Imagine this scenario: you are flying home from a foreign where
you not only don't speak the language, you can’t even read the alphabet. To
make your flight connection you have to take a bus from one airport terminal to
another. The last time you made this trip, there were other people with you, and
they helped you get on the right bus, but this time, you're flying solo. The
bus comes and you have enough mastery of the language to know that it says it's
the bus you want, so you hop on, pay your fare, and find a seat. The bus
departs. You sit back and congratulate yourself on making it through the tricky
transfer okay.
Except that after about 15 minutes, you start thinking that
it didn’t take this long to get to the other terminal the last time you took
this bus.
And after 20 minutes, you suspect that you have really
messed up.
And after 25 minutes, you see a sign that lets you know that
you might indeed have got on the right bus, but you caught it at the wrong end
of the run. It's not going to the other terminal. It's going away from the
airport, back into the city. Into Moscow. And if you can't get back to the
airport in an hour, you’re going to miss your flight home.
Scared yet?
You can bet I was pretty terrified when this happened to me.
It was six years ago, on the second trip that Hubs and I had to take to Russia
for our Tsarina's adoption. On the first trip, we had managed the transfers
okay (though I still don't know how we managed one of them – we ended up in a
part of Sheremetyevo airport where we weren't supposed to be). On our second
trip, we had to stay in Moscow a couple of days before going on to the region
where our future daughter waited. That Moscow stay turned out to be my
salvation, for on the trip into the city I noticed a most familiar sight – a huge
blue and yellow Ikea store just off the highway.
When it was time to come home, my husband had to leave a few
days before I could, so I was all alone for the return trip. Realizing that I
had messed up royally and was heading away from the airport – and my connecting
flight home – was one of those "holy crap" moments that really bring
home what it means to feel your stomach sink.
Lucky for me, I was sitting on the side of the bus that
enabled me to see the Ikea store. Not only did this confirm my mistake –
meaning I now knew beyond a doubt that I had to get off that bus NOW – but I
was pretty sure that somewhere in an Ikea store, I could find someone who spoke
enough English or French to help me find my way back to the airport.
I got even luckier when – after getting off the bus and
walking across a field to the store – I spotted a sign for a beloved word that
is spelled the same in English and Russian: TAXI. And in proof that lucky
strikes come in threes, the word for AIRPORT is also similar enough that my
taxi driver could understand my request. He named the two airports, I sputtered
out a mangled "Sheremetyevo," and he had me back to the proper
terminal in plenty of time to make my connection. I tipped him heavily. I
really really wanted to hug him, but I figured the poor guy didn’t need the
crazy North American crying all over him.
The best news is that on our third and final trip to Russia, Hubs was with me to navigate the connection on the way to our daughter's birthplace. On the way home, it was just me and her, but we had to stay in Moscow to complete our Embassy paperwork - so instead of getting from one terminal to another, we were met by an agency worker who drove us into the city in her car.
You can bet I blew a kiss at that Ikea store when we zipped past.
Now tell me, readers - when have you been lost, and how did you get yourself out of it?
6 comments:
I have never really been lost. I have taken many a wrong turn, but that was easily rectified, so not really lost at all.
Scary to be lost in a foreign language country I think.
Nothing crazy like that, but one time I was by myself and I was going into an unknown area... had the way all mapped out... did not realize the exit was actually two that split... I was in the wrong lane... I drove and drove thinking this seems wrong... then hoping for a turn around somewhere... finally found one after a few miles... I got back on track, but boy was my heart pounding...
Mary, I like that attitude!
Colleen, oh, I've done that many a time. It is a lousy feeling, for sure.
I've never been lost in a foreign country but I left my purse behind in an airport gift shop and didn't realize it until I was going through security. My husband had to come back with me and we found it in the shop. Whew!
Kaelee, ACK! Thank heaven that all worked out!
I get lost. Often. I can get lost in a box. Before GPS, I had maps, lots of them and I still have them. Nowadays, I print out directions, have the GPS and the maps. I'm so used to getting lost, it doesn't faze me anymore and I have learned how to find my way back.
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