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» posted on Friday, September 9th, 2022 by Linda Lou Burton

 

Attitude at Latitude

Linda Lou Burton posting from Little Rock, Arkansas; Chicago, Illinois; Frankfurt, Germany; and Nairobi, Kenya –Are climate and manners related? I mean – are people in warmer climes just naturally friendlier and warmer? Now, don’t get huffy about stereotyping, just listen to this.

Son Rick and I couldn’t do the “on-line check-in” that United was asking us to do first thing Thursday morning. The SYSTEM said we had to have a seat number to check in online, but the system wouldn’t give us a seat number until we entered all health information from our pre-school vaccinations to the latest COVID booster. Holy crap! We both had our QR Codes telling all; we had all our Visas; we had our Yellow Fever Card officially stamped by state health officials. But no matter what we scanned or what lengthy numbers we entered, some unknown gremlin would not RECOGNIZE us. You know that early-morning stomach knot when technology blocks tenacity? Best to get to the airport early and ask a HUMAN for help.

I snapped a goodbye photo and said one last farewell to Katy Cat, then we were gone. Uber dropped us at Little Rock’s Clinton National at 8:30 am and we bravely approached a CLOSED section of the United counter, where we spotted a young woman just getting ready to open up. No line. I leaned on my cane, and smiled at her. She smiled back. I explained our predicament, laying out all our official documents. Rick showed her his phone, with all the United refusals to recognize us. She made suggestions, then took the phone herself. She called someone else over to look. Now, two heads trying to figure it out.

“You have everything you need,” she said. “There is NO REASON this won’t go through!” A male employee approached, with a box of donuts in hand, a morning treat he was bringing to share with our kindly helper. Hugs all around, thank yous for the donuts, and soon, the man was drawn into our dilemma too. FIVE OF US, shaking our heads. AND THEN, our kindly helper started clicking away on her keyboard, and printed out four boarding passes. “Here,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. You are now checked in all the way through Chicago and Frankfurt to Nairobi.”

“What did you do?” I asked. “I overrode the system,” she said. “I’ve seen your documents. Now, have a great trip!” Rick and I just stared, bug-eyed. And then, RELIEF! We thanked our kindly helper. “Please come around the counter,” I said to her. “I want to give you a hug!” She did. I did. The man who’d brought the donuts came around too. More hugs. More thank yous. “You are an inspiration to me,” he said. “Going on such an adventure at 83!” He admitted to being in his 60s. “I thought I was too old to travel,” he said, “but you are proof I’m not!”

I’d asked for wheelchair assistance for both myself, and for Rick, who is in his 60s and almost as bumbly as me. We had done the advance work of getting a KTN (Known Traveler Number) which SHOULD have made getting through security easier; at least, in the US. Still, it took a while, but our loyal Wheelchair Assistants kept pushing our chairs and pulling our bags, helping with absolutely everything, till we reached our gate as Approved Travelers. Our short flight north to Chicago’s O’Hare was pleasant – from my window seat I got shots of the Mississippi River, then the Chicago skyline, and Lake Michigan. A beautiful day! Wheelchair Assistance was great there too; brisk, lively conversation as we were wheeled down corridors, onto trains, and through more security proving our travel worthiness. No hugs, but we were taken to our gate in plenty of time to meander to a restaurant for some Chicago pizza.

Then it was time to board our Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. Our boarding passes showed seats 47E and 47F, the worst of the worst, smack dab in the middle of the middle and far from 1st Class spaciousness. Plus we had to enter down different aisles. As I pushed my bag along (we were allowed one bag under 33 pounds and one backpack on this Globus Safari) the aisle got narrower and narrower. I finally reached row 47, where an attendant, dressed in a spiffy Lufthansa uniform complete with hat and heels, was standing.

“You have to put that bag UP,” she said brusquely. “ I need some help,” I answered (remember, Rick was in the other aisle, four seats away). “Well, I can’t help you,” she said. “That bag looks HEAVY.” “It is too heavy for me,” I answered. “I can’t lift it above my head.” (Yes, I had my cane in one hand, and my backpack on my back.) She angrily took my bag and shoved it into the overhead. “I am NOT supposed to do this!” she shouted. “I have a BAD BACK.”

I thanked her for her help and took my seat, climbing over the aisle seat to a seat that had a metal BOX installed under the seat in front. There was no place to store my backpack! No foot room! About that time Rick arrived via the other aisle, as the attendant complained to one of her co-staff “People ask ME to lift things! I have a BAD BACK. People are so RUDE to me! We are NOT supposed to lift anything heavy. Then we get hurt and can’t work and they dock us our pay! It isn’t FAIR to ask us to LIFT THINGS!”

Rick and I just stared at each other, as the plane continued to fill. He did have foot room, but barely room to squeeze his elbows between the arm rests. And NO belly room! This was to be our world for the next 8 hours. We shuddered, and gritted our teeth.

At least we had a screen, with games to play and movies to watch. However, we were instructed to wear our MASKS for the entire flight. I put myself into ENDURANCE MODE, playing the same Trivia Game answering the same Trivia Questions, over and over. I memorized ALL the answers. (Yes, the Orinoco River is in Venezuela.) No more contact with our attendants except during what was called “The Dinner Hour.” I had let my mask slide off one ear by then. “PUT ON YOUR MASK!” the attendant shouted, withholding my COLD FOOD package until I did.

And yet, we made it to Frankfurt. Daylight Friday morning in Germany. There was one wheelchair waiting outside the door of the plane. I inquired about the requested assistance for two. A tall, pale woman in uniform said, “I’ll take to you it.” She PUSHED the single wheelchair up the ramp, instructing me to walk behind her. I said, “If you are going to push the wheelchair, may I sit down in it?” “Just WAIT,” was her answer. Eventually we reached an elevator, and went up a floor. “You don’t have to walk much farther,” she said, holding tight to the empty wheel chair. We reached the main hallway and she directed us to a waiting area. “Sit there,” she said. “We don’t do wheelchairs.” And she pushed the empty wheelchair away.

Two young men driving a cart approached, spiffy in black suits, skinny ties, short haircuts. “We’ll drive you to the bus,” was their instruction. Several more cart switches, drivers, transfers to a bus, a long drive to a different area, listening to employees discussing with each other the atrocities of work. Bragging about the efficiency of Frankfurt’s airport over anything else in Europe.

We were finally deposited at the gate for our Nairobi flight. We were starving! We took turns watching our luggage as we found restrooms. Then we began looking for food, or at least, COFFEE. One small shop, near. At least fifty people in line. A barista. Rows of coolers with drinks and sandwiches.

I approached the barista. “Is the line for all purchases, or is it the coffee line?” was my question. “The line is the line,” was the answer. “Now, go get in it, lady!”

“I just need a cup of water,” I said. She handed me an empty cup and pointed. “There’s a fountain over THERE.”

I found the fountain. I got some lukewarm water. I took my morning meds. Rick and I agreed – we’ll never fly Lufthansa again.

Of course, we had to. We had another 8 hours of Lufthansa from Frankfurt to Nairobi! Once again, we had middle-of-the-middle seats. Once again, we had crappy food. I did have room to put my feet, and our screens were better for gaming and for watching our progress as we flew south over the vast continent of Africa.

And then we landed in Nairobi, 70 miles SOUTH of the Equator. Our Wheelchair Assistants were there! “We have TRANSPORT to our hotel,” I told our Assistants. “Globus Tours.” We were rapidly wheeled through all the customs and security areas, how could there be so many SMILES? Smiles everywhere! Excitement! Welcome to Kenya! Welcome! Welcome!

The outside door of Jomo Kenyatta Airport! Hundreds of SIGNS waving. We finally spotted OUR transport vehicle, our driver.

“My name is Douglas!” he said, in greeting. “Jambo! Welcome to Kenya!” He instructed our Assistants as to where to push our wheelchairs. He pulled his van to that spot. He helped us in, made sure our luggage was loaded. We told our Assistants goodbye, (large tip to each). Our energy level popped up about 50 percent, even though 30 hours had passed since we started at Clinton National. We were finally here!

It was a 30-minute drive to Nairobi Serena Hotel. It was 10 PM, dark. Strange territory. But Douglas was all lightness, and cheer. “There are THREE WORDS you MUST know in Kenya!” he told us. “Jambo is the most important. It means HELLO!” He made us say it, back and forth. “The next most important is Asante, which is THANK YOU! And last, Karibu which means WELCOME. You can use it to welcome someone, as I welcome YOU, or, to say You  are welcome, if someone has thanked you with Asante.”

We practiced, as we rode along. Douglas pointed out the sights. “Nairobi has a NATIONAL PARK within the city limits,” he said. “That is part of it to your left. Look for zebras! They are easy to spot at night.” We looked, but saw only darkness under the trees. Still, good to know. Douglas told us about the 42 tribes in Kenya. “I am Kikuyu,” he said, and our new PRESIDENT is Kikuyu. He will be inaugurated Tuesday! We are so happy to have one of ours in office now. I have SUCH HOPE for our country!” He went on to tell about the scarcity of jobs in Kenya, and how the new President is promising to increase opportunities for Kenyans.

And then, we pulled into the driveway of Nairobi Serena Hotel. Douglas gave the necessary paperwork to the guard, the gate opened, we pulled to the entry. A doorman in a gold-trimmed white uniform opened the door of our van.

“Jambo!” he said. “Karibu!”

I felt right at home.

“I have an idea for my first post,” I said to Rick, as we rested in the lobby while Douglas got us checked in. “I’m going to name it Attitude at Latitude.”

FYI Airports

 
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