Would you like to hear the tale of our 26+ hour adventure through 4 aiprorts/countries with 2 kids and a cat? Well, hold on to your hats…
Here’s the recount- or, as Addy is calling her newest writing project, Pipsqueak’s Adventures in Holland (our cat). First, it was a funny scene at the airport when the lady at the counter saw us and said ‘oh. The Zipp family!’ Apparently checking 9 bags and bringing a cat is noteworthy. Then there were teary, teary goodbyes. I can’t go into the details of it now. Too soon. Wheels up, no more decisions to be made and nothing but the sound of my own sadness and pent up anxiety over this major life decision and the day’s travels. Cue eruption of tears, bordering on ugly crying. Sideways, take-off hugs from hubby and kids.
Overnight flight – kids watched movie, fell asleep like champions. They sprawled out on the entire row, leaving no room for parents. (As was our intention). No parental sleep obtained. Cat slept.
The cat and girls did AWESOME all the way to Coppenhagen (12 hours into journey). The 6 hour layover and delayed flight pushed our limits and then broke through them like a 4 year old ripping open (and spilling) the last bag of Goldfish. Luckily, husband is able to handle my occasional major bitchiness. It was pretty severe. Although, I was right. Seriously. We finally secured food, water and play space. Gwen, who was our Director of Kitten Petting Services, managed to not instigate an international incident by letting the cat loose in a Scandanavian country (but honestly Denmark, you’re not as Scandanavian as the dangling countries on the other side of the water.) Addy, our Family Historian and Regional Manager of Kitten Support Services, excelled at fending off rambunctious-looking Norwegian brothers (approximately 3 & 5) from harassing the cat in a bag. And then she supervised the Kitten Exercising Programme. Walking a cat on a leash in a Danish airport is strangely calming to 7 year olds.
‘Twas a brief moment of contentment and calm. But then we were still there. Waiting and waiting. We could feel the loose grip on sanity slipping. We were all hot, mildly sweaty and stinky, foggy from no/weird sleep. And the children’s play area was devolving from a sanctuary of free movement to a romper room of annoying, small humans speaking gutteral-sounding languages and trying to touch our cat. Suddenly we had to get out. Bear in mind that we were toting 3 roller carry-on bags, a cat carrier, 2 adult backpacks, 2 kid packpacks (long ago abandoned by the children they were designed to be carried by) and a hodgepodge of stuffies, dolls and blankies. And why, oh why, do these children insist on taking their shoes off at every place we stand still for more than 5 minutes? I have spent more time looking for stray flip-flops in foreign countries than at any major monument or important tourist destination. Anyway, the lag time between deciding we HAD to go and the actual going was significant. And what the hell kind of people make a play area on the second floor of an airport but have no elevator or escalator nearby? “Great” Danes, my ass. Luckily, Daddy has “muscles like tanks” and we only held up a half-dozen or so travelers schlopping our wares down the narrow staircase.
We made our way to the Gate with all the grace and coordination of a 6th grade orchestra. Next thing I knew the kids were sprawled out asleep and I startled myself awake with my own snoring. Attractive for sure. Boarded flight with relative ease, quick 2 hour journey, off board to final destination – Amsterdam.
At this point, I must include some broader context. Yesterday was a National Day of Mourning in the Netherlands in honor of more than 200 Dutch victims in the MH17 flight shot down over the eastern Ukraine. I’ve flown into Schipol airport probably 10 times before and it has never felt like this. We arrived shortly after a national moment of silence that occurred as the victims’ bodies arrived at another airport to the south of us. The bodies were being driven toward Amsterdam in a caravan with Dutch people lined up along the route, much like fans line the streets for the Tour de France. But this was a terribly solemn affair. There is a heavy cloud over this country and everywhere we looked reminders, from notices on the airport screens about the Day of Mourning to the live tv coverage of the caravan, of the tragedy. We feel it deeply on behalf of our new home country.
Back to a happier tale. Like how all 9 of our checked bags, plus the car seats, were lost. So, we waited and waited and filed a claim with baggage services. As you can imagine, the kids were beyond melting point. I got in an argument via Skype phone call with the taxi driver that was arranged to pick us up. We got a different taxi and arrived at the furnished house rented for us by the University. The owner greeted us and was very kind, preparing snacks for the kids and pouring us glasses of wine. He explained details about the house and gave instructions I blurrily recall. Finally, he intuited that we were burnt out and he left, promising to check back in on Monday to make sure we were ok. We have this house for 6 weeks.
Kids bathed and mommy to the grocery store for dinner (for first awkward consumer experience – pangs of panic as my grocery loyalty card, which I have so proudly kept and located, has apparently expired. Can’t I just get this win?). Then adults showered, we ate, and all fell asleep watching Free Willy. Back up clothes for kids were in carryons, but there was nothing clean left for adults. So (shhhh) we borrowed shorts from the owner’s closet. Could anything make me feel more awkward then wearing a strange man’s cargo shorts right now? We slept hard, but the kids woke up around 1:45am. I fended them off for awhile but we were eating eggs at the kitchen table by 2:30. Hubby and I are taking shifts and as I write this the girls are drifting in and out of consciousness watching The Simpsons (they reluctantly watched some Dutch cartoons I forced on them, but eventually they wore me down). I’m signing off for now. I figured out the cappuccino machine here. Time for Round II. Tot Ziens.