Well we have made it home. This country is amazing! It has everything! Except hamams, but I'm sure I can track one down in Little Turkey somewhere in downtown Baltimore. And I take back all my grumbling about getting home. It was actually quite a snap. I'll bore you with the details
Friday: I kick myself first thing in the morning for not packing the day previous when we had our nanny and I could actually get something done. Instead, I hold Alastair for half the day, lest he scream when I set him down. I get a few things done, but I wait for Leslie to get home from her last day at work at the Consulate EVER so I can pick it up again. I make dinner from scratch so I can use the remaining few ingredients we have. Then I pack. And pack and pack and pack. The kids go to bed. We pack some more. And clean. All of our bags are within ounces of the 50 lb. limit. I open them up, reshuffle some items and repack. I pictured myself being done at 5 p.m. and enjoying my last raki on the porch celebrating a job well done. It is 11:30 and I'm exhausted and I have yet to have a sip of raki. We still have stuff that won't fit in any bag. We're kicking ourselves for not being organized and mailing the stuff to ourselves earlier. We make a giant pile on the couch and drop a pile of Lira and an address and leave a note for our neighbor to please mail it to us. We are cads.
Suddenly it is 2 a.m., time to rouse ourselves and do some last minute cleaning. I run to the top of the complex to meet the van that will take us to the airport and ask the driver to please come into the complex since we have so many dammmn bags. He's driving a giant Sprinter and with the help of the security guards is able to JUST make it into the narrow driveway. The guards are super helpful and assist with our bags. INFINITELY helpful actually. We leave our place a mess, hop in the van and start heading out. An unnamed cat of ours has sullied his carrier and the smell is foul. We have yet to leave our complex. Oh boy.
We make it to the airport in no time at all, thank goodness. One of Leslie's coworkers and one of our and Archie's best friends meets us at the airport to help in case the cat situation doesn't get settled. He's offered to take them if we need to arrange a pet shipper after we depart. We hire a porter to help with the dozen or so parcels we have with us. Stroller, car seats, luggage, carry ons, cats. It is well worth every cent. We say a heartfelt goodbye to our friend and make our way to get some simit for our friends in DC and head to our gate. Flight number one is perfect. A no frills plane with no annoying movie screens in the seat-back. A decent, yet not quite good breakfast. And then we're in Frankfurt.
Archie and Gokhan
Little Mister and his backpack of cars and toys
Leslie with an excellent game face for 5 a.m. Probably smiling because we got the cats on board.
Our lunch at Deutsch.
About to take full advantage of the lie-flat seat.
Moley stuffed under a console. I gave him some chicken. He was pleased.
Frankfurt airport is large and not easy to maneuver with a cat and two children and other assorted bags. We find our favorite airport restaurant and get some hearty German breakfast in us before Archie goes off to the play area. Actually Archie has little interest in the play area, Moley has no interest in any food or water and Alastair is only slightly fussy from being woken up at a quarter to three in the morning. Actually, he's done a stellar job of traveling for being a lad of such a tender age.
After our LENGTHY layover, it is time to load up on the plane for the final leg. I buy a half liter of water for 4 Euros and feel very poor. Especially after our (ahem) $80 lunch which consisted of two main dishes, two bowls of fruit, two coffees and two waters. As we enter the plane, we are asked if we need help finding our seats. I always turn them down, because I like to do a little geocaching to find my seat. But they stop us as we are turning right towards the seats of the common person and divert us into this inner sanctum of calm and beauty and luxury known to those outside of our income bracket as Business Class. *Sigh!*
I believe I was massaged while soft flute music played for the rest of the trip, but I may be wrong. I do know that I took advantage of the complimentary champagne before we even had to put our seat belts on, that I tried the Riesling with dinner and that I had to try the Alt Bier before the cheese course because I like a good German Alt. Archer addressed Leslie and I as Mummy and Daddy and Alastair just smiled and cooed for all around us. It was a good time.
Then there was this crude and loud country where we landed and I said to Leslie, what foul creatures could tolerate such a coarse and calorie-filled society and Leslie said "Eric dear (the effects of Business Class had yet to wear off for her), this is America." I Edward Munch'ed right then and there. "Children, get your things, we're moving back to Business Class." Unfortunately, Business Class is NOT a country and besides, we needed a visa to reenter, so we plodded along with the hordes towards humorless Border Patrol agents that scowled skeptically at each of us and scoffed at the cool European air we had surrounding us. My orange pants certainly did not help matters. Actually, they were perfectly fine and professional and we were soon on our private shuttle van on its way to deposit us at Faceless Towers, Apartments for the Likes of You.
