All airports are areas of amazing adventure. Our journey across the water began in Schiphol (Amsterdam Airport) and ended in MSP (Minnepolis-St. Paul, which is Minnesota), but it was the stops in between which make the tale complete of course, since we did not fly from Amsterdam to Minnesota. No, in the effort made by many these days (remember the days of consulting a travel agent?) to make flying more affordable, we had booked a cheaper flight, which meant more flights.
I must apologize that we have no pictures of this part of our travels (these are not mine). We were too busy getting from one place to another. We flew from Schiphol to London Heathrow early in the morning. In London we enjoyed the hospitality of this mega-airport for a short time before stepping on the plane to Ney York City’s John F. Kenndy airport. A short 6 hours or so (and several movies on our personal media device) later, we landed in the Big Apple – and there began our biggest adventure.
We had planned a flight from Newark airport to Minneapolis. For those of you who do not know, Newark is in New Jersey, which is the next state over from New York. “No problem”, thought I, “New York City and Newark are actually right next to each other and flow into one another.” And we had more than four hours on a layover to get from one to the other. We had landed at midday and our flight wasn’t leaving until after 5pm. As long as there were no problems with the bus we had arranged to get us from one airport to the next, their would be no problems at all.
And that is when adventures truly begin. When everything is going as planned, adventure is waiting, watching for the moment to jump in and make things exciting. It is when things begin to fall apart, depart from the plan, that adventure smiles broadly and makes an entrance. And so too with our trip.
The bus was called and would arrive within 45 minutes. We sat waiting, watching the various peoples that congeal and disapate in laughter and conversation, welcoming parents from their trip, screaming in delight at seeing one another after many months or years. A girl’s volleyball team loudly saying goodbye to each other as they went their separate ways. Several Jewish families waiting patiently to be picked up. A southern couple drawling about what they had seen and would tell to the grandkids.
And we waited. Our flight was to leave at 5:30pm, but we knew we would still need to go through customs and get to the gate once we made it to the airport. We figured (and had checked out) that midday traffic across town would not be bad and we should be able to make the trip in 90 minutes. So if the bus came by 2pm at least, eveyrthing would be fine. But it was now 2 o’clock and the bus had not yet arrived.
After waiting 2 hours, the bus finally arrived, having already passed our entrance and needing to drive completely around the airport again to arrive back at our entrance. Together with a man who was outwardly showing what we were feeling inside, we handed our luggage to the driver who would load it on the van. All of the luggage (the van was full of passengers) had been tossed higgeldy-piggeldy in the bag of the van, piled up like the stack a young child makes when cleaning up their toys.
The van departed into what was now quickly becoming rush hour traffic – in New York City! “Are we heading into that traffic?” one passenger exclaimed with anguish. We tried not to worry, knowing that, whatever happened, we would be okay. We looked for things that Sean and Jill might see on a regular day, names of places we had heard them mention. We thrilled at crossing the Verazzano Narrows bridge. And when the van came to a car-pool lane and passed by all the still-standing traffic, we all breathed a sigh of relief.
In the end, we – as the last ones out of the van, after the driver had to undo his toy-stack with each departing passenger – arrived at our terminal, ran to our gate and stood in line for the security check (shoes off, belt off, change out, computer out etc). It was 5pm and our flight would board at 5:05pm. In the row in front of us, two women jovially discussed their work. They too, were on their way to Minneapolis and seemed not worried in the least.
It turns out the plane was slightly delayed and we had time to grab something to eat from an airport store. We even enjoyed another sit down watching the people who would board with us. This would be a slightly shorter flight and we were planning on sleeping. It had been almost 24 hours since we woke to go to the airport. When we arrived in Minneapolis, we were met by Dale Hawley’s friendly face. He took us to our hotel (we would be leaving for Iowa the next morning), gave us the keys to his car and bade us good night.
We had survived and enjoyed another amazing adventure. We have learned, time and again, that even if things do not work out as we expected or hoped, they work out. God is with us wherever we go. Which is why we simply look out for how we can be an encouragement to those around us and enjoy the ride. But the ride – that is the next tale.
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