Dangling Earrings and AK-47s: Stray American in Iraq - The flights - London (entry 7)
This entry was posted on 9/23/2008 9:36 PM and is filed under Dangling Earrings - AK-47s.
The flights - London I worked my two part-time jobs right up until the day I would leave for Iraq. The hectic schedule of musical chairs jobs kept my mind from dwelling on all the things that could go wrong with a trip like this one. Albeit, I had the three recent trips to Viet Nam and Laos to draw from. The first time I flew into Saigon I was extraordinarily apprehensive - especially being a Vietnam War era veteran. There was a delay in Tokyo for one night. I remember sitting in the hotel looking out the window and wondering if I ever would get to Saigon, Viet Nam. So now with the Iraq trip, I knew the anxiety could be gotten past.
When Chris and I stepped out the door of my house to drive to the bus station, I counted that moment as the beginning of a journey where each small leg passed should be looked at as a victory. We made it to the bus station. The bus actually pulled out. The farm land along the Interstate phased into the Chicago burbs. We turned onto the O'Hare ramp. Each step brought me deeper into my journey. I was early so baggage check-in was a breeze. No one was the least bit interested in me, let alone why I was headed to Ankara. The big plane took off and I thought, "You better hope after all the planning and sacrifice, that this trip works." Yet, I had the constant hum in my brain that at any moment, the whole trip could be unraveled.
The last time I was in London was 1976 and again in 1977, both times as a young soldier traveling on leave - once via a Volkswagen Beetle and once by back pack. There was some construction going on at Heathrow so we disembarked on the tarmac and were bussed to the terminal. That was just like 'Nam. This is the point the journey took the ugly turn I had so anticipated possible in my mind. The people at Heathrow were not happy with the size of my carry-on bag for the flight to Ankara. But of course, it had been fine from Chicago to London. The whole baggage crew spoke and looked Indian. The scene seemed surealistic. I was in London talking and dealing with people all of whom seemed to be from India. A woman insisted I must check my bag and she gave me a small plastic bag with loop handles to put my essential belongings in. It was something my grandmother might carry in her waning days of old-age poverty to tote bread and crackers in. They were pestering me to hurry. I balked on the "hurry" business. I had my wife's camera, my video camera, my money, and my medications in various places on me and in my carry-on bag. "Don't let them separate you from your bare essentials," I said to myself. I had learned this critical travel essential in Viet Nam's hurry-hurry transportation culture.
The Heathrow experience got only worse. Not having a notebook computer with me or an International cell phone, I used the pay computer terminal. The exchange rate fee to British Pounds, a soda pop, some gum, and 10 minutes of email time took 15 Bucks out of my ass. I got Heide a message out, letting her know I was in London and at their Orwellian mercy. I and the grandma-bag took a quick nap in a lounge with sad chairs, woke and discovered I had miscalculated the time change - I only had 45 minutes left until my flight would leave.
Poetically, after all the fuss about my carry-on bag, the plane to Ankara had only a dozen people on board. It looked like it could hold 200 passengers. There was enough room for 400 extra bags twice the size of the one they insisted I check in. I was so disgusted by now, I barely thought about the reality that I would soon be landing - and landing just 500 miles from Iraq.
