The Joy of Traveling, Part 1

Robert Louis Stevenson once said, “There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” For anyone who has spent extensive time outside of his or her country, you know this to be very true. This reality of foreign travel can create a sense of selflessness, wonderment, and adventure; or it can cause an instant urge to rush to the safety of the nearest McDonald’s, which, ironically, can be found almost anywhere in the world.

Also regarding traveling, Stevenson said, “For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” For this, however, I couldn’t disagree more.

My flight from Louisville to Chicago had gone just fine. I enjoyed walking around Midway airport, excited about the new job ahead of me. I began thinking about how lucky I was to have experienced all I have in my few years, and what a great opportunity this new job was going to be. I got a little hungry, so I did what all “grown up” men traveling for business are expected to do. I pulled out the peanut butter sandwich my dad made. He even put in a cup of applesauce (and a plastic spoon), and a box of raisins. I finished it off with some wonderful cookies the amazing Marie Stoltzfus gave me for the trip. Sometimes you need to be taken care of. As excited as I was about the new opportunities ahead of me, it is also sad leaving my family behind. That simple supper reminded me people loved me, even if no one knew me in that airport.

Then I flew to New York, and landed at LaGuardia airport. My flight to Casablanca, and ultimately Ouagadougou, wasn’t leaving until the next morning. That flight, however, was leaving out of JFK-11 ½ miles away. I’d planned on taking a $12 bus ride to JFK airport. But my flight had gotten into New York a little late, so unfortunately it was just after 11 pm, and there was no more bus. So the only other option was to take a (much more expensive) taxi. Unfortunately, many other people arriving at LaGuardia decided they needed a taxi at that very same moment as me. Not ever having done this before, I tried to do what I’ve seen in the movies and walked right up to a taxi. Little did I know there was a long line of more than 30 people not ready for some Alabama-born out-of-towner to try to get a taxi ahead of them. So I quickly realized my error, grabbed my luggage, and moved to the back of the line.

Now, I like to think of myself as a light packer like my Grammie Dot, but you’ll remember I’m moving, and there’s no moving van going to the Congo. So I have over 100 lbs. of luggage, nearly everything I own, squeezed into two duffel bags and a backpack. We slowly move along as each one gets a taxi. I pick up my luggage, move it forward 3 inches, and set it down, over and over and over again.

Finally, I get a taxi, and am glad to get in and warm up. In some strange irony, it’s the same taximan I walked up to 15 minutes before, and he never got anyone else. I guess he really wanted to go to JFK. To my surprise, there was even a TV inside! I’ve taken a lot of taxis in my life, but mostly in third world countries. I’ve never seen one with a TV inside! It was nice tour around the outskirts of the city, all lit up at night. I love New York at night. I tried to keep from looking at the meter, which seemed all too happy to constantly add a dollar to its total, almost taunting my until-recently unemployed self. When the 20 minute ride was over, I owed the guy $30! That’s more than some friends of mine in Burkina make in a year! One expensive tour of New York. I hopefully asked if I could pay in credit card, and he said yes. Say what you want about me, but I tried to hand him my credit card. He looked at me like I was an idiot. He pointed to the little machine beside the TV, which ad all of a sudden turned into a touch screen image of my charges. It even printed a receipt! How was I supposed to know?

So I moved inside Terminal 1 of the airport, beginning what I knew would be one long night. My flight wouldn’t leave until 9:30 am the next morning. So being the cheap (and broke) guy that I am, I had planned on trying to camp out in the airport. As much flying as I’ve done, I’ve been fortunate as I’ve never had to do that before. I figured I could find a nice place to lay down on my bags and get at least a couple hours of sleep.

But I wanted to get a cup of coffee and read for a while, try to get comfortable in the big open room that is Terminal 1 at JFK. I ended up reading some, and watching people. I saw an ambulance rush up, the paramedics rush out, bring the stretcher through security, and then 10 minutes later leave with it empty. I watched Koreans and Korean-Americans line up for the flight to Seoul. I read some more. The book I was reading was enough to keep my interest, but that was about it. It was called Time Scene Investigators: The Gabon Virus. It was about as bad as it sounds, but what do you expect from the bargain books section?

I tried to lay my head down, but couldn’t really settle down enough to sleep. Finally, a guard came up to all of us in the food court area and told us we had to leave.

“Terminal 1 is shutting down for the night. But if you hurry, you can get a good spot at Terminal 4”. So I grabbed all I owned, and quickly made the long trek of escalators, elevators, and train way over to Terminal 4, hoping to get a “good spot” to settle down for the night. I had never been to Terminal 4 before, otherwise I wouldn’t have rushed. I’m not sure what “good” spot the guy was talking about, but there aren’t even chairs in Terminal 4. Needless to say, it was a long night. I ended up stretching out on the floor. But the constant noise of construction, which for some reason they must do at night, and the cold temperature of the linoleum beneath me, kept me from even trying to get the couple of hours of sleep I’d wanted. Luckily though, I had a lot of flight time ahead of me.

Getting ready for the flight, I check in, happy to be relieved of most of my things. I go through security, and then when we line up to board, I begin hearing the familiar languages of West Africa, a tease of the wonderful time I would have ahead of me.

I slept most of that flight, thanks mostly to a travel pillow I inherited from my Grammie Dot. I arrived in Casablanca, and then made my way to the connecting gate. One of my favorite things about the Casablanca airport is the smoking area which is right next to the prayer area. Even though it probably shouldn’t, that always amuses me.

The flight leaves on time, and even though it’s the middle of the night, I can’t sleep. I’m too excited. It’s only a matter of hours before I’ll see my boys! The flight lasts about 3 ½ hours, and we arrive in Ouagadougou. The night before, I landed in the City of Lights. Now, I’m landing in a country with very few. We get off the plane—the familiar smells hitting my nose, instantly flooding my mind with many memories. The night is chilly, but I can’t complain, it was 25 when I left New York. I can handle 65.

The Ouagadougou airport is very small, and it used to be very easy to get through once landing. However, somebody decided to ‘remodel’ it. In Burkina, that means, let’s ask a foreign country to give us money for a project, and then after we’ve started it, the money will magically disappear . Which seems to be what happened. It’s been over 3 years since a simple remodeling began. They’ve torn a lot up, but haven’t done much else. Needless to say, getting out of there is now a challenge.

Where there used to be a moving baggage belt, there is now a zig-zagging line of plywood stacks. The room is very small, and cannot accommodate all the people that just got off the flight. After a couple minutes, the baggage guys bring in some of the baggage on a wheeled cart (I’ve seen donkeys carry more), and begin unloading the bags. There is not enough room for all the bags, and there’s not enough room for everyone to see the bags. So there becomes this big scramble of everyone trying to move to the front to see the bags, and then move down the zig-zag to see all of them. With this chaos, it takes a while for everyone to see if their bags are there, and then to remove them, to make way for the second round. Only about ¼ of the people get their bags in this first load, so after about 15 minutes, the second load comes. This happens 3 times.

Finally, when all the bags have come out, and all have been removed, there’s still about 30 of us waiting for our bags. We ask the guys who’ve been carrying in the bags this whole time. They say that’s all there was. It’s dusty and crowded, I’m exhausted, and I just found out I don’t have clean clothes for tomorrow…