The Longest Day Home

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We had a 2:30 AM wake-up call and our bags needed to be in the hall for the porters fifteen minutes later. We got up one-half hour earlier, showered, dressed and finished packing and when we opened the door at 2:50 AM to put the bags out we realized the porters had already come by and there were no other bags in the hallway. Well, we always had the option to take the bags downstairs ourselves; which, as it turns out is what we did. Other pilgrims were milling around, having some coffee and Danish, most half asleep and none looking forward to the actual journey home; but, all I think would be glad to once again be home. First, there would be the forty-five minute journey to the Tel Aviv airport, then the ordeal of security, check-in, passport control, and waiting. It looks to be a day when we would do much waiting. The flight to Istanbul should take less than two hours, with a four hour layover before continuing the long hop to Chicago projected to be longer than the trip here due to the prevailing winds. After being on the way home for twenty-four at that point, we still had a four to five hour bus trip back to the church (and we had a one-half hour car ride home from there). Door-to-door, our trip home took us about thirty-two hours.

Things started out quite smoothly, and we got our first meal on the way to Istanbul; which, even Sharon ate part though it was odd to have cold turkey for breakfast. We headed for the first restaurant in the Istanbul airport, with café style seating. Sharon got a “plain burger” which was very difficult to express to our English-challenged waitress who’s English seemed to be limited to “no”, “burger”, “fries” and “Coke”. When trying to say meat and bun only, she kept repeating back “no… burger”. In the end I think she understood, and it was what was served; but, it was delivered by the short-order cook who wanted to see for himself what sort of person would order a plain burger. I think his utterance shaking his head as he headed back to the galley really said it all, “Ah, an American.” Are we really that obvious? One of our group had told us that our flight would be leaving from Gate Two Hundred and Something. We both didn’t pay all that much attention because we assumed we would be able to check the gate assignment on the overhead departure monitors. Boy was that wrong. What is that adage that they have for the word “assume”. We saw signs directing people to gates 220 to 250; so, we headed in that direction. There was no one to ask at any of the gates that we encountered. We headed back to the restaurant area and finally our flight was listed but it said “Wait for Assignment”. “Where are we supposed to sit and wait? There are no chairs. This airport is soooo stupid.” And then she sat down right there in the middle of the central lobby of the airport, on the floor. I suggested that we walk the one hundred feet to the food court and find a seat, but she dismissed that as ridiculous, that all of the seats would be occupied. When I did check the big board again, it showed our departure from Gate 214, the one right next to us! We had to go thru security to get into the gate area and I was one of the few that didn’t have to have my bag and hands checked for explosives so was able to get us chairs.

Except for the near death of a fellow pilgrim on the flight home, it was fairly uneventful. Sharon skipped the lunch meal shortly after liftoff, and when dinner showed up she was looking forward to the grilled chicken. They ran out after serving the last serving to the row in front of us. I enjoyed the other option pasta with eggplant. They even offered her either of the two remaining first class meals that they still had, swordfish and a curry dish, but she was enjoying her peanut butter cracker martyrdom (not that she would have eaten either of those dishes anyway). Both looked pretty good to me and I was almost sorry that I already had the pasta rigatoni in front of me. Halfway through the flight, people started to gather around the person two rows in front of us. He was one of the pilgrims travelling alone, and was experiencing some distress and having trouble breathing. The good news was that there was a doctor in our little pilgrim enclave, and one nurse practitioner. The gist is that he had been feeling so good, he felt no need to continue taking his daily medication (probably not a good idea). Although the crew did not want and in fact discouraged outside help, it’s probably good their wishes were ignored. Every bit of available oxygen was used to stabilize his vitals, and he was taken forward to find a more comfortable place to rest. Paramedics took him off the plane in Chicago, as the plane over Iceland when the problem first surfaced, really had no choice but to continue with the original flight plan. The pilgrim that had coordinated this pilgrimage for the archdiocese stayed with him at the hospital in Chicago, and reported by phone during our bus trip home that he’d had some tests done and was doing well and would be released to his nephew in the morning, who was already on his way to pick him up in the morning. However, since then we received an email update that said he’d had a mild heart attack, had pneumonia and another infection so will likely be in the hospital for the rest of the week.

They did the Green Bus/Blue Bus thing on the way home. On the way up to Chicago we got the bus that didn’t have power outlets. On the way home we got the bus that didn’t have any heat. One hour into the trip I had gotten my “Buddy” pullover from the overhead rack, and given my “Louisburg” pullover to Sharon to use as a pillow and shield her from the cold window. Fortunately, I’d taken both out of my carry-on before that luggage was stowed in the luggage compartment below the carriage. Temperatures was in the 30’s and I thought I might need both. Buddy is my mom’s 8 year-old collie and this had been a present back when he was a puppy. The embroidered collie on the front of this navy blue pullover never fails to get kind remarks about the “Lassie” breed. Sharon’s Maps app on her phone showed us with about another 2 hours on our bus ride. Halfway through the bus trip from Chicago we stopped at McDonald’s, and we must have made the owner of that franchise in the small highway oasis happy as two busloads of cold hungry travelers deluged the night crew. They did very well, although Sharon had to wait for her hot chocolate (five others were ahead of her and there was one person making them one at a time and each one took him over one minute). When Sharon did finally sip the hot chocolate, she shrieked, having missed the prominently placed “Warning: Contents are Very HOT!” on the cup. “My tongue is burnt!” I tried a sip, and it was a bit hot, but nothing that I would complain about. It was exactly what I would have expected. You must appreciate that my friends and wife have long since felt that my tongue has been desensitized to heat, from the hot soups, and cheesy dishes that I consume piping hot. Occasionally I will get burnt; but, from a little bit of hot chocolate in a Styrofoam cup? Please!



We ate our burgers and fries, and I thoroughly enjoyed my large iced tea with plenty of ice. It is the one thing I most hate about travelling abroad is the difficulty getting beverages with lots of ice. Ron, the best man at our wedding, never uses ice, avoids it if he can. But as for me, I like ice! It’s good to be home (or nearly home). The bus driver either got a little disoriented leaving the rest stop; but, he did manage to fix the heating system. It wasn’t exactly clear why he couldn’t have done this an hour or so earlier when the Archbishop had gone forward to let him know that it was very cold in the rear of the bus. It was in fact very cold in the whole bus. But at least we had heat now. One lady wondered what highway we were on, because she wasn’t familiar with the road signs she was seeing. Shortly thereafter the bus got off the highway, and wound up making a U-Turn, and after driving for about thirty minutes from the McDonald’s, Sharon’s phone still showed about 2 hours to go on our bus ride. We did finally make it to the church, we got our luggage, said goodbye to new friends, and we made it home by 3 am. Expecting to fall straight to bed neither of us seemed to doze off as quickly as we thought we should, after being up for over thirty hours (okay I napped some on the flight and bus, and Sharon shut at least one eye on the bus). We both had a great time; but, it really feels good to be home!

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