Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Cheerio
I added some videos from our Day at Windsor. I'm not the professional videographer, but you can get the feel of how close we were and how colorful the ceremony was. I was thinking of my Leah when I shot all the footage of the band! Enjoy.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Things You Might Only See in London
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| So many one way streets. These were on the ground at the crosswalks. |
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| This one actually was in Belgium |
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| Bikes on the street you can rent |
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| Signs in the tube station |
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| Tooting Station Seemed a Funny Name for a Destination |
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| Signs on the buses |
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| Eggs on the shelf and not in the refrigerated case. Brenda couldn't believe this one! |
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| I thought this seat was pretty comfy! |
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| And they don't close the room down when they're working. You just do your thing while they work! |
Dorothy Was Right: There's No Place Like Home
After waiting for quite some time on the curb outside the Chicago O’Hare Airport Terminal 5, the International Terminal, our Shuttle Bus for the Hyatt Regency arrived. There were several people whose planes were delayed and were being treated to this luxurious hotel by American Airlines. (It does seem kind of funny considering they are in bankruptcy, but maybe they get a good rate?) We went into the hotel, up the elevator, and got in line again, this time to check in. We asked for two rooms next to each other, and after they took our vouchers and our credit card info, we went up to the sixth floor to our rooms.
I wanted to take a shower and Brenda wanted to phone home so after about an hour we went down to the hotel restaurant and had supper with our voucher. We each had a salad and drank lots of water. We were feeling the affects of a long day by now.
We’re not quite in agreement as to when the next event happened, cuz everything seems to run together, but this hotel has beautiful glass elevators, and at some point we got on the elevator to go down to the first floor (also called LL). Brenda is sure we had our suitcase, but I don’t see that in my mind’s picture. Again, it was a very long day. We got on the elevator and I pushed what I thought was 1 for first floor, but actually we realized later it was the button to close the door. There’s a vertical line in the middle which I thought it was a “1.”
As I’m pushing the “1,” the elevator alarm starts going off really, really loud, and then the elevator starts going up! I’m like “OMG there’s a fire alarm and they’re taking all the elevators to the top floor and we’re going to have to get off on the roof and be helicoptered away!” I might have been a little overdramatic in my mind. But all I said was “Wha..? wha...? That noise....Why are we going up?” Then Brenda, who had been leaning her backside against the wall on the other side of the elevator, straightened up, and the horrible clanging alarm noise stopped. She had been leaning on the alarm! And since I hadn’t really pushed any floor, the elevator had been “called” to another floor by some hotel guests, so as the door opened to let them on, we started laughing hysterically, I mean uncontrollably, especially Brenda. She is so much fun when she laughs, but those guests must have thought we were bonkers! (Maybe you had to be there.)
We finally did get down to the lower level and after we checked out the little restaurant where we could use our breakfast vouchers in the morning, we both headed for bed. These rooms were really gorgeous. Two double beds, a table, a nice chair, big TV, little tiny balcony, too bad we were only staying a few hours. We had to get up at 4 in order to catch the shuttle at 5 to get back to the airport. They had a I-pod dock type alarm clock that I set for 4, but when it started going off in the morning, I couldn’t get it to shut off. I pushed every button on that thing, till finally I buried it under about 10 pillows and left it to itself. Brenda had asked me to be her wake-up at call at 4 a.m. which agreed to. However at 4 a.m., I was frantically trying to shut off the alarm and bury it under the pillows, so at 4:05 a.m., she called me. I think she wondered if I had forgotten her!
We arrived at Chicago airport by maybe 5:30 a.m. and then we sat down near the baggage claim and ate our breakfast. Our plane wasn’t due to leave till 7:35 a.m. After we were done eating, we went through security. So we left London at 9:00 a.m. (3:00 a.m. Chicago time) on Saturday. Now it’s 6:00 a.m. Chicago time; we’ve slept some, but not a lot. We’re a little loopy and a little tired of the airport drill. It’s time to go to security again. Again another long line, this time we’re back in America, take off your shoes, take off your coat, put your own tubs on the conveyor, push them through yourself.
There were a couple of other ladies, a few years older than us, in front of us in the security line. The security agent, who was actually being nice, told the one of the ladies, who had a full water bottle in a pocket in her backpack, “Ma’am, you can’t bring that water bottle through security.” She’s like, “Just TAKE IT OUT!” He says, “Ma’am, I can’t really....” She says, “I’ve been in airports for TWO DAYS and I’m about brain dead, just TAKE IT OUT.” He obliged. I didn’t think I was brain dead, but I was about to be proven wrong.
After making it successfully through security and getting re-dressed, we walked to our gate, quite a distance away. We were going to Dayton on American Eagle, a smaller plane. Brenda asked me what gate, and I said G1A. So we found it and we sat down. It was a little after 6, we were way early. I paid for Skype internet on my computer and we started working on the blog, finishing up the entry about our Belgium day.
After we had been working for a while, I heard them paging, “Alberti, please come to the counter.” My son-in-law is Matthew Alberti, and I thought, “Wow, wouldn’t that be cool if he is traveling through Chicago at the same time we are.” After I heard them page him a couple times, “Alberti” and someone else named “Mulan,” I told Brenda, “I think Matthew’s here.” They were paging from the gate across the aisle from us, G2A. Brenda said, “I think I’ll go ask what name they’re paging and see if it’s him.”
In the meantime, I thought I better go use the ladies room. So I left my bags with Brenda and went to use the facilities. While I was in there, I looked at my watch and it was 7:25. I thought, “Gee that’s weird, shouldn’t we be boarding by now?” Hmmm. So when I came out of the ladies room, I walked over to gate G1A and asked them if the Dayton plane was late. They said, “We don’t have any plane from Dayton leaving from here.” I’m like “Whaaa...?” I looked over to tell Brenda, and Brenda was gone and so were all our bags. Now I’m so confused, have I walked back to the wrong gate? Did I misjudge how far from the ladies room we were?
Then I hear, “Laura, Laura, Laura!!” At the gate across the aisle, Brenda was calling me from Gate G2A. Around this time the people at Gate G1A yelled at me, "You’re at the wrong gate; that’s your gate." Brenda said she watched me come from the bathroom, stop at the G1A counter, look for our bags, stop, spin around, start to walk back to the bathroom, stop, spin around again and walk back to our seats in total befuddlement. What was going on?
That’s when I heard her calling me. She had looked up at the gate across the aisle and saw “Dayton” at Gate G2A. Turns out they weren’t saying “Alberti” and “Mulan,” they had been saying “Lombardi” and “Mullins” for the last half hour. The woman who was paging had a very thick French accent! (Matthew was not in the airport.)
When Brenda walked over there the gate agent (not very nicely) asked Brenda “WHERE WERE YOU? WE’VE BEEN CALLING YOU!!”
Brenda: “Right over there.”
Agent: “DIDN’T YOU HEAR US CALLING YOU???”
Brenda: “No.”
As I walked up, I gathered my bags, we got out our boarding passes and they had to re-open the door to the plane which had already been closed. But we got on. That was so weird. I have never had that happen before. I guess we were just tired or too overconfident cuz we had gotten there so early, or just very, very involved in chronicling our time in Belgium on the blog, but we never once rechecked our tickets, looked at the gate, or anything. But our God had us in His hands that time, covering for His girls!
When we got on the plane, I told the flight attendant, “I’m so sorry.” She said, “Oh don’t worry about it. Do you know how many times I’ve almost missed my plane? It happens.” She was much more understanding. Her name was Brenda!
When I got in my little seat on the Embraer jet, the same size jet we had when we left Dayton a week previous, it seemed bigger with more leg room. I think what really happened is that I learned how to travel better. I put away the pillow, the ear phones, the Kindle, the Netbook, the backpack, the purse, the MP3 player, the coat—all of it in the overhead bin. So it was just me and the seat, and I fell asleep. We woke up when the drinks cart came through, and both of us had guess what? Hot tea.
When we got to Dayton, the maintenance crew was working on something and weren’t there to bring our gate bridge, so we had to sit on the plane for awhile. Brenda called Tom who was in the waiting area to say, “We’re here, we’re really here.” Finally we got to our gate, we made one last airport bathroom stop, and we headed out to meet Tom who had so lovingly come to pick us up.
Soon we were back home and in full swing at Headquarters.
God blessed us with a wonderful trip, great accommodations, a life time of memories, lots of learning, and much laughter. Brenda is a tremendous traveling companion and we did really well, but there’s always lots of communication required in a situation like that. We worked hard to keep things clear between us and make sure the other was blessed.
One thing I forgot to say, when we were leaving Dayton airport and were walking toward the baggage claim, on the other side of the aisle, going the opposite direction —toward the departure gates were 4 women, talking away, “OK, the bed and breakfast is the first stop and when we get there we can....” Brenda kind of stops, turns her head to look at them and said, “Laura! There are FOUR of them!!!” [What she was saying was “Imagine the communication required to keep things clear with FOUR people.”] Have fun, ladies!
Friday, November 2, 2012
Goodbye, Luv
It's Saturday morning, October 27, our last morning in the flat. We got ourselves packed, ate some breakfast, cleaned out the frig, and waited for Ted Phillips to pick us up for our return trip to the airport. We said a prayer before we left for all to go well on our return trip and thanking God for the immense privilege we’d had to be in London, to enjoy so much together, to meet the awesome believers, and to have a God who provides for us so immensely.
This is where we worked on our blog at night.
We were right near this Royal Hospital.
Ted was on time as we’d expected. The first thing he said after he greeted us was “Do you want a photo?” That’s so sweet considering what my request for a photo one week previous had led to.
He also told us about a hurricane named Sandy that was causing problems in the U.S. and how at least one of his customers had to rearrange her travel arrangements. But it wasn’t due till Monday, so we were good. (We hadn’t watched TV news during our trip, so were kind of behind on the news at home.) As Ted drove us to the airport he pointed out several sites—which he reminded us we would have heard more about if we had taken his four-hour tour. (Smile) It probably would have been worth it; maybe next time. He showed how several of the homeowners were going “down” in their homes, building basements. I found this story on the NY Times about it. (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/01/world/europe/01london.html?pagewanted=all)
He also showed us a home a few steps from where we had been staying where Vivien Leigh and Sir Laurence Oliver lived for 22 years! It’s at 4 Christchurch Street, London.
We talked and talked on the way to the airport. Ted told us that in London you have to go to school for two years to be certified as a tour guide, and he showed us his photo credential as a certified tour guide. He did say that much of what they were taught in school is not what tourists are really interested in, so he does a lot of his own research.
When we arrived at Heathrow and were parked, he asked what airport we were flying through. We told him O’Hare. He said do you know who O’Hare is named after? We said, “No.” Interesting how some non Americans know more than some Americans about parts of our own history. This is basically what he told us (with a little assist from the Internet):
Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that he would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship, so he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw a squadron of Japanese bombers were speeding their way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor, could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.
Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibers blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had destroyed five enemy bombers. That was on February 20, 1942, and for that action he became the Navy’s first Ace of WWII and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later he was killed in aerial combat (from friendly fire) at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of that heroic action to die. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man. O’Hare has a memorial with his statue and Medal of Honor. It is located between terminal 1 and 2. (We did not see this.)
Story number two:
Some years earlier in Chicago, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. A man named Easy Eddie was Capone’s lawyer. His skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddy had a son that he loved dearly. Eddy saw to it that his young son had the best of everything; clothes, cars, and a good education. Despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach his son right from wrong. One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Scar-face Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he would ever pay.
What do these two stories have to do with one another? Well, you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.
Amazing. We got out of the car, took some more photos and were on our way into Heathrow, a very organized airport.
First we checked our bags. Fairly painless. We were
pretty early. We got there about 9:45 a.m. and our plane wasn’t
scheduled to leave till 12:50 p.m.
Then we walked a ways to go through security. At the entrance to security there is a long “Prepare for Security” counter set up with an area that you can go through your carry on and pull out your liquids and put things in a baggie or toss the things that aren’t allowed through. Very helpful and organized. We didn’t utilize it, because I guess we didn’t think we had any liquids in our carryons. But as we passed to the next stage, where the bags go through the scanners, we were each asked to step aside with a TSA-like person. We were escorted over to another long table to a different agent, who opened our bags and found a few miscellaneous liquids that needed to be bagged up. I’m like. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I don’t think I even realized these little shampoos and stuff weren’t in a bag.” The woman agent said, “Oh that’s OK luv, easy to fix.” She bagged them all up, put everything back in my bag, zipped it up, and I was on my way. On the way she said, “Goodbye, luv!” Now that’s some civility! Brenda got her bag checked too except she got a man who was a little more stern and didn’t repack her bag for her. But we were now on our way.
First we found the toilet (free!). This reminds me that Patrick told us a story about his first time to America when he was looking for a toilet (which is how they are labeled in Belgium and other parts of Europe too I think.) He kept walking around the U.S. airport looking for a toilet but all he saw were these signs telling him about rooms where he could go and rest. He didn’t need to rest; he needed a toilet. Finally, he found a kind soul who told him that our “rest room” equaled their “toilet.” Communication!
Since we were checked in at least an hour ahead of our flight and our flight had not yet been assigned a gate, we next found a restaurant which served afternoon tea all day. We were seated and for the last time in London ordered scones and clotted cream, this time preparing it the British way with the jam first, then the clotted cream on top.
There was a monitor in the restaurant where we could check our flight status, but it kept showing “on hold.” Finally we saw it was delayed from 12:50p to 1:30p so we sat in our comfortable restaurant sipping tea a bit longer. Again, our server was in no hurry to bring us our check. There was no being rushed out of our seats, no feeling like we were bothering them, but were left alone to sit and visit. It was very interesting. Now I can say that this was a pattern in London, not a one-time fluke.
Eventually our flight was given a gate number, and we made our way to the gate.
Signs in Heathrow as we're on the conveyer belt heading toward gate. When we got there, there was a long, long line, just to check in for the flight and get to enter the lounge which was exclusive to our gate. We were told the equipment (plane) had arrived late from the U.S. so they needed to service it and clean it before we could get on.
We weren’t in the lounge for very long though when we were called to board our 777. On this plane there were five seats in the middle section and 2 seats on each of the outer rows. We had two seats on the right side of the plane (as when we came over), but this plane seemed roomier. (According to Seat Guru.com these seats had 32" of pitch, leg room. Also each seat had an individual TV monitor with an on Demand-like system where several movies are played on a series of continuous loops and a remote.
I was going to title this entry “An inch and a remote make all the difference.” It was definitely more comfortable. There was a large menu of movies and TV shows that you could watch. I watched The Odd Life of Timothy Green, People Like Us, and The Dark Knight Rises. Right in the middle of Dark Knight Rises, my TV started flipping out, off/on, off/on, off/on. I told the flight attendants and they reset it. But it took an hour for it to start working again and when I tried to watch the movie it started at the beginning again. So I have to find out how that one ended.
Then I started to watch People Like Us and it too flipped out in the middle and so Brenda told me the ending of that one. Brenda watched the Timothy Green movie, and some TV shows. We also had a flight tracker where we could follow the flight of the path. All in all, it was a smooth flight, comfortable, and seemed quicker than the 8 hours it was. Before we landed, we filled out customs declarations cards. Right on there, it asks if you are bringing fruit into the U.S., but somehow we didn’t think those apples in our carry ons that came from our Tesco grocery store really counted. (Don’t ask me why we thought that.) So on our custom declaration cards we said we had no fruit. There was some kind of statement on the card about if you had been staying on a farm or out in the country at a bed and breakfast, so I think we thought that because we had bought them in the city, it was OK.
When we arrived in Chicago, it was about 4:15 p.m., and our connecting flight—in a totally different concourse—was leaving at 5:15 p.m. I was envisioning us making the same mad dash we had made in the Brussels train station, but we learned that we would have to go through passport control, then pick up our luggage, then go through customs, then recheck our luggage and then make the mad dash. Hmm, not looking too feasible.
Evidently American Airlines had already figured that out, because when we got off the plane in Chicago, at the end of the ramp, there was a table set up for all the folks who had close connections. We saw our names, picked up our folders, and saw we had been re-booked on a flight to Dayton the following morning. We had a voucher for a night’s stay at the Hyatt Regency O’Hare and a dinner voucher and a breakfast voucher. OK, so now we began our adventure through O’Hare.
We first walked to passport control, a long, long, winding line. While in that line, a U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent with a contraband-sniffing beagle that could sniff out fruit (no lie) came walking through. Brenda saw the woman agent holding a bag of confiscated fruit in one hand and the beagle’s leash in another, and she was like, I’m opening my bag and getting out my apple. In the meantime, the beagle walked right up to Brenda’s bag and sniffed her out! Still, no light came on in my head that I might want to pull out my apples. (Part of my mind was saying, maybe you didn’t really pack those apples, maybe you threw them out this morning in the flat. And I was not inclined to start emptying everything out of both bags to search for a frickin’ apple in that long, long line.) My logic: the dog didn’t sniff me out, so I must be fine.
We got through passport control, basically the U.S. border. Then we went to the baggage claim to pick up our bags. I have a little pink bandana tied around the handle of my suitcase so I can always recognize it when it comes off the plane. I saw my pink bandana coming around the carousel, moving rather quickly. My suitcase was leaning on top of another suitcase, so I grabbed my handle, but it kind of pulled me forward and I got tangled up. Somehow I never thought of just LETTING GO of the handle, so it pulled me down onto the floor. Then I let go. I kind of just sat down. I was not hurt, but extremely embarrassed. The airline employee man who weighed about 110 pound soaking wet came over to help me up, but I’m like, “No, I got this.” I was NOT going to bring him down on top of me. So I made it back up, looking behind me for those CC TV cameras, but oh yeah, we’re in the U.S.A. now. Brenda got my bag for me, and we walked to the next step which was customs.
After the fruit-sniffing beagle had found the apple in Brenda’s bag, the customs agent put a mark of some type on Brenda’s custom declaration card. So when she went through customs, she was apparently identified to be sent to a special line. Since we were traveling together, the agent said to me, “You can go with her.” We walked down to another scanner and put our bags through. Brenda’s went through fine (her apple having been previously confiscated), but my carry-on showed TWO APPLES. The agent said “You have TWO APPLES in here.”
I lamely replied “I do?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“I couldn’t quite remember.”
“You couldn’t REMEMBER!!!!!!!?” (Seriously?)
So he opened my bag, took the apples out, gave my passport to another agent who entered my name into the computer. I suppose now I’m marked forever as a FRUIT SMUGGLER! But we got to go through. When I got home, I looked up some things on the internet and found out I could have been fined or even ARRESTED. That was really, really dumb, Laura. Oh my God, I am heartily sorry. I will never do that again! (For those of you who are not ex-RCs, that’s the start of the Act of Contrition.)
Well, once we got through that, we were officially in the U.S.A., Chicago to be precise and went outside to the curb to wait for our shuttle to the Hyatt Regency O’Hare. And that’s for the next post.
Below are some photos of our beautiful flat.
This is where we worked on our blog at night.
Ted was on time as we’d expected. The first thing he said after he greeted us was “Do you want a photo?” That’s so sweet considering what my request for a photo one week previous had led to.
He also showed us a home a few steps from where we had been staying where Vivien Leigh and Sir Laurence Oliver lived for 22 years! It’s at 4 Christchurch Street, London.
We talked and talked on the way to the airport. Ted told us that in London you have to go to school for two years to be certified as a tour guide, and he showed us his photo credential as a certified tour guide. He did say that much of what they were taught in school is not what tourists are really interested in, so he does a lot of his own research.
When we arrived at Heathrow and were parked, he asked what airport we were flying through. We told him O’Hare. He said do you know who O’Hare is named after? We said, “No.” Interesting how some non Americans know more than some Americans about parts of our own history. This is basically what he told us (with a little assist from the Internet):
Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that he would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship, so he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw a squadron of Japanese bombers were speeding their way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor, could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.
Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibers blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until finally all his ammunition was spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to at least clip off a wing or tail, in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. He was desperate to do anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had destroyed five enemy bombers. That was on February 20, 1942, and for that action he became the Navy’s first Ace of WWII and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later he was killed in aerial combat (from friendly fire) at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of that heroic action to die. And today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man. O’Hare has a memorial with his statue and Medal of Honor. It is located between terminal 1 and 2. (We did not see this.)
Story number two:
Some years earlier in Chicago, Al Capone virtually owned the city. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. A man named Easy Eddie was Capone’s lawyer. His skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddy had a son that he loved dearly. Eddy saw to it that his young son had the best of everything; clothes, cars, and a good education. Despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach his son right from wrong. One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Offering his son a good name was far more important than all the riches he could lavish on him. He had to rectify all the wrong that he had done. He would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Scar-face Al Capone. He would try to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this he must testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. But more than anything, he wanted to be an example to his son. He wanted to do his best to make restoration and hopefully have a good name to leave his son. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. He had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he would ever pay.
What do these two stories have to do with one another? Well, you see, Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.
Amazing. We got out of the car, took some more photos and were on our way into Heathrow, a very organized airport.
Then we walked a ways to go through security. At the entrance to security there is a long “Prepare for Security” counter set up with an area that you can go through your carry on and pull out your liquids and put things in a baggie or toss the things that aren’t allowed through. Very helpful and organized. We didn’t utilize it, because I guess we didn’t think we had any liquids in our carryons. But as we passed to the next stage, where the bags go through the scanners, we were each asked to step aside with a TSA-like person. We were escorted over to another long table to a different agent, who opened our bags and found a few miscellaneous liquids that needed to be bagged up. I’m like. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I don’t think I even realized these little shampoos and stuff weren’t in a bag.” The woman agent said, “Oh that’s OK luv, easy to fix.” She bagged them all up, put everything back in my bag, zipped it up, and I was on my way. On the way she said, “Goodbye, luv!” Now that’s some civility! Brenda got her bag checked too except she got a man who was a little more stern and didn’t repack her bag for her. But we were now on our way.
First we found the toilet (free!). This reminds me that Patrick told us a story about his first time to America when he was looking for a toilet (which is how they are labeled in Belgium and other parts of Europe too I think.) He kept walking around the U.S. airport looking for a toilet but all he saw were these signs telling him about rooms where he could go and rest. He didn’t need to rest; he needed a toilet. Finally, he found a kind soul who told him that our “rest room” equaled their “toilet.” Communication!
Since we were checked in at least an hour ahead of our flight and our flight had not yet been assigned a gate, we next found a restaurant which served afternoon tea all day. We were seated and for the last time in London ordered scones and clotted cream, this time preparing it the British way with the jam first, then the clotted cream on top.
There was a monitor in the restaurant where we could check our flight status, but it kept showing “on hold.” Finally we saw it was delayed from 12:50p to 1:30p so we sat in our comfortable restaurant sipping tea a bit longer. Again, our server was in no hurry to bring us our check. There was no being rushed out of our seats, no feeling like we were bothering them, but were left alone to sit and visit. It was very interesting. Now I can say that this was a pattern in London, not a one-time fluke.
Eventually our flight was given a gate number, and we made our way to the gate.
Signs in Heathrow as we're on the conveyer belt heading toward gate. When we got there, there was a long, long line, just to check in for the flight and get to enter the lounge which was exclusive to our gate. We were told the equipment (plane) had arrived late from the U.S. so they needed to service it and clean it before we could get on.
We weren’t in the lounge for very long though when we were called to board our 777. On this plane there were five seats in the middle section and 2 seats on each of the outer rows. We had two seats on the right side of the plane (as when we came over), but this plane seemed roomier. (According to Seat Guru.com these seats had 32" of pitch, leg room. Also each seat had an individual TV monitor with an on Demand-like system where several movies are played on a series of continuous loops and a remote.
I was going to title this entry “An inch and a remote make all the difference.” It was definitely more comfortable. There was a large menu of movies and TV shows that you could watch. I watched The Odd Life of Timothy Green, People Like Us, and The Dark Knight Rises. Right in the middle of Dark Knight Rises, my TV started flipping out, off/on, off/on, off/on. I told the flight attendants and they reset it. But it took an hour for it to start working again and when I tried to watch the movie it started at the beginning again. So I have to find out how that one ended.
Then I started to watch People Like Us and it too flipped out in the middle and so Brenda told me the ending of that one. Brenda watched the Timothy Green movie, and some TV shows. We also had a flight tracker where we could follow the flight of the path. All in all, it was a smooth flight, comfortable, and seemed quicker than the 8 hours it was. Before we landed, we filled out customs declarations cards. Right on there, it asks if you are bringing fruit into the U.S., but somehow we didn’t think those apples in our carry ons that came from our Tesco grocery store really counted. (Don’t ask me why we thought that.) So on our custom declaration cards we said we had no fruit. There was some kind of statement on the card about if you had been staying on a farm or out in the country at a bed and breakfast, so I think we thought that because we had bought them in the city, it was OK.
When we arrived in Chicago, it was about 4:15 p.m., and our connecting flight—in a totally different concourse—was leaving at 5:15 p.m. I was envisioning us making the same mad dash we had made in the Brussels train station, but we learned that we would have to go through passport control, then pick up our luggage, then go through customs, then recheck our luggage and then make the mad dash. Hmm, not looking too feasible.
Evidently American Airlines had already figured that out, because when we got off the plane in Chicago, at the end of the ramp, there was a table set up for all the folks who had close connections. We saw our names, picked up our folders, and saw we had been re-booked on a flight to Dayton the following morning. We had a voucher for a night’s stay at the Hyatt Regency O’Hare and a dinner voucher and a breakfast voucher. OK, so now we began our adventure through O’Hare.
We first walked to passport control, a long, long, winding line. While in that line, a U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent with a contraband-sniffing beagle that could sniff out fruit (no lie) came walking through. Brenda saw the woman agent holding a bag of confiscated fruit in one hand and the beagle’s leash in another, and she was like, I’m opening my bag and getting out my apple. In the meantime, the beagle walked right up to Brenda’s bag and sniffed her out! Still, no light came on in my head that I might want to pull out my apples. (Part of my mind was saying, maybe you didn’t really pack those apples, maybe you threw them out this morning in the flat. And I was not inclined to start emptying everything out of both bags to search for a frickin’ apple in that long, long line.) My logic: the dog didn’t sniff me out, so I must be fine.
We got through passport control, basically the U.S. border. Then we went to the baggage claim to pick up our bags. I have a little pink bandana tied around the handle of my suitcase so I can always recognize it when it comes off the plane. I saw my pink bandana coming around the carousel, moving rather quickly. My suitcase was leaning on top of another suitcase, so I grabbed my handle, but it kind of pulled me forward and I got tangled up. Somehow I never thought of just LETTING GO of the handle, so it pulled me down onto the floor. Then I let go. I kind of just sat down. I was not hurt, but extremely embarrassed. The airline employee man who weighed about 110 pound soaking wet came over to help me up, but I’m like, “No, I got this.” I was NOT going to bring him down on top of me. So I made it back up, looking behind me for those CC TV cameras, but oh yeah, we’re in the U.S.A. now. Brenda got my bag for me, and we walked to the next step which was customs.
After the fruit-sniffing beagle had found the apple in Brenda’s bag, the customs agent put a mark of some type on Brenda’s custom declaration card. So when she went through customs, she was apparently identified to be sent to a special line. Since we were traveling together, the agent said to me, “You can go with her.” We walked down to another scanner and put our bags through. Brenda’s went through fine (her apple having been previously confiscated), but my carry-on showed TWO APPLES. The agent said “You have TWO APPLES in here.”
I lamely replied “I do?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“I couldn’t quite remember.”
“You couldn’t REMEMBER!!!!!!!?” (Seriously?)
So he opened my bag, took the apples out, gave my passport to another agent who entered my name into the computer. I suppose now I’m marked forever as a FRUIT SMUGGLER! But we got to go through. When I got home, I looked up some things on the internet and found out I could have been fined or even ARRESTED. That was really, really dumb, Laura. Oh my God, I am heartily sorry. I will never do that again! (For those of you who are not ex-RCs, that’s the start of the Act of Contrition.)
Well, once we got through that, we were officially in the U.S.A., Chicago to be precise and went outside to the curb to wait for our shuttle to the Hyatt Regency O’Hare. And that’s for the next post.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Belgium A Three-Day Tour in a Few Hours and a Lifetime of Memories
Act 28:14:
Where we found brethren, and were desired to tarry with them seven days....
When
a young believer named Patrick from Belgium was at Headquarters for the
Advanced Class in June, he had invited Brenda and I to visit him and
his wife as part of our trip to London. He was enthusiastic about how
simple it was to take the Eurostar train from London to Brussels, and we
decided this was something we would like to do. So before we left Ohio,
we booked our train to Brussels.
Our train would leave St. Pancras train station in London at 6:50 a.m. so we had to get out the door pretty early. By now we were so familiar with the transport that it was fairly straightforward. We got to our 170 bus stop at 4:15 a.m. Brrr. It was cold. At many of the large bus stops, they have electronic signs that tell you how many minutes till your next bus comes. I think they may have something similar in the NY metro area. Our 170 bus stop is a smaller stop, but you can still find out when your bus is coming by texting your bus stop code to a certain number. So I did that when we got to our bus stop and found out it was 20 minutes till our next bus. After that 20 minutes had elapsed, our bus came and we took it to the familiar Victoria Station.
At Victoria Station, we boarded the Victoria line which took us directly to the St. Pancras/Kings Cross tube station. From the tube station, we walked (indoors) to the St. Pancras train station. At the train station, you go through a passport check and a security check. We went through a British passport check as well as a French passport check. We got another stamp in our passport (our first one was at Heathrow when we arrived on Saturday). After leaving security, you enter a big lobby where you wait for the platform number of your train to be posted. We had a little extra time so we went to the currency exchange and bought some euros, since Belgium uses the Euro and we wanted to have a little local currency.
When our platform number was announced, we went up an escalator and saw this long, long train. Our car was #16, so we walked for awhile and found our car and climbed on and got into our seats.
Our train would leave St. Pancras train station in London at 6:50 a.m. so we had to get out the door pretty early. By now we were so familiar with the transport that it was fairly straightforward. We got to our 170 bus stop at 4:15 a.m. Brrr. It was cold. At many of the large bus stops, they have electronic signs that tell you how many minutes till your next bus comes. I think they may have something similar in the NY metro area. Our 170 bus stop is a smaller stop, but you can still find out when your bus is coming by texting your bus stop code to a certain number. So I did that when we got to our bus stop and found out it was 20 minutes till our next bus. After that 20 minutes had elapsed, our bus came and we took it to the familiar Victoria Station.
At Victoria Station, we boarded the Victoria line which took us directly to the St. Pancras/Kings Cross tube station. From the tube station, we walked (indoors) to the St. Pancras train station. At the train station, you go through a passport check and a security check. We went through a British passport check as well as a French passport check. We got another stamp in our passport (our first one was at Heathrow when we arrived on Saturday). After leaving security, you enter a big lobby where you wait for the platform number of your train to be posted. We had a little extra time so we went to the currency exchange and bought some euros, since Belgium uses the Euro and we wanted to have a little local currency.
When our platform number was announced, we went up an escalator and saw this long, long train. Our car was #16, so we walked for awhile and found our car and climbed on and got into our seats.
The seats were very comfortable and even had footrests (American Airlines, take note). The photo is of Brenda’s feet on her footrest. As we got underway, there were live (not recorded) announcements in four languages: English, Dutch, French, and German. Our trip was not on an express train so we made a couple of more stops in England and one in France before we got to Brussels. I think we stopped in Ebbsfleet and Ashford in England and in Calais-Frethun and Lille in France. I had to look that up after our trip as I didn't really know where we were stopping. But every time we picked up new customers those announcements would be made. There was a concessions car on the train and since we hadn’t had breakfast before we left, we made the walk down from Car 16 to Car 13 to buy some coffee and breakfast items.
Approximately 2 hours later, we arrived in Brussels. We navigated our way to the exit and no sooner had we walked through the door than we were met by Mathieu and Patrick.
Mathieu had just visited HQ for the 70th anniversary with his wife Fifi, Patrick’s wife, Julia, Mary-Marthe and her daughter. Mathieu had his camera in hand chronicling our entrance.
Before we left the station, we had to have another public restroom experience. Now the charge for the use of a station was in Euros! A new challenge:
The rain was falling in Brussels, but Patrick and Mathieu had umbrellas in hand for us. We walked to their car covered by their umbrellas and climbed in.
Turns out Mathieu works for the Eurostar. He is one of the folks who makes those announcements in the four languages. He is also an excellent driver. After he and his wife left HQ for the anniversary, they took a road trip to Youngstown, PA, and then up to Montreal before flying home! He lives in (or very near) Brussels and is very familiar with the town. Patrick used to live in Brussels but he and his wife and five children have moved to Waremme which is about 50 minutes away. Before driving to Patrick and Julia’s home for dinner, Mathieu and Patrick took us to several famous Belgian sites. All were very significant to Patrick and he really wanted us to be able to see them and have photos in front of them.
We drove for a bit, found a spot in a parking garage, and then walked up to the Old Stock Exchange of Brussels. We didn’t get a wide enough shot to show you the whole building, but we are standing in front. It’s called The Bourse/Beurs of Brussels
Patrick and Mathieu speak very good English but didn’t always know the precise English equivalent for every Belgian location they were pointing out. Brenda and I speak no French, but from the context, I believe we did a very, very good job of communicating with one another. Believe we are accurately representing what we saw.
The next site we walked to was very near the Bourse, it is called Bruxella 1238. The museum is only open the first Wednesday of every month, so we didn’t get to go through, but we could look at some of it through some windows along the street. From one Web site: “Located on the site of the Recollets Franciscan convent, founded in 1238 but dissolved during the religious wars of the 16th century. Severely damaged during the bombardment of 1695, the convent disappeared at the end of the 18th century. The excavations that uncovered these vestiges began in 1988 and have culminated in the opening of this archaeological site.”
From here, we walked to the Gran Place of Brussels. Patrick told us that every town in Belgium has a gran place (a plaza or town square). From Wikipedia: “The Gran Place or Grote Markt is the central square of Brussels. It is surrounded by guildhalls, the city's Town Hall, and the Breadhouse. The square is the most important tourist destination and most memorable landmark in Brussels. It measures 68 by 110 metres (223 by 360 ft), and it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.”
It is a beautiful and impressive site. Brenda has been very intrigued by the flowers all over London. And now here in Belgium in the middle of the Gran Place were some beautiful bright flowers thriving very late in the season. She was fascinated by these bright flowers, two of the genuses of which were calluna and Erica. It’s heather, bright beautiful colors of heather.
Patrick and Matthieu told us that at times the entire square is covered with flowers. We found some postcards to show us this. It’s so beautiful. Again, here’s Wikipedia’s summary: “Every two years in August, an enormous "flower carpet" is set up in the Grand Place for a few days. A million colorful begonias are set up in patterns, and the display covers a full 24 by 77 meters (79 by 253 ft), for area total of 1,800 square meters (19,000 sq ft). The first flower carpet was made in 1971, and due to its popularity, the tradition continued, with the flower carpet attracting a large number of tourists.”
After taking several photos here we walked down another street where we saw a statue (Everard ’t Serclaes) that many people walk by and touch for its healing properties. (Matthieu said, “I don’t believe it!”) We did see many people walk by and touch it.
We also stopped to see another famous Brussels statue called the Manneken-Pis. It is a small bronze fountain sculpture depicting a naked little boy urinating into the fountain's basin. It was designed by Hiëronymus Duquesnoy the Elder and put in place in 1618 or 1619. There are several legends about the statue, but the one Patrick shared with us is that this statue represents a young boy who was awoken by a fire and was able to put out the fire with his urine, in the end this helped stop the king's castle from burning down.
We
continued to walk down the street where we stopped to buy some
souvenirs and to have a delicious Belgian waffle and to buy chocolates
to bring home. Right about this point, my camera decided to die again, and this time, I am not kidding, it told me that my battery was exhausted "in French." I really do NOT know how that happened! Matthieu was so smart in that he put my digital card into his camera so that I would have all the pictures when I got home. Then he sent me any photos he had taken with his card. What a collaboration!
Next we walked back to the car park, retrieved the car, and drove to the Royal Palace of Brussels, the official palace of the King of the Belgians in the center of the nation's capital Brussels. It is not used as a royal residence, as the king and his family live in the Royal Castle of Laeken on the outskirts of Brussels. We parked and took some more photos. You can see their own guard outside their palace.
Julia met us at their beautiful home and offered us drinks and fellowship.
Patrick and Julia have five sons: Théodore
(8), Gabriel (6), Timéo (4), Joël (turns 2 on 11/5), and Micaël (6
months). The three oldest were at school, so Patrick went to pick them
up. When he returned, Théodore, Gabriel, and Timéo came into the room
and introduced themselves to us, welcomed us, and hugged us. They were
very, very sweet young boys, kind and polite. Brenda really enjoyed
holding the baby, Micaël.Their home is lovely. On the big screen TV the Anniversary Sunday DVD was playing.
Again, how at home we felt so many miles away. After visiting for some time, the adults all sat down at their dining room table to enjoy a feast prepared by Julia! We have pictures of it, not sure I can remember what everything was: there was rice, beans, plantain, sausage, meatballs, meat, fish, greens (similar to collard greens?), an African dish, some green beans wrapped in little bundles with bacon , and more. We certainly enjoyed our breaking bread.
After we ate, the children sang a French song for us (Rollaway in French). We had dessert (apricot pie), exchanged gifts. We brought them GIve and Share booklets, wristbands, and magnets, toys for the boys, and Ohio chocolates--Buckeyes.
Then they gave us gifts --- more Belgium sweets!
We left Patrick’s home at 5 p.m.—Mathieu driving with Mary-Marthe and Patrick joining us.
Patrick had really wanted us to see one more monument, the Atonium, but Mathieu suggested we would need to skip that in order to get us to the train station on time. Wise decision. With his excellent driving and his knowledge of the streets of Brussels to avoid traffic jams, we arrived at the station by 6:30 p.m. He said he knew the streets like the "inside of his pocket."
They all came inside with us and walked us all the way to passport control. Mathieu’s wife, Fifi, had come to the station to see us for just those few moments. She is a nurse and had been working that day, therefore unable to join us for the meal. So for just those few moments as we were hustling to the passport control, we hugged and said “I love you, goodbye, thank you, I love you, thank you, au revoir” many times.
(Patrick then took the tube train back to his home 50 minutes away.) We then went through passport control (long line), French customs, security, up the escalators to the platform, and got on our train with about 5 minutes to spare. Brenda and I never doubted that they would get us there on time and God had us in His hands. But that was a trip!
We were on Car #3 on the way back. This train only had one stop so seemed to get us back faster. Brenda got a good nap!!!! I think we went back through Passport control again in St. Pancras (it kind of all runs together), then walked to the tube station, took the Victoria line, used the 30 pence ladies room in Victoria Station for the last time, took the 170 bus for the last time, and went to Tesco’s for the last time. We came home and packed and then tried to get to bed for a good night’s sleep for a day of travel on Saturday.
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