with the rerouting of the planes, my reservation number will always stay the same. And he said if they keep rerouting me to go to any site of the airline I am with (in this case Lufthansa) and my reservation should show all the legs of all of my flights. He was right. We went online while we waited and we knew that Lufthansa had rerouted us and we were no longer going through Paris. We were now going from Frankfurt to Washington, Dulles (yeah, you're allowed to sigh, just like I did – well, I did more than sigh), then from there to Raleigh. There was a Frankfurt-Dulles flight at 12.20 and we were allegedly going to make that.

We found the gate for the Dulles flight (at 12.20 PM). As nice as the airplane staff was before, the gate staff was just as rude and abrasive. The new flight was now going to be serviced by United Airlines. The people at the gate were a mixture of American (United and TSA) and German (Lufthansa) people. They were all crass and inconsiderate.

We got boarding passes, as our boarding passes from Bucharest were no longer valid, of course, and then we were put in groups, according to what group we would board with (1 through 4). They were yelling at people to get into their own queues, and everyone had to be in a queue, not on chairs, or anything. They were nowhere near boarding, but they needed everyone standing in the lines for each group.

They called my name and an American gentleman said that I was “selected by the TSA to be thoroughly searched.” They took me behind these removable walls and two women met me. One of them requested that I put my carry-on bags (a backpack and a purse) on a table and open them. She asked me if I had any electronics. I said “yes”. She asked me what kind. I told her and she wanted to see all of them. I pulled them out and she swiped them with a blue wipe, and then she put the wipe on a machine and she saw something or other on a computer screen. She told me I was OK. Then, another woman asked to see my shoes. I took them off and she bent them and twisted them every which way. She told me everything was OK and I was cleared.

I was livid with frustration. The TSA apparently needed this from me! The TSA! This is after the same institution took my money to “pre-check clear me” for all of the flights they have authority on! I paid $90 and waited for 6 weeks for them to check my records and decide that I am safe on every flight, but now … I was somehow showing up on their machines that I needed to be searched! I was thinking they need to write a filter for this random search software that excludes the people they already decided are OK, but you know … too much to ask!

They started boarding, but being in one group or another proved to not matter. Boarding was completely random and completely different for everyone. There were three lines for boarding and they kept shoving everyone, no matter what their group was, into all three, equally: one line was not even manned: you'd walk through it and you'd scan your boarding pass yourself, the second one was manned and they would scan the boarding pass for you. A third line was manned by a TSA (or some sort of American authority) that asked you if you bought anything in the airport, if yes, what, if your luggage was with you the whole time and whether anyone gave you something to carry on the plane. Then, after you passed this person, another person scanned your boarding pass and let you on the plane.

Well, no, not on the plane, but on this corridor that ended in a lot of stairs. So, after this crazy boarding process, we were all shoved in this hallway and then down these never ending stairs (not escalators, stairs!). There were no windows to the outside and we were not sure where we were going. Someone asked under his breath “are we boarding, or are we being drafted or traded?” We were all tight like sardines standing on the stairs and people with rolling carry-ons were cursing because they had to carry them down these stairs.

After that, they put us on buses to take us to the plane. We drove a long time – seemed like 5-6, maybe more miles, far from the airport and we came to a United plane. There, we were given instructions how to board, as they were boarding from the front and the back of the plane at the same time. No one had a clue where to go, they were yelling at us again but we were all like chickens with our heads cut off, going back and forth just trying to get somewhere on that damn plane! It was mayhem!

We finally boarded and tried to settle down. If you have flown overseas before you know that those planes are huge. This plane had three seats on the right, four in the middle and three more on the left. So, for each row you have 10 seats. The plane was packed. It was going to be a 9 hour flight to Dulles, so everyone had lots of things to settle with: books, tablets, laptops, eye patches, blankets, neck pillows, etc. A family with two small children had car seats, bassinets, many shoulder bags. We all took a while to settle down.

Too preoccupied with all of this, we didn't realize that we were way past our time to take off. We were delayed again. No one told us anything. After about an hour or maybe more, one of the stewardesses came on the speaker to say “Ladies and gentlemen, we are working on an issue, so this is why we have not left yet. I just wanted you to know that we're working on something.” That was it. Then, after another 30 minutes or so, they started bringing out snacks and drinks. Someone asked the flight assistant “are we leaving any time soon?”, the answer was “nope!”. Someone else asked “are we going to have to leave the plane?”, the answer from the stewardess was “that would be the best case scenario.” Umm … we were all stunned! (reminder: at this point, we're on a United plane, all staff American).

After about two and a half hours on this plane, the Captain comes on and says “folks, we got a problem with the water draining system and we called a crew to have it fixed. However, they have not fixed it in a way that would allow us to take this plane up in the air, so for this reason, we are going to take everyone off the plane and rebook them to other flights. This plane is not going anywhere today.” This was like adding insult to injury: after keeping us cooped up in there for close to three hours (again, miles from the airport, we could not be outside of the plane), we were told “no soup for us!”

We waited another 30 minutes since this announcement for the buses. People were getting antsy about wanting to leave and the same stewardess who came on earlier saying “we're working on something” said “folks, we are literally waiting on the buses to arrive to take us back to the terminal. You must understand that we're sharing these buses with all the other airlines, so you need to be patient.” Got it! A large cup of patience coming right up! Especially while across the world from where you need to be and no idea how to get where you need to be. Sure thing!

The darn buses slowly arriving to pick us up from the airplane

You thought you could just exit the plane and wait for the bus on the pavement, but think again: we were policed everywhere  .... 

.... and standing on more stairs, waiting for our turn to move. All packed tight.

The buses did come and off we went to the terminal again. At this point, it was a little after 3 PM (the flight was supposed to leave at 12.20 originally). We had to walk up all those steps again. Again, people with huge carry-ons had to haul them upstairs all by themselves. No idea whether there was an elevator anywhere. There was no escalator or ramp for disabled people, that we could see.

We went to the United service desk, because I kept searching our rebooking online and we had not been rebooked. Lufthansa had rebooked us before, but United was not rebooking anyone. So, we went to their service desk to be rerouted. The very rude lady yelled that she is closing the office for the day, and we needed to go to gate Z19 which will reroute everyone. We went there and there was a flight boarding and people in line for that and then all of the people on our flight too. There were hundreds of people in that line. I was thinking we might be there till next day JUST to get to the counter.

In the meantime, the airport looked like it was shutting down. All stores but one were closed, and all the gates seemed to be closed, except for Z19. We overheard someone that they rebooked themselves from the United app. We're not normally United flyers, so we had to download the app, and with our reservation number, we rerouted ourselves to the next flight to Dulles – luckily there was a second one there, and then one last flight of the day in Dulles to Raleigh. Maybe, just maybe we might make it home that day! We still had to stand in line and get boarding passes, but we knew we were on that flight.

We bought some snacky food at the only store open next to our gate and waited for the second flight to Dulles. At this point, we felt desperate. If this last flight would not work out, then what?! We would have to spend the night in Frankfurt, then the next day go who knows where? And where would our luggage be by this time, being rerouted so many times?!

We repeated the crazy boarding process again (standing in line with your group), and I got re-flagged again by the TSA to be “thoroughly searched.” I went to the search people to be searched again, and I had the boarding stub from the previous flight saying that the search happened (they put a sticker on your boarding pass when you pass and they highlight it with a marker) and showed them I already did that. They said I was OK, then, and no need to go behind the mobile walls for searching again. I was paged and called back at the podium twice after this, because I was showing up as “random search” still. I kept going back to the search people and they kept telling me I am OK, but they never cleared me in the computer. After three times, I think they finally cleared me.

We finally boarded the second plane to Dulles and the flight was already delayed by almost an hour. We waited on the plane for another hour and a half. If everything had gone smoothly, we would have had a 2 hour and 40 minute layover in Dulles. Since we were again being delayed (this time, we were not sure why, no one told us anything), our layover was more like an hour and a half now. We were hoping that they will make up time since it's a 9 hour flight, but flying against the stream is always slow.

One of the most maddening things was to not know what gate any of these flights were leaving from, when you're already pressed for time. Notice the only delayed flight is the United Airlines one and there is no gate assigned (only a letter, "Z", but no gate number  - it could be one minute or 12 minutes away from this screen). 

We eventually took off and we did not make up all of the time. We landed in Dulles with a layover of exactly an hour since we left the plane. Since we had to clear passports, and then find our luggage, clear customs, drop off our luggage, pass security again, find our gate for Raleigh, we were 100% sure we were not going to make this last flight home, at 10.35.

There is no way to rush through passports control and filling out the custom forms! You're behind tons of people who may be doing this for the first time. It's confusing and there is no help. Lots of these people didn't speak English. We were behind all sorts of folks.

Not only this, but the customs and passport control people were closed for the day in the terminal where we landed and we had to board buses again to be taken to the main terminal. Again: if you have planes coming in from overseas, why close the customs offices?! And if you have to close them in one terminal, why do you land there? Land in the one where you have all the services working. I know, I am asking for logic! Silly me!

After the passport control and filling out the customs information, we rushed to the baggage claim area. An angel of a gentleman asked us where we were flying next, and we told him Raleigh-Durham. He said in a rush “great, we're holding up the plane for Raleigh-Durham so you'll make it.” I did not believe that was true, but then the same announcement came on the speakerphone and listed several destinations for which they were holding planes for people on our flight. I thanked God again.

We finally made the flight to Raleigh, the last of the night, but only after being taken again by bus to probably the same terminal where we landed from Frankfurt to begin with. The irony of it all.

When I was in my seat in this last plane to Raleigh, completely breathless from running across the airport to catch it, I just started crying uncontrollably. I was trying all day to be brave and composed and calm, because there was no other way to go through all this otherwise, but at the end I lost it. It felt good to cry. And through this whole ordeal, our bags made it this time! They had the wrong tags on them (originally routed through Paris), but they made it!

All in all, the trip from when we boarded the first flight from Iasi to the time when the last flight landed in Raleigh took 36 hours (with a few hour break in the Bucharest hotel). We had been awake for 48 hours, not counting the time in the hotel where we hardly got any sleep and the very poor sleep we get on a plane. We started the trip on May 4^th. We entered our house on May 6^th. This will make for never forgetting to celebrate Cinco de Mayo! Definitely the longest trip of my life.

If there was one thing I learned during this whole thing was: always have a working phone everywhere in the world. There is a lot you can do on a site or on an app nowadays (like rebooking your own flight to avoid standing in crazy lines) and even without wifi, you can do it over the data plan. You'll pay later, but it's worth it. The second thing a phone does is keep you sane! You can stay in touch with your support system (relatives, friends, your social network) to take your mind off the craziness around you. I would not have made it with just one good cry otherwise.

I have friends who pretty much live in airports for their jobs. I could not imagine running into these problems everyday and getting to a point where they would feel “normal”. I felt frustrated, angry, dirty beyond belief and very helpless through this whole process. I love to travel, but not at this kind of cost …

Safe skies, everyone. And I wish you all at least one angel like we had to save your days, when things do get tangled!

Beyond “The Post”

I'll tell you a story from a long, long time ago – almost 30 years.

I grew up in Communism, through my 15^th year of life. This was your textbook communism, with a dictator at the top and a government so loyal to him there was no room to pry it with a crowbar. The government was made up of not only loyalists to the president, but mostly by his close family members: all the children, his wife, and then extended family.

It was the Communism you (should) learn about in school, where regular people like you and me, regular civilians are forced to believe whatever the one leader of the country says. I took propaganda lessons that I had to pass an exam on every year (these were enforced, you had no choice) for the first eight years of my school life. I had friends whose parents were interrogated and sometimes killed in beatings because they would not think whatever the government wanted them to think. The books we were allowed to read were “edited” by the government, to match the propaganda. Some brave people still had the original copies of uncensored books, but they ripped up their true covers and they wrapped the copies in the covers of the “approved” books, so that the Security police who came searching their homes would not suspect they had “dirty” copies of the censored books.

The local and national papers were all government-controlled. So was the one TV channel the whole country had access to and the one radio channel, too. There was nothing printed, or broadcast on TV or radio that was not controlled by the government. If your radio could reach The Voice of America broadcast, or Radio Free Europe, you'd go to jail for a long, long time, and you would never come out, quite often. As I said: textbook Communism.

And then, when I was almost 15, The Revolution came. One night, a handful of people, lead by mostly writers, artists, and students overthrew the regime, killed the dictator and his wife and we were, dare I say it, free. During that one night, we were cautiously, and very frighteningly, elated by the possibility, by the hope, and the dream, that our little country could possibly now be free. Free to express ourselves, to think what we wanted to think, free to choose our profession without it being chosen for us, free to buy whatever we wanted, in whatever much quantity we wanted to buy!

That one night my dad asked me to tell him just ONE reason for which I am happy that communism is now extinct in Romania. Just ONE reason. So, I told him: I am happy they are gone because now we can have freedom of the press, and freedom of the written word. Now, whenever I read a newspaper or a book, I said, I will be sure I am getting the true writing, intended by the writer, and not whatever a party loyalist deemed to be “appropriate” for me to read.

Many moons later, I am in the US of A, till recently deemed the “most free country in the World”, my dream of being her citizen fulfilled, and I see with my own eyes something that I never thought I would see again: I see how politicians attack the press, deeming it untruthful and lying, while they proclaim to their supporters that they, and only they and their loyals, have the whole truth and nothing besides. And the unbelievable happens: the supporters (for they are painfully many) believe this.

It's happening again: I am telling you, dear friends, from personal experience, and not from what someone taught me about Hitler, or Stalin: the first institution a dictator smears and tries to kill is the press. The first value they kill is free speech. Their very first step is to denigrate it. And for us, here, in the US, at least for now, this works! 

The reason, of course, is simple. But blinded as we are in America, by the freedom we have taken for granted for many years, and by the ignorance a mediocre school system and an even more mediocre political education system encourages, we do not see this simple reason: it's the press, and anyone who defends free speech, that must be killed first in order for the leader to manipulate the population however they please. The press makes people think. Tyrants have no need for people's thinking, because the only thoughts that matter to them are theirs. They deny everything else of value, because of the huge ego that they lead with which has to be the one, the only, governing power and focus over all the minions. How else do you submit them?!

There is a very important reason and not a coincidence, that your First Amendment (and not the second or the third) protects free speech. Without free speech, you have no democracy. The rest of the amendments are optional in a democracy. Without free speech you have dictatorship. You have easy mind control, and you have tyranny. Period. End of story. No arguments. History has proven this very big platitude for hundreds of years now. No more proof needed.

The press is and will always be, in my mind, and as a matter of fact, the one defender of free speech. By its very nature, it must be. I recently saw the movie The Post, which is a pretty good story, well done, for many reasons. It resonated with me from many perspectives, not only because of my government-controlled upbringing years, but also from the perspective of being a former newspaper employee and a good (I think) friend to many people who are still in this business or still respect it.

And then I read comments from random people online who said that (I quote from memory because I am too disgusted to go get the actual quote) “I am not going to spend my money on this very clearly far left political propaganda movie. After I have seen enough in the past year and a half to know not to trust these rags.” (referring, perhaps to The Post in particular and newspapers in general?!) This just about broke the camel's back for me.

I have seen these comments (and oh, so much more!) online for the past two years now (and who hasn't, if you're paying attention?!), that Trump and “them” are all good and right and it's the media that makes them look bad. The belief of the ordinary American nowadays is that newspapers and news outlets, somehow are all on this platform to lie about everything Trump, and he, somehow, is the only one telling the truth. This boggles my mind, in a way, and in another: I can totally see what he's doing and how … it's working for so many people, and to our detriment! The Communism in my little country, just as Nazism in Germany was seemingly the “will of the people” when first instated.

Just to make sure I get it out there: I am not endorsing The Post, or any other particular newspaper or news outlet. I am just endorsing the thinking, inquisitive, and ever truth searching human mind. The Post (in the movie and in the past few years) has just merely exposed mostly (if not always in entirety) verifiable truths that should at least make us think of where we get our news and who we can trust. All this while our political leaders have done nothing but stepped from one wasp nest into another, amongst law suits, mystery accusations, revolving doors of firing and hiring for key-level positions, and yes, lies. A lot of lies that have been proven not once, or twice, but multiple times by many sources to be just that. But I am getting ahead of myself, because I do not want to keep this entry specific to a particular regime, person, or time in history. The lesson that The Post, the movie, teaches us, I think, is much deeper, and much larger than any one reality.

Anyone who knows me and has read my blogs knows: I rarely do politics, but these things had to be said:

• Politicians lie. No matter which side of the aisle you're on, even the best of them, even the ones I deem to be my favorite, most inspiring, true in character and morality, they all lie. For whatever reason, security, or politics, they all lie. Little lies, big lies, they all do it. They seldom apologize for it, and they seldom get caught. They have armies of staff to bury the evidence. This is not conspiracy theory, this is fact.
• After spending 10 years amongst journalists, I am here to tell you: they lie much, much less than any politician I have ever experienced. For obvious reasons, but if you're having trouble knowing what they are, I will spell some of them for you:
  • Their lies are 100% verifiable and they have zero protection against them. They have no secret police, no PR protecting them. It's their word against the mountain of evidence, and their lies, if they happen, are very short lived.
  • Their lies are insular: if one reporter or even one paper lies, and it is a legitimate lie, the rest of the papers will live with one goal in mind and that is to prove the truth. There is no way, in my experience, that all (or most of) the news outlets in the nation lie about the same one time. Report the same thing, sure? But not after much source vetting do they all publish the same thing in every outlet.
  • Their lies are almost always 100% suicidal: they will never write for a paper/ media institution again if they are found, and they will die of hunger – quite plainly.
  • More than any other profession I have ever been exposed to, journalists keep each other accountable. They have this incredible pride in what they do that they do not allow doubt to seep into their business, at any cost: they know that if they lie, their peers, and their competitors will prove them wrong and all will be lost – their credibility is much more important to them than any one story in all its sensationalism.
    I should mention here that I am speaking of journalists who represent legit sources, your Posts, Times, your NPR come to mind but are just a couple, of course – there are thousands out there. I am not referring to your tabloids and scandal reporting, which I hardly would call “journalism”.
• Journalists, unlike politicians, do not have the power, therefore there is nothing to abuse. They cannot sway the masses in one way or another. Sure, they can try, but you won't get 100 news institutions swaying in the same direction. There is competition, point of view, difference of opinion (which is the foundation of the news landscape, really) that news institutions thrive on and need for their mere survival. Tyrannical, one-opinion minded politicians need uniformity and conformity. Diversity is chaos to them, and they want it put out, for fear of undermining them.
• Another thing I see very clearly in our current political system: the need of the main leader to be surrounded by either family, or people stupider or less prepared (Gosh, is it even possible anymore?!) than themselves. This is, of course, also done in an effort to make them look like the only authority and supreme source of knowledge. This is typical, my friends, of tyranny. Mind my words: textbook!

In the many years I spent at a daily newspaper, I have learned that there is one thing that moves a true journalist: the chase for the true story, the meaning of it, the history of it, and getting all those facts on paper. They skip meals, they work crazy hours, they drive distances on their (very puny) salary to get to the true meaning of a story. It is probably childish and silly to say this, but I am going to say it: they don't want to manipulate, they just want people to know the real story. I don't even think they care whether anyone agrees with them or not. Getting the story is their prerogative, and theirs alone. Writing, in any form, is a pretty solitary business, and so is chasing that story for them. There is a pride in that, a true sense of accomplishment that they're after. And most of them do it with passion and grace. I am yet to find the work ethics and dedication in a work place like the ones I knew in the newspaper business!

From knowing what I know about politics, these are foreign concepts to people in the leadership of this country, or any other, really. Before you slap me for my puerile credulity, I will tell you that no, I don't believe all reporters tell the truth. But I will say that most of them do, for the reasons I briefly shared above, and possibly a lot more. I will also know, deep down in my heart, that politicians will lie to just about anyone, about just about anything to save their rung on their ladder.

Surviving for the journalist equates with the truth. For the politician, survival is keeping in power, however you can hold on to it. This is why you see politicians not conceding races right away: because they think there is always a way they could have won that power.

After our elections, I have thought we could not lower ourselves in a deeper darkness and mire. But I was wrong, for the true walk through the darkness can only now begin: us turning a blind eye, not staying vigilant, not demanding our press to stay free and open and yes, controversial and competitive, is what is going to slip us surely into the deep and muddy and empire of darkness which will ultimately threaten our very being.

The last thing we need is one person to tell us how it is, and us not to interpret and weigh in on our decisions and options. One person to offer us one pill of knowledge and us run with it, without questions and doubts. Sure, thinking is hard. But trust me: falling asleep and waking up with someone else's brain in your head is much, much harder to stomach!

I do think that one line from The Post summarizes the whole movie, the events that it depicts quite beautifully and the lesson those events drive home. I also think that this one line carries a much heavier message about why it is still important to trust the written word, and to value the right to public opinion, and why it is still and will always be important in a true democracy to do everything we can to preserve the right to free speech. That line is, in paraphrase: “Journalism is the first rough draft of history.” If we don't know our history, we're doomed to repeat it. The good but especially the bad of it. We owe it to our children to help that, if we can. And we can. We may not want to (it's tough work, I get it), but we certainly can.

America's Better Half

“Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” (Tenzin Gyatso, the Dalai Lama)

I don't know about you, but this week's been hard for me. Ever since writing this blog, 8 years ago (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2008/11/past-due.html), till just very recently, I believed we live in a tolerant, loving, open-minded country. Not the best in the world, by any means, but striving daily to do better. The past year or so have come to prove me wrong, and it all culminated with this week.

I have read things people said, that I could not believe that they would actually happened. And then, there was the vote – which divides us like no time I remember before.

I am not going to belabor the point, here, because this is a hot topic and all of you have your own opinions that I know could not be changed. I just wanted to share a couple of experiences with you that happened to me this past Friday. I will just leave them here for you, and I just hope it will make you at least think …

I will make one more caveat: I usually do not mention race when I tell a story about people. But I think, given this week and the years to come, I will this time. Again – do with it as you wish.

I went through three experiences this Friday which reminded me of the human kindness that still exists. It is not a feeble, shy or unsure character trait in some people around us; it is loud, vibrant, clear, unconditional kindness. If we only are speaking low enough to be able to hear it.

I went to Target, first. I picked up a few things, among which a hand towel in the bathroom area. I did not realize this, but there was no tag on the towel. I came to the cash register, and this little older, white lady (she was easily in her early 70's and I kept thinking she should be home cradling grand kids or cats, not working the register at Target) asked me “ Ma'am, do you know how much this was?”. I didn't, and I felt horrible. I apologized and I told her to ring up everything else and keep the towel, and I'll go check, stand in line again and come back to pay for it. She stopped me and said: “Well, that's all right. How's $2 for it? Would that be a fair price?” My mouth just dropped. I said, knowing full well that there is no towel to be bought under $5 if you're lucky to find a sale, even at Target. I said, still shocked: “Sure, of course, $2 is more than fair. Are you sure you want to do that?”. She did not waver – she did not want me to go back and through all that trouble and she just gave it to me for $2. I was buying a lot of other things, up to $100, but still.

Then, I went by the mall. I have this medical bracelet that just broke – the metal just snapped, for no reason at all. I have been trying to find a jewelry shop to have them fix it, but no one would fix it, because it's just stainless steel, no gold and silver jeweler would take the time. But I have kept on trying. So, I go to the mall, and head toward Kay Jewelers. This Filipino young woman greets me and I show her the bracelet and ask her if it can be fixed. She examines it, like others before, and she says: “Well, to be honest, I don't know for sure if we can fix it or not. I would have to ship it to our goldsmith and then he's going to evaluate it, and then I'd have to call you and see if you want it fixed for the price he'll quote me, if he can fix it... sooo, I am just going to tell you 'no', we cannot fix it, because this is a LOT of trouble.” I gasped, with a sigh – nothing I haven't heard before. “But,” she says,”there is this jewelry repair shop by the food court right here in the mall, so it would be worth asking them if they can fix it, because they can fix anything.” I was so surprised and shocked at her kindness: evidently, I was not going to buy from her. I did not even ask her for alternatives, but she just came out and offered a solution pro bono-like, if you will. Kindness goes a long way, and now, that I felt so obligated, I want to go back and do buy something from her. I had no idea that the jewelry repair shop existed in the mall, if it were not for her.

So, off I went to the jewelry repair shop by the food court. This middle-aged, Middle Eastern man was running the store. He was chatting with this Indian woman about her kids, as he was taking in her jewelry to be repaired. After finishing up with her and her husband, he addressed me, all smiles. I showed him the bracelet and I asked him whether he can fix it. He looked at it carefully and he said he has no idea how a piece of steel can just snap like that. I assured him I could not figure that one out, either. He put the bracelet under a microscope and after assessing it for a minute or two, he said that, yes, he could laser weld it for $30, which will also include one year warranty. I was sold, of course. Then, the really kind part follows: “Ma'am, right now, we have a 10 day wait for work like this. But since this is a medical bracelet, I will try to get it done by Tuesday (that's about 3 days, if you're doing the math). Will that be all right?” Of course, it would be all right, and thank you, kind man, for noticing that it was a medical bracelet.

Random kindness is out there. It may be muted, closeted, shy, or it may be screaming out at the top of its lungs. We cannot label the content it comes in, we cannot be choosy about how it comes packaged. We can only be grateful that it exists at all, and reciprocate wholeheartedly. We owe these people that much.

The Gift that Kept on Giving

It’s been a while since I have posted an airline blog. Remember, back in the day, I used to be really annoyed (and that is an understatement) by all the tribulations one had to encounter to survive a successful trip by a flying object in this world. And most times, flying is not so much a choice as it is a necessity for me.

But lately, I have grown kind of immune to all the “stuff” (for need to keep it a clean blog) one has to put up in the airline business. Oversold flights still boggle my mind. So does the fact that nowadays every airplane seems to make their own rules about what devices should be turned off and which should be off in a particular lag of any flight. So does the fact that on some planes coke is free, while on others it’s $5, when on others yet it’s non-existent. Not that I drink coke.

And I could go on forever.

But this blog is about my latest experience through the check-in (TSA) line. Lately, my husband and I try very hard to not check luggage at all, especially when we fly on weekend trips. $50 to check a suitcase (two ways) is insane. After $1000 or so for the tickets! So, during Thanksgiving, when we went back to Michigan, to visit his family, we took two carry-ons.  

His aunt gave us our Christmas present, all wrapped up prettily in a pink bag. So sweet! The directions were very strict though: we were not to open the gift, nor peek, till Christmas Day. We were to pack it in our carry-on, and put it under our tree when we get home, and wait to open it on Christmas.

You all know me well, and I do peek, however. Usually,  just on principle. But this time, I was afraid to go onboard a plane without knowing what’s in my bag. What if the TSA will have a quiz or something and I fail?! Jail versus upsetting the aunt, temporarily?! I love his sweet and well meaning aunt, but … I love my freedom more. Yeah, I sort of peeked.

I felt the package and I knew there was something like a set of mugs or a vase, with a plate inside the pink bag. I didn’t open it though – just felt the items inside the bag through the tissue papers.

So, we’re in the airport, in the TSA scanning line, and one of our bags gets called for thorough checking. I won’t go into the whole detail of how they picked my husband’s bag versus mine first, by mistake. The trouble was with mine! Mine had “the gift”. They finally picked the right one and they searched it item by item. Creeps me out, of course, but it’s the price you pay for your freedom, I guess.

Then, they find the pink bag. The little TSA man says nonchalantly: “Ma’am, I am looking for explosive powder. Or, maybe cocaine. That’s what the scanner picked up! ” Seriously! Smart scanner. NOT! – I think.

Explosives or cocaine?! Little ol’ me?! I am mum! He asks: “Ma’am, this is a gift, isn’t it?! Do you know what’s in it?” – now, WHAT do you think the right answer is here, when the man is trying to find bombs and drugs in your junk?! Anything you say can be and will be held against you – don’t you think?! So, I sort of said: “I think there are mugs maybe with something in them? But no, I didn’t open them”.

He is opening it right in front of me, and adds: “DO you want to know what’s in it?! Some people have no clue!” – well, if you’re gonna send me to jail, please do tell me what’s in it! Sure!

He finally found the compromising substance and it was … hot chocolate mix! The little sweet aunt has given us Christmas mugs with packs of hot chocolate mix in them. So much for no peeking!

He kept a straight face through the whole check, took every single item in my bag apart, and tested the powder (the actual powder, not just swipes from the bag!) for either explosive or cocaine, and of course … it came back with “hot chocolate” – no, I made that part up. It came back “legit”, whatever that means.

I was in luck because: 1.The man was nice and very patient. And  2.He was used to people traveling with unopened Christmas presents on them, carrying all sorts of illegal stuff, that they knew nothing about the insides of. He shared: “Some people try to board these planes with whole sets of steak knives. That’s fun – when I have to tell them: you check your bag, or the knives stay here!”

I tried to offer him to keep my hot chocolate, too, but alas … you can board a plane with that, so I got to still keep my carry-on and my “mystery powder”. I wonder what happens to hot chocolate mix when you mix it in with coke?! And I asked myself if he ever wondered about that?! Hmm …