After almost three months away from home, we left our cousins’ place near the centre of Bucharest (lovely people, Gigi and Rodica, and I love the GREAT FOOD Rodica cooks, gained a few kilos to prove it). They drove us to the airport to take the long journey back to Sydney. The almost three months away were very exciting at times, extremely satisfying at times, frustrating at other times – we covered parts of Romania and visited relatives, saw some beautiful Greek islands in the Ionian Sea, did a trek in Nepal crossing Kang La, a 5320m high pas in the fascinating Nar-Phu region, and – just at the end of last week – had a book launch in the breezy and friendly capital of the Republic of Moldova, Chișinău.
Finally it was all over, with all the stress of packing to just above the maximum allowed weight of 23kg (my check-in luggage weighed in a 23.7 – as you do), This stress included the more concentrated stress of what books to take with me vs what books to leave for next time, and and even sharper stress of my wife’s scolding that I take too many books back, and that my small office in Sydney will topple on top of me with their weight, so that, on day, she’ll eventually find me, reduced to a paper-thin mess under the rubble blah blah blah… Finally, we were being dropped at the airport by our very accommodating cousins. But as I did the routine check of items while getting out of the vehicle – panic!!! No mobile phones. Neither the Australian nor the Romanian handset responded to the appeal. Checked everything just to make sure, but since I have a certain routine about placing them when I go on trips, and I knew I left them at their place. I am the ultimate creature of our times. Without mobile connectivity for more than 30 minutes, I shrivel up and die, like fish on the beach. Millennials have nothing on me, in fact I could teach them a few things, including appropriate levels of narcissism for various situations etc.
However, the panic was mild. We came to the airport early (a habit of mine, and it proved invaluable this time around – for other reasons as well, as you shall read), as our cousin’s place was 15 minutes drive from the airport. While we did the check in, they kindly did the round trip again and promptly presented my phones to me – I left them on the desk that was my office while in Bucharest. Panic subsided. All good, adrenaline level back to normal.
Well, the story about real PANIC! starts at this point. After passing security check and passport control, we noticed a young lady with two children in tow – a boy and a girl maybe 8-9 years old, frantically taking in broken English with a gentleman, seeking directions to her gate – or at least this is what I could make out. By the headgear – she wore a nikab – I assumed she was Muslim. The gentleman explained and gestured that she needs to walk further, maybe another 50-100 metres, “to that light you see in front, where you see that queue. Keep going! Keep going!!” he finished, before turning away to his own business. She quickly grabbed the kids each by one hand and rushed away like a whirlwind. My wife commented that she still looked confused, frantic even – maybe she was very late for boarding the plane – but the young lady had disappeared into the crowd in less than two seconds, children in tow.