So Many Dishes

I suspect that many of you are tired of my stories about the five months that we lived in Prague. As a family, we talk about the experience frequently, and we agree that it was one of the most challenging and fulfilling experiences we’ve ever had. Most of my reminiscences are positive. The flight home was definitely not.

I need to put this in context. The year was 1993. Airport security was not like it is today. This was also less than four years after the fall of the communist government in Czechoslovakia, and only months after the “velvet divorce,” the split between the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Prague airport was still a Soviet era facility, and there were vestiges of that mindset in the bureaucracy.

We arrived at the airport and got in line to check in for the first leg of our trip, to Frankfurt. While we were waiting, we were greeted by two friends: Vaclav, the scientist with whom Ken had worked, and Jiři, the research center driver who had taken us on our trips around the country. They came to say one last goodbye, and brought gifts for the kids. We were touched, and appreciated those few extra moments together.

Unfortunately, things went downhill from there. If you’re as old as I am, you probably remember Pan Am Flight 103, and how airport security ramped up in the aftermath. We had to answer a series of questions at check-in, one of which was, “has anyone given you anything since you arrived at the airport?” We explained about the gifts, and showed them to the agent. Everything appeared to be fine, and the agent put the security clearance stickers on our tickets. However, he put Ken’s in the wrong place!

We didn’t know anything was amiss until we had to show our tickets to enter the gate area. As soon as they saw Ken’s they took him away. Literally. Ben, Alice, and I were pushed through into the gate area (think a modern airport gate area, but no seats and barriers to keep you there). We didn’t know what was happening. I was panicking, but trying not to show it to the kids. Alice was crying, and Ben’s chin was quivering. The flight, which had originated in Warsaw, was late arriving, and I was thankful; at least we weren’t being pushed onto the plane without Ken.

After what felt like forever but was probably only 10 minutes, Ken returned with the agent we had talked to initially. The plane arrived, boarding started, the gate agent looked at Ken’s ticket and started to pull him out of line. Fortunately, the first agent was still there to explain, and all four of us got on the plane.

Of course, because of the delayed first flight, we were afraid we would miss our connection. We literally ran through Frankfurt airport. Thank you, Delta, they held the flight for us. We were the last ones to board.

I felt into my seat next to Alice. Our seats for the flight were on side, so Alice had the window. Ken and Ben were behind us. The flight attendant looked at me, looked at the 5-year old next to me, and said “what are you drinking?” The plane hadn’t left the ground, and she’d already shoved three or four Chivas minis in my seat pocket!

It turned out I needed a good stiff drink, because, somewhere over the Atlantic, Alice got airsick. Of course, given the way the day had gone, she missed the bag and got me. The flight attendants were wonderful, helping us clean up and comforting Alice (and adding to mini bottle collection).

We landed in Orlando, cleared customs, and still had one more flight, to West Palm Beach. Alice sat next to Ken for that leg, and promptly threw up on him. It being a domestic flight, he didn’t get any booze!

We got off the plane to find a group of friends and family at the gate—remember those days?—and we’re grateful to be home, for more reasons than we’d originally expected. Since then, when we’ve had a travel issue, we’ve been able to put it in perspective.