Lost In Munich

Lisa and I trotted up to the Lufthansa service center counter before producing our airline tickets and travel itinerary. Our flight from Poznan had been just late enough to allow our connection to Denver to leave without us. The airline representative was searching for a new flight to return us to the U.S., and he found one leaving just over an hour later for Dulles in Washington, D.C. that would bring us home to Dallas within 20 minutes of our original expected arrival time.

As the Lufthansa agent began to work out the details regarding our luggage, I was doing a little potty dance that was less than effective in subduing nature's call for relief. I desperately looked at Lisa (who was handling all the travel detail with no need for my input) and said, "I have to go to the bathroom..." She suggested that I wait. My bladder interrupted her to say otherwise, so I opted to heed the louder voice. One agent said to "Turn right..." and the other elaborated saying, "...go around..." the service center to the facilities. I left Lisa holding all of our bags and tickets except my purse (which held my ID) and headed off to take care of business.

I walked around the wall behind the service center. Each door failed to indicate a restroom, but I saw a sign indicating that toilets were in the stated direction. I walked through a set of doors to see a man in a security uniform, and I asked him about "restrooms... toilet?" to which he nodded in the affirmative and gestured that I should come toward him. The doors shut behind me as the man pointed to a sign clearly indicating a toilet that was a little further away than I wanted to be from Lisa. I nodded back at him, and indicated my thanks before turning to go back for Lisa who was likely finishing with our travel changes.

The smiling man stopped smiling. He placed his very large frame between me and the doors through which I had come and began forcefully indicating that I could and would not be returning to the service center (and the security of Lisa handling all the details while I just did whatever she told me to do) through those doors. For the first moment in our trip, I utterly failed to feel the exhilaration and delight that had come to characterize the adventure of exploration.

In fact, I was fast headed for state of panic. I needed to go back through those doors. I turned to really look around at what waited in the other directions away from the door, and was bombarded with the exterior view of the Munich airport, the security area for those preparing to depart, and the toilets which now failed to hold their former appeal. My initial response was to turn on my cell phone and try to call Lisa. No answer, and I suspected her inbox would be full of messages after a week. I left my own phone on in case she should try to call me while I began to try to get back to her.

Mr. Security sent me off to go through security. I was freaked out by an overly friendly male sports team (soccer, maybe?), and discovered that to pass through security one needed an airline ticket. Prepared to start sobbing at any minute, I walked toward the Lufthansa ticket center while having a disjointed moment of prayer that was primarily me begging for this mess to work out and for my panic to subside before I got myself into real trouble. The Lufthansa agent was as unwilling to contact the Lufthansa service center to let Lisa know where I was as she was to help, but she did at least look up the new flight number that was scheduled as the next leg of the trip home before shrugging me off on the poor folks over at United airlines.

Even as I felt the fear and uncertainty rising, I continued to pray and to walk toward the area vaguely indicated by the latest in the series of somewhat helpful individuals while a few tears escaped. I was overwhelmed to find yet another line to delay my reunion with Lisa. I was disgusted that I did not know what to do, frustrated that my situation seemed to be failing to improve, and frightened to be in a country where I could not speak the language to even ask the simplest questions.

An angry young American was berating his travel companion, but he stopped to stare at me. Next thing I know, there are a few people who shuffled me along in the line toward the agent, and Angry American is loudly proclaiming that "Whoa. She looks so sad, that it's like totally making me sad. Somebody needs to help her." Despite the desire to crawl in a hole upon hearing that particular description, I stood trembling in line while continuing to ask God for a bit of divine intervention. When my turn to present my passport and the scrawled number of the new flight on which I hoped to reach home arrived, the waterworks finally won out. I stood staring after giving a brief explanation of my situation to the agent.

This lady had a heart. She walked me through the security questions that my friend Sylvia had gone over with me at home prior to my original departure. It was a small measure of comfort to know that Sylvia had been part of preparing me for this bit of misadventure, and that perhaps all was not lost after all. The agent walked over to the ticket counter to speak to another agent before applying a sticker to indicate my successful answers to the security questions and instructing me to only go to the agent with whom she had already spoken before offering me a smile.

I moved on to the next line where Angry American Guy was standing with his companion and a German couple. The next available agent was the one to whom I had been instructed to speak. Those ahead of me kindly sent me to the proper agent despite my place in the line. The agent smiled and spoke very slowly and clearly (as if to a complete idiot... which I really was at that point) as she handed me the tickets that would allow me to pass through security. I was given very simple instructions to follow as she sent me off.

Security was nerve-racking because I was suddenly again uncertain of what to do, and I had an agent who was less than patient with me. Once I cleared security, I chose an escalator to take me upward to the area where I would present the passport that was in my possession rather than Lisa's at the moment. I found a line that moved rapidly, and presented my passport for the rubber stamp that allowed me to move on to the area where the gates were located. I headed to the right ("...and ONLY go right..." per the ticket agent) as I sought the gate from which Lisa and I were scheduled to depart Munich for Washington, D.C. I did not see a Lufthansa service center as I moved along in my progression toward the proper gate. I passed through yet another security checkpoint. I scanned the crowds for Lisa continually, but she never appeared.

Presenting my ticket at gate 46, I received boarding passes and seat assignments for the Washington flight and for the final leg set to return me to my home airport later in the day as well. Lisa had yet to present her tickets. The agent refused to contact the service centers to check for my travel companion. She did page Lisa in the gate area where Lisa clearly was not. It was not helpful to have the agent periodically reminding me that to fail in boarding the flight would result in the purchase of new tickets at full fare.

As I waited, there was a strange thing happening around me. I continued to ask for help in locating Lisa, and I began to notice a migration of the very people who had been helping me downstairs to the gate from which I would be departing. The travelers and the assorted airline employees were gathering in the very gate area where I was waiting for Lisa, and they were all staring. It was a little disconcerting but as words expressed concern rather than than condemnation of my foolishness in getting lost, I began to appreciate the watchers.

Finally, someone called down to the service center where Lisa had been waiting with growing concern as I failed to return to her. She had also been asking for someone to page me, and trying to use her phone to call one of the leaders we had left behind in Poland for help... which is why she did not answer my call even though she heard the beep indicating a waiting call. I stood with another security worker who sweetly indicated where I should stand to avoid more difficulty to watch for Lisa as many pairs of eyes watched me to see if I would find my companion.

When I saw the familiar black and white stripes of Lisa's outfit, I made a bee-line to the ticket counter to inform the agent there (who was still miffed that Lisa did not appear to have her phone turned on) that Lisa was coming, and to ask if we had made the final call. I wonder if Lisa felt all the eyes on her as I greeted her with an apology for becoming separated and the news that our plane had already boarded? Her ticket was stamped, and we headed off even as I heard the voice of Angry American Guy (who was no longer angry) saying, "Oh, Great! She found her friend. I am so glad for her!" I turned to see him giving me a thumb's up. Even in Washington, we were still meeting kind strangers who were glad to see that Lisa and I had successfully reached the U.S.

Our luggage remained in Munich, but I am thankful to say that Lisa and I reached our home airport Saturday night at 7:00 successfully. I hope our luggage turns up, and have filled out a baggage claim toward that end. Next time, I think I will stick to the Frankfurt hub which is easier to navigate! This little misadventure clearly highlighted the buffer our missionary hosts had provided for us throughout our visit in Poland where most of the team did not speak Polish at all, and where I certainly was clueless about customs and culture. It was a very quick tumble down "off the mountain"! How thankful I am for the guidance and help of our hosts during our stay, and for Ron Barnes who was on his EIGHTH trip to Poland and Lisa who has more experience as a traveler than I!