Perhaps the world’s second-worst crime is boredom; the first is
being a bore.—Cecil Beaton
Chapter TWO
Falling Prey in Frankfurt
I
have discovered how to negotiate large airport terminals: ask questions frequently. Like, about every hundred feet, around every
corner, on each level, until someone takes pity on an old gray-haired woman and
walks you to your destination.
Sometimes that person will carry your luggage, too. Gray hair rocks!
It
works. It works in the immense air terminal
in Frankfurt, Germany, which is how I find myself in the right place, but
way too early. Terminal 1, Level 1,
where the hotel courtesy shuttles pick up their guests.
I use a courtesy phone to let the Holiday Inn Express know I am there, ready for pick-up. Forty-five minutes, is the response, so I go back into the terminal and people-watch for a while until my imagination gets the best of me and drives me outside again.
I
admit I am not street smart. I haven’t
had to be, considering where I grew up (Anchorage in the 1950s.) After that, I
moved to smaller and smaller towns until I settled six miles out of a very
small town. Even after all my
international travels, I remain decidedly unaware of potential traps and
pitfalls.
So,
on this day when I will overnight in Frankfurt and catch the next day’s flight
to Nairobi, Kenya, I’m inside the terminal people-watching and what comes to
mind but the guy from Alaska who recently shot up a terminal in Florida after
getting his pistol and ammo out of his luggage. I was thinking about how diabolically clever
he was while I’m watching people enter the terminal.
I
know there are terrorism problems in Europe.
I know there are terrorism problems in Kenya. I know the person in the long coat who just
came through the doors could be carrying an assault weapon. Or the woman who is fully covered could be
wearing a suicide vest. Any one of the
suitcases could contain a bomb.
I
look around for something to hide behind should someone start shooting.
There’s
nothing close enough. I figure I have better chances
outside behind the waist-high concrete walls where I waited for the hotel
shuttle, so I go outside.
My
shuttle doesn’t arrive and it’s a few minutes past the time they said it would
be there. I watch the same shuttles come
and go, but not mine.
A
tall black man approaches and says, “Are you waiting for…. What hotel are you going to?”
Before
I can catch myself, I say, “Holiday Inn Express.”
“Come
with me. I’ll take you there.”
Alarm
bells. Should I or should I not? “What van is yours?” I manage to ask. He points to a brown one with an indecipherable
name painted on it. Or is it? Is it a removable decal?
“My
colleague asked me to pick you up. He had a break down.” I follow, reluctantly.
He
loads my two bags and heads out. I don’t
say anything and neither does he. I don’t
know the route to the HIE because the only time I’ve been there, I was leaving
Frankfurt. I don’t remember it being
this far away. Why is he taking this little,
remote off-ramp? Will someone find my
body before it becomes a toxic waste site?
I
recall that he didn’t name the hotel but asked me its name. Not good.
I should have made him tell me the name. Too late now.
And on and on it goes, until he turns a corner in a forested area and there’s the familiar hotel. I look across the road and there’s the German restaurant where I had a great dinner with Bruce, Betsey, Holly, and Andy. Where Andy played Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole’s version of Over the Rainbow on his ukulele.
I’m safe.
My room at the Holiday Inn Express
I check in, ask for a 9 AM wake up just in case, and take a hot shower. It's mid-afternoon when I go to bed and sleep 'round the clock, erasing 18 hours of travel time and any jet lag that might have come my way.
Good thing I left that wake-up call, because I needed it. Packed, down to the lobby, check out and ready to go to the airport.
And guess who my driver is this morning?!!! This time, he's in the Holiday Inn bus and not the suspicious brown one. We have a great chat on the way to the airport. His parents emigrated from Ethiopia and he was born in Germany.
So nice not to be kidnapped and robbed.
Complimentary breakfast at the Holiday Inn Express, Frankfurt.
