One Long Day

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Looking back over the last weeks and months, it feels as if we've been flowing down a swiftly moving river. Then in the days and hours before our departure that river turned to rapids that sucked us along until we spilled out in Jerusalem yesterday morning at 6:00 a.m., our gear strewn around the apartment which, hopefully soon, will feel like our new home.

For all the twists and turns in Rosie's fate - which more than once threatened to leave her behind - things somehow worked out in the end, and we all arrived intact, with nothing lost, so far as we can tell, from amongst our 16 pieces of luggage all weighed to within an ounce of their 50 and 20 pound maximums; four fully packed hockey bags, two duffles, one full sized suitcase, three carry-on suitcases, two bulging day-packs, Ezra's guitar case which was stuffed with much more than his guitar, my camera pack which likewise carried much more than camera gear, Aimee's purse which looked like it alone was carrying half our gear, and one hockey stick bag loaded with 14 sticks, two skateboards, a couple of pairs of skates and various other loose ends. It's remarkable that we "slipped" through with all this, but somehow we did. In fact, once we made a few adjustments we got relatively efficient at moving through airports packing all this, the foundation of our new home.

Thanks to the offer of our tenants back in our Vancouver home - who were moving in as we were moving out - we got all this to the Vancouver airport in one load. Aimee transported the boys and Rosie to the airport, with the intention of leaving Rosie at the cargo area - as she had been previously directed by Lufthansa. Which is when things started to go sideways. The clerk in cargo informed Aimee that he had no dog on his cargo list and Rosie could not travel as “cargo.” Somehow Aimee kept her cool and - after a back and forth with the clerk - discovered Rosie was to travel instead as check-in luggage rather than cargo. Aimee drove to international departures where - to my surprise and unease (this was not part of the plan) - she appeared with Rosie on leash. Aimee took over at the check-in counter while I stood to the side with Rosie and her travel crate. Several minutes later a blond Lufthansa representative bore down on me and directed me to place Rosie in the crate and have her turn around and stand up fully erect. With that request I knew we were in trouble. Our crate was rather compact and my efforts to get Rosie to stand - with legs bent and head and shoulders hunched over - did not fool Lufthansa's representative. She explained that international dog-travel regulations require that the dog be able to stand fully erect in its crate with an additional four inches clearance above her fully erect head. And she wasn't at all persuaded by my entreaties that Rosie was truly standing. The Lufthansa rep went on to say that even if she let Rosie onto the plane, the authorities in Frankfurt would check her again in Frankfurt, refuse to place her on the connecting flight and either leave her in Germany or send her back to Vancouver.

This was not looking good, and if it were not for something ever so slightly upbeat in the Lufthansa reps manner, I would have lost all hope. She said we would have to purchase a properly sized crate, as if this were somehow possible on a statutory holiday with about two hours left to departure. But when she got on her cell phone and called "Bruno" in the cargo department and seemed to get a positive response to her request for a crate with the necessary specifications light emerged on the horizon. Within about 10 minutes Bruno appeared with a shiny new - and very large - dog crate. Rosie entered the crate without any fuss, stood very tall, and we were back in business. Bruno quickly secured the gate on the crate with a single zap tie, took his $209 in payment, and vanished ... seconds before the security official appeared wielding a swab on a stick held in his sanitary-gloved hands. Rules required that he swab the inside of crate for potential security risks before the airport staff could place the crate on the plane. We wondered how our new crate, supplied directly by Bruno from the airport's own cargo department would pose a threat to security. But rules are rules. It would be no problem to cut open the zap tie, but unfortunately Bruno had not left any extras to re-secure the crate and Bruno was not longer responding to phone calls from the Lufthansa rep. Only after I searched frantically around the terminal for additional zap ties did the security official - who was standing by watching and listening - say that rules did not require that the gate of the crate need be secured with a zap tie. Or even secured at all. So we cut the tie, he swabbed the inside of the crate - thankfully no security threats were revealed - and Rosie was on her way with barely a peep. As were we.

Of course, the boys did not sleep a minute during the 10 hour flight to Frankfurt. The many children's movie selections guaranteed that. After landing, and after the rest of the passengers disembarked, the heretofore pleasant - and blond - Lufthansa flight crew turned on us with an Aryan nastiness. We were taking too long to gather our many carry-on pieces of luggage which we had stored in the overhead bins throughout the cabin. They further berated us for having way too much carry-on luggage, and though they did have a point, their reaction seemed a little out of proportion to our offence. To their credit though, they did not utter the words “Shizer Juden.”



By the time we spilled of of the plane everyone was so fried that any thoughts of going into town during our nine hour lay-over were quickly forgotten. Instead we all crashed for four solid hours, with Aimee and the boys on a set of three lounge chairs, and me sleeping on the floor with my head propped uncomfortably on a carry-on suitcase.

Later, while waiting In the departure lounge for our flight to Tel Aviv, Lufthansa announced the flight was full and that everyone would be restricted to one piece of carry-on luggage. We, however, all had two our more pieces, along with various other smaller items literally hanging off us. We approached the Lufthansa reps who immediately saw that we - clearly - did not meet the restriction and informed us that we would have to check four of our carry-on pieces. We of course assumed this meant that we would get dinged with the cost of four pieces of extra checked luggage - $1200 dollars according to the official tariff. While we’ve adopted the motto that a problem is only a problem if it can’t be solved by money, this prospect stretched our adherence to that motto.

The reps quickly and efficiently tagged the luggage in their typically Aryan way, and carried it off. We waited to be told of the cost, but they moved onto dealing with other passengers and problems and we slinked down the passageway feeling we had just dodged a very expensive bullet.

Another sleepless flight brought us to Tel Aviv, touching down at 3:30 a.m. local time, and wondering what sort of beaurocratic tangle would greet us when we tried to recover Rosie. Though it took until every other passenger had picked up his or her luggage, we recovered every piece of our checked luggage intact. And there, in the back corner of the baggage claim hall stood our hockey stick bag, Ezra’s guitar case …. and Rosie in her crate, completely unattended. And completely beside herself in joy at seeing us. Once Aimee opened the door on the crate and clipped on her leash, Rosie charged up and down the hall - with Adin hanging on the leash at times, and running free at other times after yanking the leash out of Adin’s hands. Rosie had survived! And looked pretty good all things considered, though only time will tell the extent to which our Rosie will suffer from PTSD.

With all our stuff piled up on four trollies, we wheeled out of the baggage hall. Though not before Ezra, as always on the run, toppled his trolly on its side, with his stack of hockey bags crashing to the floor.

Outside we walked into the welcoming arms of an old family friend, Yoram Doroth, who drove to the airport at this ridiculous hour to lend a firm and well-informed local hand to the slightly comical challenge of moving our travelling home-show from the airport to our Jerusalem apartment. In advance Yoram had sussed out the transport options. The clear choice was an over-sized taxi which had the outside profile of a police paddy wagon - extra high and extra wide. And even then there was absolutely no room to spare. I don’t even want to think about how we would have managed in Yoram’s absence. … Walking to the vehicle Rosie relieved herself - completely - on the sidewalk, a rather bold and rather fitting statement in response to the ordeal she had been through.

As we drove out of the airport at 5:15 a.m. and turned towards Jerusalem the boys insisted they were wide awake. Within seconds, however, Adin’s head started bobbing up and down against his chest, while Ezra’s head bounced up and down to the side. Moments later both heads came to rest on each boy’s own shoulder in a feat that only little children can manage. The ride “home” proceeded in silence as night started to turn to day. As we approached the city “Shay” our driver said he didn’t really know Jerusalem that well and asked if I knew how to get to our destination. Hmmm, Jerusalem in partial darkness, an apartment we’d never been to, on the far side of a confusing city with no straight roads and street names that change from block to block. … Sure, I said, no problem. And amazingly enough, I got us to within one block of our destination with no mishaps or wrong turns. From there we called our real estate agent “Israel Tsadok” who seemed none to pleased to be woken up at 6:00 a.m. but, true to his word, he met us at the entrance to the apartment complex five minutes later.

While Israel showed Aimee around the apartment, including our basement storage locker and parking stall, I shlepped our gear the 60 to 70 meters to the entrance of the building. In the midst of this an elderly gentleman, apparently out on an early morning stroll, paused, looked at all my luggage, and looked me up and down. I thought to myself, ‘Nice. An encounter with a kindly old man welcoming me back to the ancient Jewish Homeland. … The perfect way to begin our sojourn here.’ “Have you just arrived from Siberia” he inquired in Hebrew. “No,” I replied, “I’ve come from Canada,” “From Canada?” he responded incredulously. “It’s been over 40 degrees every day. And you’ve come to this shitty country.” He then walked away in disgust at my monumental stupidity. Crestfallen, the words “what were we thinking” echoed in my head. Aw well, things could only get better.

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Photos

Photo 2
taking only what we absolutely need, and which can feet under the seat

Photo 3
YVR - wide eyed before the leap into the great unkown

Photo 4
wow! look at all this leg room!

Photo 5
Frankfurt dreamin'

Photo 6
Aimee: I'm just resting my eyes ... for 4 hours

Photo 7
Adin: What this here in my back pocket?

Photo 8
What $25 gets you in the Frankurt airport - 2 soft drinks, 1 coffee, and 1 cup of hot water.

Photo 9
Aimee and Yoram (who arranged our Jerusalem transport) tee up their phones.

Photo 10
Amazing how this all fit under our seats on the plane

Photo 11
... And this.