Home as of just before midnight. Nic and Apisata greeted us with smiling faces at the airport in Atlanta. We arrived a little ahead of schedule and our luggage was waiting when we got to the carousel. (This luggage report is provided for Paris G. Kefalas). We drove home able to hear Bill Clinton's amazing Obama-Endorsement Speech. I found it pitch-perfect. Although we might have had Devon Turner meet us, as he occasionally is our driver, it was so great to have family waiting when we came up the escalator. The trip was as one would hope uneventful, except for JFK Delta Terminal and Customs Entry. After being in the Athens, Greece, modern airport facility, JFK looks like a WWII bunker. When you first exit the plane, you have to walk through a smelly maze of narrow cement-brick walls in the direction of passport entry. The escalator at the end of the maze was not working and we were behind a chubby little flight attendant in high heels with a heavy suitcase who was gingerly trying to keep from falling down the escalator. When we ended at a wider hall, a woman who looked like a blonde Rosie O'Donnell in a Custom's Uniform was screaming at those of us on the Athens flight to line up between two barricades, American citizens on the right, non-residents on the left. These were the spectrum of travelers you see on most overseas flights - people with tiny babies, old couples, people in wheelchairs, people who were half asleep or rousing from an intoxicating flight. NOT HAPPY CAMPERS. The more "Rosie" shouted the crankier the crowd became as she forced everyone into the line up. She was trying to explain that flights were backed up and they were trying to have an "orderly" approach to going through passport entry. The exchanges in this mildewy hot hallway were nasty. Fortunately, because we'd flown business class, we were at the head of the line that she finally "released" to walk through winding "cattle stalls" to greet a cheerful man who looked at our customs forms, wadded mine up and tossed it, saying we only needed one per family as he stamped our passports. Things were looking better.
Onto picking up our luggage to pass through customs. A huge crowd of people surrounded carousel C-1 and they were still snapping at everyone and everything. Stell went seeking a cart ,free in Atlanta each year, at this point, but $5 in NYC. This means that a lot of poor foreigners without American currency, lugging small children, and speaking what sounds like Farsi have to also now lug their baggage to the customs control. Our luggage of course was not on the carousel, but I noticed that hundreds of bags were pulled off alongside the carousel and fortunately all four pieces we had were together. We loaded it onto the $5 cart and headed to the customs people, who actually are in a daze and simply glance at your shoes, take the piece of paper and send you to the next area to put your luggage on the connecting flight. In this maze, Stell is really moving into his noteworthy phases of mumbling "what kind of a third world country is this?", I hear an "official" man mumbling a name like George Kefalla and he is waving a passport. I wake up and realize he is holding the passport that Stell has dropped when he handed in the customs form. Stell is reunited with his passport, which he hadn't yet missed, and my mind is calculating where we would be this morning if I hadn't overheard the mumbling man.
A tall rather attractive woman guides us to a spot to drop our luggage in a sea of bags and cranky people. I'm convinced we will never see it again (Paris won't laugh at my premonition this time.)
We move into yet another line to go through security - this is the take your clothes off security check, and Stell by this time has had it and is bellowing that he is 76 and isn't going to remove his shoes. To my surprise (because now I was certain we would be spending the night in NYC), they let him go through. We redress and head to locate Gate 6, and realize we have about an hour, so we find the Delta Crown Room. Usually when you to into an airlines hospitality suite, it's a simple matter of showing your ticket and ID and helping yourself to the bar, nicer furnishings, cleaner bathrooms, but in this suite we first encounter a line of people, and one "hostess" who must think she is practicing to be Piers Morgan, because she is carrying on a Chatty-Cathy interview with every one in line. Stell is ready to jump over the counter and strangle her. We finally make it past Cathy, I get a drink and Stell goes to the bathroom. When he comes out, he can't find me, and finally I catch his attention. We sit next to a young couple. The young man is loaded down with some huge leather-bound books. Stell inquires what these are, and the young man shows him that they are all Hebrew books. He has the look of a person who might be preparing to be a rabbi.
I insist that at 6:15 we should go to the gate, because Chatty Cathy has indicated our flight might be moved to another gate. Stell would rather chat with the prospective rabbi and his girlfriend. I do as usual and bid the three of them goodbye. When we get to Gate 6, there are alot of passengers who are listening to the messages that we will be delayed because the caterers are late preparing the plane. Stell gives me his standard "I told you so, heh, heh" glare. Finally we board, are served drinks, and a terrible chicken dinner, which was only intended to be a meal to stare at.
This morning we are up after sleeping until 6 a.m. I'm writing a grocery list and preparing at 8:30 a.m. to go and get the mail. Stell is much more cheerful. We are both so grateful to Nic and Apisata. Chris Franklin has kept the yard beautiful- lots of flowers still blooming. The scenery is so very different from our Stavraqu perch.
I don't imagine my blog will be so lengthy or regular, but feel free to check in if you've been reading and want to know what "I've been thinking."
There is no place like home, and Stell would say "homes". A truly memorable summer.
