The hardest part about traveling to a foreign country isn’t the long plane trip, the unfamiliar language, the weather or what side of the road they drive on.
The hardest part of taking an international trip is groping your way through the airport just to find your way to the airplane and get off the ground.
My daughter Suzanna, 16-year-old granddaughter Julia May and I took a trip to Prague, Czech Republic, this summer and before we even made it through LAX — that super-sized airport in Southern California that really should be its own country — I was almost ready to go back home.
“Get in line to the ticket desk while I find the luggage tags for our bags,” my daughter instructed me.
All fine so far except for that keyword: “line.”
What line? I wondered. I looked out on what seemed like a mass of hibernating ladybugs and could not distinguish any beginning or end. People were chattering like chipmunks hyped up on sugar water. Most people looked as confused as I felt so, obviously, asking somebody for assistance was not going to be helpful.
Finally I found a group of folks who appeared to be migrating to the same travel desk as I was and just about then my girls showed up with our luggage tags and saved me from being lost in space.
After you verify your tickets and passports, you have to go through the inaptly named “Security,” which feels anything but secure. Take off your shoes, they tell you; take off your belt, stuff everything into a plastic tray and if you just happen to forget to expunge a tube of lip balm from your pants pocket you might get bumped out of line and searched like a suspected terrorist.
By the time we passed inspection and emerged onto the other side of the Berlin Wall, I was exhausted. And we hadn’t even left Los Angeles yet.
International flights are much different from the airplane trips I’ve taken in the U.S. Julia and I settled into somewhat comfortable seats with somewhat acceptable leg room, as long as you’re not taller than 5 feet.
Pillows and blankies were waiting for us and the flight attendants passed out free earphones for the in-flight movies, which was grand since I never remember to bring my own earphones.
And since it was a nearly 12-hour nonstop plane ride, we were served real food and snacks twice during the trip. That was a relief. I was afraid we’d have to fly all the way to Prague with nothing more than Goldfish crackers and Coke.
Julia slept, Suzanna read and I watched “A Man Called Otto,” for the third time. And off to Prague we went.
Hedberg may be contacted at khedberg@lmtribune.com.
