That said, if this was the worst day of my life, I live an amazingly charmed existence compared with refugees who wait a year or more to begin this journey without the company support and resources we had at our disposal. I can't fathom what they've endured to get to the day they fly to the US. What are the emotions and anxiety they feel as they prepare for the 90-day sprint to get settled before government support runs out?
So dear reader, as you chuckle at the plight of the Darringtons on our "worst-day-ever," please DONATE now to help refugees have their "best-day-ever" as they touch down on unfamiliar soil and begin their lives afresh in this land of possibility.
Read on.
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The first step on what is sure to be a journey of a thousand miles (or some amount of kilometers if you can do the conversion already) began back in October when Heather and I returned from the Czech Republic after a work trip there. It was in church we had a feeling independent of one another that we needed to be here...it was as strong as anything we had ever felt. Everything logical in my mind said that logistically at our stage of life--with our children, the comfort of our cozy home and city in Washington--that we should never attempt such an ambitious move. Of course, since when did Heather and I let logic guide our path?
In the guide that they gave me when I came searching for a house in preparation for our move it mentioned the typical psychological stages of making a move to a new place. Something like: honeymoon phase, mild disillusionment, downright dislike, mild acceptance, to complete integration. I think our honeymoon phase was definitely October until the few days just before we left – we fantasized for weeks on end about what it would be to live in the heart of Europe in one of its most beautiful cities; the fantasy came to crashing close just hours after touching down in Amsterdam. Let’s just say we grossly underestimated what it would take to get us all to the final destination and it all began on what we’ll call “D-day”.
D-day involved the process of getting 6 kids between the ages of 2 months and 12 years, 1 niece, and over 40 pieces of luggage, carryons, strollers, etc onto a plane in Seattle, through a layover and past customs in Amsterdam, to the airport in Prague, get everything collected and then directed to our home. Oh yes, and doing this all essentially pulling an “all nighter” by necessity (because of time zone changes) and without the comforts of knowing the system and knowing the language needed to navigate. Bring it on.
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| Completely oblivious to the freight train about to hit us. |
We start the morning of D-day welcoming our fine friend from church, Gary Sheldon over to the house. Gary had mentioned to me he would do anything to help us. As I contemplated the 40+ pieces of luggage, I could not conceptualize how we would get all of that into anything less than 3 vehicles. “I’ll bring my motor home!” he says. No problem. We load up all the gear in the bedroom of Gary’s motor home and hit the road. Just prior, Heather and I realize we need a small database in order to track this stuff. We begin the process of putting a pink piece of duct tape on every piece and giving it a number. For the record, there are eighteen 50-70 lb bags to be checked, an additional 18 carry-ons/backpacks, two strollers, and two car seats. You can imagine the scene as we’re swaying back and forth (the motor home feels like riding on top a hay truck stacked 10 bales high) shouting out things like “big black suitcase that Durant’s gave us” and “got it, that’s number 6,” “old maroon suitcase,” “got it, that’s 7.” We get it all done and the kids seem to just enjoy the novelty of the ride in the motor home. I suppose as parents we are doing a heckuva job as they are oblivious to the stress we are feeling.
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| Inventory of all our bags, carry-ons, etc. Beyond crazy. |
Upon arriving at the airport we opt for curbside check in to avoid hauling everything in. The mountain of luggage is off the charts…so is the tip I hand the guy when he is all finished. He marks all the bags “high priority” because I have the highest status with Delta due to my frequent global travel. That means they’ll come off the belt first…don’t forget this important point as it comes into play later.
While 2/3rds of our luggage has been checked, we are still left with a 1/3rd of it to manage. In order to maximize the amount we fly with us (to avoid slow sea shipping) we take all the carry-on luggage we are eligible for. Baby Wynne (for example) has a ticket but cannot bench press more than a few Pampers (don’t tell her I said that). Of course we take her two carry-on items she is eligible for. We do the same for Kian, Elyse, and so on. As you can imagine the kids can only haul so much so that leaves moi and the other adults in our party to do the heavy lifting.
We hit our first snag at curbside, when our skycap attendant tells us that the ticket that we have bought for baby Wynne has been sold to someone else. We wait for him as he goes in to talk with his manager. After several minutes, he comes back out and tells Heather that she needs to talk to the manager directly. She waits for about 10 minutes at the counter, and finally joins the family with a boarding pass for Wynne.
We hit our second snag at security. While giving the agent the stack of passports (I felt like some kind of dealer), it turns out that Aiden doesn’t have a boarding pass. In looking through the passes the skycap printed out two boarding passes for Kian and Aiden’s went undone. At this point, we did have some cushion in schedule to absorb the hit…but not much. It wasn’t so much the time that was the bother, it was just all of the gear we were hauling. The security officer was telling us to go all the way back to ticketing after we had already waited in the security line. Heather persists in asking him to let us just go to the gate to print the pass there, and by some small miracle (I’m not sure what) he lets Aiden through without a boarding pass…maybe he just felt bad, or just wanted us to stop holding up the line. We head off to our gate and get him a pass printed there. Back in action.
Let’s paint the picture of our next 18 hours. Our first flight is to Amsterdam and is about 10 hours. We leave at around noon and arrive at 10pm our time (morning time in Holland). We have a 2 hour layover and then a quick one hour flight to Prague where we arrive just around noon. Simple, right? We’re about to see.
Just how big is our family? We take up an entire row of the plane (which seats 2-4-2). Liz, (our niece who is coming with us to help for this year) sits right behind us. From left to right it’s: Coulson, Aiden, Evie, Kian, Elyse, Me, Heather, and Wynne. I have Kian (aka Kiko-Man) with me and I’m not worried at all because we have video screens and movies in coach. How tough could it be…5 movies and we’re there. :) Kian for some reason does not like the earphones and does not want to watch a movie. For the next 10 hours about every five minutes he grabs my elbow and asks me about something: bathroom, drink, change the channel, I don’t like this movie, take my shoes off, I want my tray down, etc. Somehow I manage to squeeze in two movies while pausing them every 5 minutes to help Kian. The last 70 minutes, Heather graciously traded seats with me and I sat with a sleeping Wynne while she handled the last mile. The rest of the kids performed marvelously between books and TV screens.
We touch down in Amsterdam and Kian falls asleep while we taxi on the runway – it figures. The only problem now is that a mosh pit at a Nirvana concert won't wake him. We assemble our gear and prepare for our gate and I’m thinking “this isn’t so bad” as we find some friendly carts upon which to pile up all of our carry-ons. It turns out that we have to clear customs in Amsterdam—something I didn’t expect…I thought we would do this step in Prague. We are a massive train of gear and people as it is (two strollers and 4 carts). We hit customs and we’re informed that we must leave our carts and carry everything through. Right after customs we have to place all of our stuff on conveyors and go through a security check.
It’s hard to describe the stress you feel when going through this process (and the ones to follow). It’s not so much that it’s hard it’s just that (at least for me) my mind is trying to track everything as a byproduct of having been hardwired this way since birth. I’m a logistics person who gravitates toward management of the luggage, the timing of itinerary, make sure we’re in the right place at the right time, we have fuel, and I constantly worry about where everyone is to ensure we’re safe. I hate going out in public in large crowds for this very reason…it’s stresses me to “track” everything and everyone and make sure it’s all accounted for. Because we can only pack so much, every bag is a critical part of what we need for our new destination; every child’s safety is paramount. Getting the family overseas it turns out will be the greatest logistics nightmare imaginable.
But logistics is only one part of it—what I learn really causes the stress is the impact that our small army has upon other time-crunched travelers. Every line we hit (customs, security, etc.) essentially bottlenecks at us. The travelers behind us fall into two camps: the frustrated or the sympathetic. Most seem to be in the frustrated category and their body language and facial expressions speak volumes: “What in the #$%@ are you doing? Are you crazy?” You try not to think about it, that it doesn’t matter, that you will never see these people again, that you don’t care—but try as I might I feel the need to protect my family and give my kids the impression that all of this that we’re doing is completely normal even though 99.99% of the world’s population would say we’re insane.
We unload all the gear, and as each kid comes through security we have to have them stand together while we pile all the luggage alongside them. At this point, I’m working like some kind of crazy, sleep-deprived, Diet Coke fueled bag-handler getting our 20 total items together that we’re now tracking. We redo the ritual of getting all the luggage on the carts and work our way to our gate. I’m sweating profusely both from the stress of the ordeal and the work. It turns out we’ll have about 30 minutes before our plane departs. Phew.
We prepare to board the final plane and have to do so sans Liz, our niece who we brought along to help. We purchased her flight with frequent flier miles and because of the way the scheduling worked out she has to stay at the airport for another 7 hours before her flight leaves. Translation: we lose one pair of helping hands and a sane adult to manage the chaos. As we board, I look like a Christmas tree getting on with each body limb a branch and each ornament a duffel bag, a backpack, a roll on carrier, etc. Kian has been sleeping during the entire layover and now must be forced to walk because I can’t carry him and his stroller must be gate checked. I board first and try to get all of our gear situated. As I get on the plane the flight attendant chides me that I might hit someone with a bag as I walk through the narrow aisle (I’m probably carrying 6 bags). I’m thinking to myself, “we’re your worst nightmare lady.” Aiden is behind me, a smaller Christmas tree version of myself. After abandoning half his load in the breezeway, he is trying to coax a crying Kian (who thinks it’s 1am in the morning) onto the plane. Heather is nowhere in sight because of a ticketing mix up back at the counter where the airline insists (incorrectly) that Wynne needs a different kind of ticket--so I’m on my own.
Kian’s cry tells me he’s at his limit. “Where’s my bed” he’s thinking, “why are you making me do this?” I try to console him, but he’s crying uncontrollably and doesn’t want to be buckled, fighting me every step of the way. My mind is still tracking all the luggage and people trying to ensure we all get on board all the while keeping frustration from other passengers at a minimum. I’m thinking to myself, “is Heather getting on ok because she has to carry the baby on and can’t get all her bags? What about Aiden’s bags he left in the breezeway? What about the other kids and bags?” At this point Kian through tears says to me, “Daddy I have to go potty” and promptly wets his pants right on the seat while I’m saying to him “No Kian! Nooooo!” hoping that somehow my words will coax the moisture back to his bladder. My heart kind of sinks into my stomach and I feel the stares around me of the airline attendants. They might have been thinking “what a cute family” at first, but I can see them shaking their heads out of the corner of my eye. The rest of the family finally boards while Kian continues to wail. Heather at this point solves the ticketing mix up and enters the breezeway to find the stroller and bags that Aiden left behind. She begins pushing two strollers, carrying 4 bags, and Wynne in a car seat while trying to board the plane to the sound of her wailing 3-year-old. What a nightmare. We’re now within minutes of taking off when Heather decides to make a break to change Kian into fresh clothes– potentially delaying the flight so they can wait for her to buckle. It ends up being a good thing as the dry clothing calms him down and he settles in just before liftoff. Double phew.
The one hour flight is uneventful and the kids get excited as tourist movies of Prague are shown as we touch down in this beautiful city. They may be relaxed, but my mind is now onto the next logistical challenge: we have to touch down in Prague, gather the 40+ pieces of luggage, connect with my friend who has arranged our transportation, get all the luggage out to him where he is parked outside our airport, track 6 wired kids, and get to our house by 1pm so that we can sign our lease papers – it feels like we’re trying to land on the moon with strollers or something.
In our wisdom, we think to save all of our passengers the pain of waiting for us so we graciously allow them all to exit first while we take our time. We load up everyone into small Christmas trees – Kian and Elyse are both pulling their own luggage, we’re all struggling to get off the plane. The airline attendant says to us – “you have to hurry, the shuttle is waiting for you!” “What?” I’m thinking…”don’t we just walk through the breezeway and into the airport.” To my surprise I exit the plane and see two flights of concrete stairs and a shuttle (packed to capacity) with all of our fellow passengers down below waiting for us so we can leave for the gate. Panicked, I shout back (literally) at the airline attendant: “You have to send the shuttle away and get a new one! We will not fit on that shuttle! Please, get a new shuttle!” Customer service has gone out the door at this point as they shout back: “No, you have to get on this shuttle, it is waiting for you!” I’m at the head of the pack and Heather is still on the plane. The shuttle waits below with every eye riveted on us, waiting for this circus to descend the stairs and get on board. Heather can’t carry everything so the flight attendant drags (not even bothering to lift) two of our duffels on the ground and tosses them at the top of the stairs and walks away shaking her head angrily. I’m thinking how much I’d like to kick her in the backside as she huffs away but I’m too busy trying to maneuver down the stairs.
We are a pitiful sight. Elyse struggles to get her bag down and no one could help her because we were all equally loaded down. We’re shouting at the kids to hurry as they stumble down the stairs while the bus looms below. We finally get to the bottom and have to board the shuttle in two separate entrances…Heather and I separated and barely even sure if everything and one is accounted for. The two categories of passengers greet us: the frustrated and the sympathetic. The frustrated merely glare while the sympathetic offer to help us hold bags and assist with the kids...by some miracle we all squeeze on. These people that help feel like a gift from heaven–thank you to whoever you are!
We re-perform the ritual of assembling all of our gear and kids and slowly make our way through the airport to the luggage belt. I can still see furtive glances from our fellow passengers as we situate ourselves next to the belt to collect our things. As the conveyer starts our bags are the first off – my airline status ensures that we get priority and the frustrated passengers (who so impatiently waited) are now treated to watching me collect at least the first 10 bags off the conveyer before they even see a bag that belongs to someone else. I don’t know whether to laugh because of the irony, or cry because I can feel them hating me further.
At this point because of lack of sleep and everything we’ve just been through I’m reaching a level of stress and anxiety I’ve never experienced. I honestly feel like I’m going to crack up as we collect everything and check it off our list (black bag #12, check! Maroon suitcase, check!), get little Wynnie fed (she hasn’t nursed for almost 4 hours!) make sure the kids all stay together (Kian and Elyse have kiddie leashes on that keep them from running, so they run around Heather like a human maypole), try and text my contact to ensure has arrived and we can get everything to him (Michael, are you there? Do you have the shuttle? We have to be to the house by 1pm to sign or we will have no place to stay.) I also realize as I watch people exiting the luggage area that once you leave you cannot come back in. We have so much luggage there is no way we can exit all at once – it is logistically impossible. I talk to an airport official and try to explain my situation – he only speaks broken English, but somehow I believe he has given us the “ok” to make multiple trips to the luggage area to get everything. I grab Coulson and Aiden and with each of us manning a cart stacked several feet high and we leave the luggage area greeting Michael who is a sight for sore eyes. We wheel our luggage outside and a little ways away we see a shuttle waiting for us where we deposit our bags.
The entrance back to the luggage area is marked with a large “Do Not Enter” symbol and as Michael tells me “you cannot go in there” I look for an opening and part the exiting passengers like the Red Sea so I can get back to Heather. The airport official looks my way and nods approvingly so we keep heading through and collect the remaining luggage and the rest of the family. We are soon in the shuttle headed toward our home in Rudna. At this point, I heave a sigh of relief as the worst is behind us and I watch the landscape pass by me with new eyes, different from those that viewed these same fields and buildings as a visitor – now I was looking at our home.
We arrive at the house just past 1pm and successfully sign the papers with the landlord’s agents. The kids grab a second wind with the euphoria of the new home, running from room to room, seeing where they will sleep, eat, study, pray, fight, cry, and love for the next little while. As the agents depart, the shuttle is unburdened of its load, and Michael returns to his home leaving us the house to ourselves. Within hours as I look around the house I see the kids dropping like flies: Kian falls asleep on the hard floor of the kitchen almost mid-sentence; Elyse is crashed on her floor upstairs in her play dress perhaps in the middle of some imaginary scenario; Evie is sacked out on the couch with Wynne, and Coulson has collapsed on his bed. Aiden is playing DS (go figure) and Heather and I crawl into our new bed for a few precious Z’s.
There are still a few logistics to manage: three suitcases went missing; we need to secure a rental car, and Liz will need to be picked up at the airport in a few hours. While I’m not sure exactly where to find the rental car place, where our luggage receipts are, or even how to get to the airport, I think at this point nothing could be worse than what we’ve been through. I fade off to sleep and listlessly dream of a new life in Prague…where everything comes easy.
Mad Hops 4 Humanity was born out of the crazy notion that an under 6-foot guy could dunk a basketball on his 44th birthday to raise 44k for refugees.
If you're a little crazy about the current refugee crisis, take a moment to contribute. Funding benefits the Seattle office of the International Rescue Committee (IRC) for use in purchasing and maintaining a passenger van to provide critical transportation services for refugees resettling in the US.
The IRC is a 501c(3)organization and contributions in the US are tax deductible.
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| Settling in for our first family meal in our Czech home |
