The Trip

The old lady and I sat together at the front of the terminal. It was awkward, but then she spoke. "So how long are you going for?"she asked.


"5 months. To go to school, and live with another family."


"Oh yes. My sister's granddaughter did the same thing."


And the conversation went on like that.


"Where abouts are you going?"


"Noord Brabant, to a village called Someren."


"Oh!" I said. "I'm going to Asten."


"Asta?"


"No, Asten."


"No I don't know Aster. Ohh Asten! Right next door!"

I was second on the plane, quickly making myself comfortable in the seat that would be mine for the next eight hours. A window seat with a perfect middle view of the wing. I should've known. I am cursed. I can't remember the last time I've traveled on a plane and haven't see more wing then sky. However just when I had come to terms with my unlucky seating, a Malaysian girl walks up and says, "I think you're in my seat."

That girl spoke maybe once the entire trip, and it wasn't to me. She just slept. I on the other hand, didn't sleep a wink. Inflight entertainment was not half bad, and I watched a couple of interesting movies. The food wasn't as awful as people always warn, and I even scored a few unoccupied seats to lie down on in an attempt to sleep.

Eight hours later we landed in Malaysia. "Someone will meet you when you get off the plane." said the lady at the desk at Melbourne Airport. Well that never happened.

"Right. I'll have to find my own way." Looking up at the plane departure television, it read: Amsterdam, GATE 2. So that's where I went. Three heavy bags and one extremely heavy bag pulled me down as I trudged the long walk from one end of the airport to the other. And when I got to GATE 2, the atmosphere told me I was in the wrong spot. Funny how that happens? So I trudged back. To GATE 16. Totally deserted. So I trudged back. This time I thought I'd ask someone. The man with the bindi was my saviour. "You should be at GATE 16. The reason why it didn't say so on the television is because your too early. But it's up there now." Thank god. I thought I was going to hear my name on the "late idiots" loud speaker.

I found GATE 16 again, and then I waited. And waited. And waited. Then 2 hours later, sometime after 12 in the morning, it was time to board. I showed them my new and never before used European passport and walked right on through.

And as I waddled through the aisles, sqeezing past people and eventually popping out at my row, I was caught quite by suprise when I realised I was sitting next to that same old lady from the beginning of my trip, with her white fluffy hair, royal red coat and innocent grandma smile. Although this time I blessed with the window seat, we decided it would be better if I sat in the aisle seat, considering she would be sleeping, and I wouldn't.

Of what I calculated in my exhausted state, I slept for about 3 hours on a trip of 13. No doubt however that I slept even less than that. I finished watching a movie I'd started on the first trip, attempted sleep, listened to music and all around did nothing of any interest. Oh and how I was DYING to just arrive. And then finally I did.

Schipol, Amsterdam Airport, was humid, busy and confusing. Where do I go, what do I do, should I ask someone, should I figure it out myself? But I asked someone, and American pilot who knew about as much as I did about the airport. However he did know where baggage claim was. Thank-goodness. And then I used my only-used-once European Passport, and walked right on through without a problem. I really didn't know when I was supposed to be meeting my "dad", Bart. Was he just going pop out in front of me, or would I have to search for him. Oh the anxiety. Baggage claim to a record amount of time. So long that I feared I'd never see my suitcase and it's contents ever again. I swear it at least 45 minutes I waited. When it was finally out, I loaded it's enormous heavy self on to my trolley, with my four other bags, and wheeled myself on through the international doors. They opened on to a walkway, where hundreds of people stood behind a fence, holding signs, waving, and yelling out. Amazingly, amongst the chaos I heard my name called. "Elena!" The first thing I thought? Ah, now I'm really here.

The kids had made a beautiful sign, ELENA , WELKOM IN NEDERLAND!, which in itself made me feel totally welcome. Bart and I chatted over drinks, me in desperate need of a cool shower and summer clothes. I was totally comforted by the fact that I could speak English, and he as well. We talked the whole almost three hour trip home. Yes, home. Not Australia home, Holland home.