2006

Last week I spent a couple days at my mom's new house helping her move. In the process I discovered the travel journal that I kept for my trip to former Yugoslavia in 2006. For posterity I figured I'd spend the moment updating this blog with the first of those older entries. Unfortunately, no photos correspond to this entry but the next one (which I will hopefully put up before the week is out) will have plenty of pictures. So, without further ado:

Leaving - September 7, 2006

I slept at Michael and Jenny's apartment the night prior to departure. Michael had graciously offered to drive me to the airport and we stayed up perhaps later than we should have watching "Dazed and Confused" and "The Girl Next Door" (2009 - I don't even remember watching "The Girl Next Door". Not a very memorable film, I guess...). Somewhere between 7 or 8am I woke up to the sound of Jenny and Michael discussing the clogged toilet upstairs (2009 - already my blog is fecal!) and pumped with adrenaline due to the coming journey I failed to get back to sleep.

My sleeping trouble wasn't helped by the fact that I'm somewhat afraid of flying and was sharply aware of the fact that in the weeks preceding there had been two significant plane wrecks internationally. One in Pennsylvania, proving that even American planes were still prone to disaster, and the other in Ukraine - which did nothing to quash my fears of flying on the Yugoslav national carrier "JAT" (pronounced "YAT" with the soft "J"). Fears must be faced, though.

I showered and eventually woke Michael up so that we could get on the road to the airport. When we got into the car he discovered that he had left his wallet at his parents' house and we detoured to retrieve it. Thankfully the recovery was easy and we were on the road in no time.

Unfortunately, when I departed from Michael's car I managed to accidentally leave my hooded sweatshirt in his back seat. Those who have gone on backpacking trips in the past understand the value of variable-use articles of clothing. This sweatshirt was important to me not only because it was the sole piece of warm clothing that I had planned to bring along but also because in a pinch you can put the hood over your eyes to block out the light in a hostel dorm room, while on an airplane or while taking the night-train from Belgrade, Serbia to Ljubljana, Slovenia. When you're backpacking anything that helps you sleep is much appreciated.

C'est la vie.

The flight from Sea-Tac to Chicago was largely uneventful. I slept for a few minutes here and there. The rest of the time was passed reading a book titled "Forever Peace" which is the follow-up to Joe Haldeman's 1976-Hugo-Award-Winning novel "Forever War", which I had read the previous time that I was in former Yugoslavia.

When I disembarked in Chicago I had to make my way to the international concourse. I was amazed at the size of O'Hare's domestic concourse. The place was positively massive and I would have felt overwhelmed had I the time to gawk but I was a man on a mission. I frantically searched for the international departures concourse which was conspicuously referred to as Concourse "M" in all of my literature (including my ticket) but called Concourse "5" by all signs and employees. Thankfully I resolved the confusion quickly and despite some further confusion with the bag-check counter I made my connection with ample time.

The flight was again uneventful and fairly comfortable - I was starting to get the impression that nothing was going to go wrong on this trip but I still had that dreaded JAT flight from London to Belgrade...

Walking into Heathrow in 2006 was a night-mare. Terminal 5 was being constructed for British Airways' exclusive use and the entire airport was in disarray. It looked like a construction zone everywhere. Security was as intense as I imagined it was in New York following 9/11. I was afraid that my bag might not have been transferred to the JAT flight and as the security line took longer and longer I was afraid that I wouldn't be transferred either.

All around me people were screaming and yelling at security guards because they were missing their flights. We were crammed into what appeared to be some sort of corrugated metal warehouse in conditions that reminded me of a mosh-pit at a rock show. After about two hours in line, and with only about 25 minutes to spare I finally pushed my way through security and out into a room that had no JAT check-in line. Thankfully only a few people were in the room and I was instructed to speak to the Alitalia Airways desk - they handled JAT's flights in Heathrow. It was at this desk that I met two people that I would end up spending the next 13 hours with, Jakob and Amy.

Together we navigated the labyrinthine international departure construction zone eventually finding our gate with moments to spare. Or so we thought. Once checked-in and surrounded by Serbs an announcement was made that, due to a "technical difficulty" our plane would be delayed at least 45 minutes. Groaning for the various people who would be waiting for us at the Belgrade airport we awaited further notice that the plane would be delayed not 45 minutes but until 6pm. I pulled out my travel clock. 1:34pm. We'd be five hours late and I had already been up for 24 hours.

JAT handed out £6 food coupons which amounted to very little money in the Heathrow airport. I found a sandwich shop but was more excited about the fact that they sold Apple Tango. Tango Apple is a delightful apple-flavored soda that I hadn't had the opportunity to drink since 1999 while on a trip with my father in the UK.

After eating I "entertained" myself by trying to find some way to email Mateja, who would be picking me up in Belgrade.

At this point I feel it prudent to take a minute with which to tell a story about Mateja: In the spring of 2005 I spent three months touring around Eastern Europe researching the effects that the wars of the 1990s had wreaked on ethnic relations in former Yugoslavia. My primary contact on this trip was Mateja and he couldn't have been more helpful. I owe him big for everything he did but most of all for what I'm about to explain. On May 2 my traveling companions and I made the trek from Ohrid, Macedonia to to Nis, Serbia (Mateja's home town). We couldn't get an exact report from the bus station as to how long the trip would take but some people at the bus station told us that we should be arriving no later than 11pm. I called Mateja and made arrangements with him to meet us at the bus station. Unfortunately, we didn't show up until 3am but like the good friend he is there Mateja was sitting patiently in the bus station. He drove us to the hotel and didn't say another word about how late we were. The next day while speaking with Mateja's brother Andreja I was informed that it had been Mateja's birthday... I felt like a jerk.

This was the story that was on my mind as I realized my London-Belgrade flight, which was supposed to be a leisurely afternoon affair, was quickly turning into another late-night arrival. I found a coin-operated internet terminal for which Jakob lent me £1. When I checked my email I found a confused email from Mateja. I sent him an email letting him know that the flight was going to be somewhat late and that maybe he could call the airport for updates and to NOT go wait for me there yet.

After some chatting with Jakob and Amy the supposed hour of departure was getting near. A man wearing a JAT uniform approached the huddled group of hopeful passengers to announce that the flight had been delayed again, this time until 10pm. As it turns out the plane we were supposed to use had broken down completely and a new plane was being flown in from Belgrade. I bummed another coin off of Jakob and hit my email frantically searching through messages from 2005 for Mateja's phone number. After a few minutes I located the number and placed a call using my credit card.

"Molem?" (Serbian word meaning something along the lines of "please?" or "may I help you?")
"Mateja! It's David! The flight's been delayed again - this time until 10pm. It looks like I won't be getting in until.... (doing the mental math) 3am..."
"... (pause) Are you sure?" (obviously reflecting on the previous year's late-night arrival)
"I hope so!... Unfortunately."
"I'll see you then."

I did my best to sleep on the concrete floor of the departure "lounge" and finally at nearly 11pm we boarded and were underway. Everybody on the plane let out a cheer when they announced that we had been cleared for take-off.

The flight over continental Europe was impressive in the middle of the night. More so because I was starting to hallucinate from lack of sleep. City after city of twinkling lights in the blackness stretched out as far as the eye could see. I assumed we were over Germany. I slept for about an hour on the plane and was awoken to the sound of the landing gear being brought on-line. We touched down and I disembarked through passport control and into the baggage claim where I found Mateja.

Mateja greeted me saying "Please don't do this to me again. Next time screw JAT - fly British Airways." (one of the reasons why I'm now a British Airways Executive Club member) I expected a punch to the eye or maybe a knee to the groin but he was as pleasant as always. We gathered my bag from the carousel and headed to his Belgrade apartment where I was very happy to finally get a decent amount of rest.