There's nothing like a long layover to force you to come to grips with a journey that you're about to take. For the past couple of weeks I have been on absolute overdrive trying to accomplish everything that needed to be done before leaving. In the midst of the work and the preparations, the reality of this trip never truly had a chance to sink in. And now I'm sitting in Chicago O'Hare International Airport for 4 and a half hours with nothing to preoccupy myself from the onslaught of emotions that inevitably accompany a journey of this magnitude. Furthermore, I'm piecing together a teaser video chronicling the details of my trip, and writing this blog post to you all. Neither of these activities are advisable for someone trying not to think about the million and one things that could possibly go wrong over the next three weeks.
I do have one source of comfort, however. Looking out the window of the terminal, across the expanse of tarmac, something is on fire. I have no idea what it is, but it's rather large. Most of me hopes it's not a plane full of people, but there is a terrible part of me that entertains that thought, because the odds of my plane bursting into flames are a lot lower if it's already happened today. (Yes, statisticians, I know that it doesn't work quite like that, but even you have to admit that you'd feel safer standing next to someone in an electrical storm who has already been struck by lightning.) So the poker player in me feels comfortable crossing 'plane bursts into flames' off of the list of possible mishaps.
The flight attendant working at the next gate over just got on the loud speaker and delivered the following address: "All passengers flying to Omaha; there will be a slight delay as maintenance crews are working on your aircraft. Please stand back from the doors as they will be going in and out. I don't know what the problem is, but I will provide frequent updates as I know more, and we'll get you in the air as soon as possible." Excellent. Now I can cross 'mystery airplane malfunction' off of the doomsday list. More probability-derived comfort. I'm feeling better already.
To give you a sense of the logistical labyrinth I'm about to embark upon, which has been giving me these fits of mild paranoia, here's a rundown of my next three weeks. This morning, I left LAX for Berlin with layovers in Chicago and Dusseldorf. I arrive tomorrow morning at 11:45 Berlin time, at the Tegel International Airport. I have a day in Berlin and then leave on July 11th from a different airport, the Schoenefeld International Airport by way of the Sabiha Gocken Airport in Istanbul to arrive at Manas International Airport in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan a day later on the 12th, at 4:20am. Between the 12th and the 22nd, I'll be working alongside Rudi Wiens with Far East Broadcasting Company, traveling between Bishkek and Almaty, Kazakhstan, documenting the two young radio stations FEBC has in Central Asia. On the 22nd, I leave from Bishkek for Moscow, by way of Istanbul, but I'll be going through Ataturk International Airport in Istanbul, not the same airport in which my previous layover took place. I land at Vnukovo International Airport in Moscow that same day, on the 22nd, and I'll stay at the FEBC station in Mosow, having an opportunity to see what a station looks like that has been up and running successfully for many years. On the 24th, I hope to take the night train to St. Petersburg to spend one day there visiting the St. Petersburg FEBC station and seeing the city before returning on the night train the following evening. Then I leave–once again from yet a different airport–on the 26th from the Sheremetyevo International Airport for Berlin. I have a long layover in Riga, Latvia, and I hope to have a couple of hours to catch a shuttle and go see a bit of Latvia before returning to the airport. I land at the Tegel International Airport in Berlin (the one where I will have landed on the 10th, but not the one I will have left from on the 11th), and I'll spend 3 full days in Berlin visiting a close friend who's been there doing ministry of her own for almost a year. Finally, I leave from Tegel International by way of Frankfurt and Dulles International to return home, technically the same day, but since I'm flying West, the travel time actually totals more than 20 hours. Perhaps now you can empathize with my psychosis.
Recently, I discovered that the O'Hare Airport was named after Butch O'Hare, who was the Navy's first flying ace. I recommend you look up his story, because it's pretty awesome, but basically he single-handedly took out an entire squadron of enemy bombers headed for his aircraft carrier. Also, O'Hare's father was a key lawyer on the case that put Al Capone away for tax evasion, and he was later gunned down by the mob. (Honestly, it seems like everyone famous in the old days was related to someone else famous in the old days.) Though I now know the true origin of the airport's name, I still can't help thinking of it as I did when I was younger; as being named for an Irish rabbit. I imagine Mr. O'Hare was a dingy white jackrabbit from Killarney, whose neighbors Mr. O'Badger and Mr. O'Fieldmouse were always worried that he never kept well enough care of himself, and in the end, they were right. So Mr. O'Hare's family moved their warren to Chicago with all of the other Irish rabbits when he passed and there was no longer any reason to remain in Killarney. Years later, an airport was built upon their hovel, and now instead of rabbits multiplying like rabbits, it's people that multiply like rabbits. People in Chicago honor Mr. O'Hare's memory by emerging seemingly from holes in the ground to collect all in one place. Seriously, where do all these people come from?
So I sit, one rabbit among many, waiting to go fly deeper into my own burrow, and suffering from paranoid delusions of what ills may befall me, dare I continue.
Since I started writing, the fire across the tarmac was contained, and now has started up again. Sweet. Looks like I can cross 'plane bursts into flames TWICE' off of the list too. (once hard)
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