Sometimes I guess God throws things on our path to make us pause, and become gratefully mindful for things that those of us who are healthy often take for granted: legs that support us when we walk, for example, or feet that function they way feet should, or heathy eyes and ears. Super, super important pieces of the puzzle that can fundamentally altar life when any one of them is askew.
We woke up early, finished packing, and hobbled down the hall to the elevator. After getting her settled in the lobby I fetched coffee and breakfast. A very nice cab driver named Alberto came to pick us up in his comfortable Mercedes station wagon.
We were flying out of the Milan airport that is located in Bergamo, about 60km outside of Milan. Milan has 3 airports, future travelers. I was pleased to fly out of this airport bc Bergamo is Gvegas’ sister city! I have long wondered what this Italian city of Bergamo is like, and now I know. It is actually not far from Turin, the location of the 2006 winter Olympics, and the snow capped mountains in the distance made for a nice view. Now, when I sit in Piazza Bergamo Gville, I will think of this place.
We checked in at the Carpatair desk. Thankfully we had not taken much luggage with us to Italy, only 2 duffle bags on wheels. They were so responsive to our requests for assistance. They provided a wheelchair at the check-in desk and a man stayed with us, walking our stuff through security, taking care of customs issues with us, etc. He did everything and we didn't have to wait in any lines. The process was so smooth, and I thought about how this airport must be accustomed to this, being so close to the ski resort of Turin. I would guess a lot of skiers pass through here with leg injuries. I was so grateful to them for the way they helped cater to Mom but aso bc they allowed me to stay with her and forgo the usual airport business as well. The nice man even brought us candy at one point.
The airport had an electronic lift. We rolled the wheelchair onto it, drove to the back of one plane, the apparatus was raised to connect to the plane's door, and on came a man in a wheelchair. Then they took us to our plane, and did the same thing. We were able to roll the wheelchair onto the plane. The airlines had changed our seats and so we were right up front. These people had thought of everything.
When I tried to give the sweet, helpful man a tip, he wouldn't take it, saying this was his job and they weren't allowed to take tips.
Here we are, with the nice man rolling Mom onto the electronic lift.
The flight was fine but I certainly wondered if the airport in Romania would have similar accommodations.
They didn't but the people in the Timisoara, Romania airport were equally as nice and helpful. This time we had a younger man in charge of us who spoke English, but still referred to the Pope as Papa, which I adored, and specializes in martial arts. He was a strong one, and before we left, I saw why strength was requisite for his job.
The airport did not have an electronic lift, at least not for the litte plane we were on, so they took us out on the tarmac in a little van, just us, and then put her in a seat that 2 men lifted onto the plane. Wheelchairs don't fit onto the little planes. Certainly one doesn't need to be crazy strong to lift my little Mom, but I imagine that other people might demand more exertion.
You can see martial arts man lifting her out of the weelchair onto the small chair lift
...and here they are carrying the chair onto the plane.
Throughout this whole ordeal, I became grateful to the first President Bush and to that Congress for passing the Americans with Disabilities Act, requiring accommodations for those with challenges. I didn't realize how important all this becomes until I needed to take advantage of it.Good for them. I once read where the first Pres Bush said that the ADA was the achievement of which he was most proud from his time in office.
So I went from feeling so grateful that other countries have similar accommodations to feeling so frustrated in a country that has extraordinarily little accommodations. Either way, the necessity of such was impressed upon me, and I hope to always remain sensitive to those who disabilities mandate the use of these accommodations.
On the fight, I got the usual quizzical responses when, upon being a why we were going to Chernivtsi (a place unfrequented by Americans...haven't met a single one during my 4 months here) I explained that I'm living in Chernivtsi for the spring. I often experienced a raised eyebrow, sometimes a smile, sometimes horror, and sometimes an incredulous, "Why?"
I get it and don't get it. I have really enjoyed aspects of my time here, but I understand that what I'm doing is unusual, and is a serious stretch for most Americans.
The approach into Chernivtsi was pretty. We flew over the snow-capped mountains and could see a lot of green the closer we came to Chernivtsi. When we landed in Chernivtsi, I wondered what would happen. I guessed we would have another chair like the one we had in Romania. Two men came onto the plane and the fight attendant spoke with them. I didn't understand what was going on and before I knew it one bent down and was about to physically move Mom's knee himself while the other one was about to lift her. She looked scared, and I woud have been too. I was, actually. So, I said "ni" about 15 times in rapid succession until they stopped. Mom opted to get herself out of the seat, hobble down the aisle and down the plane steps into the waiting wheelchair.
Then a nurse insisted we go to hospital. We didn't think this a good idea, so we repeatedly declined. Alicia, the transportation safety woman at the airport, recognized us from the week before. She speaks English, was so helpful, and even gave me her cell phone number. She translated.
We had some extra help there as well, with customs. I laughed on the plane: the letter B in our alphabet is similar to Cyrillic letter D. The customs forms read: date of dirth and signature of dearer. Ha!
The cab driver was so helpful. He motioned to see if Mom wanted him to carry her 3 flights of steps to my apartment. She preferred to slide up backwards, so he carried most of the luggage. When he saw her he was worried about the back of her coat getting dirty, which it did (have I mentioned that hallways in apt buildings in Ukraine tend to be dusty and smelly?).
Wen we finally go tinto the apartmentwe were both SO relieved. We decided to make plans day to day, and not yet worry about those tickets to Greece for Friday morning. It was a comfort to know that she wouldn't have to go anywhere if she couldn't, for over a week. We came back on Tuesday and she was leaving to go back to the US 8 days later.
Today renewed my faith in humanity, if it needed it. Most of the people who heped us were so kind, caring, and all but one person was completely unwilling to take any tip (and even then it was after much cajoling). Today was filled with the extra touches, like the flight attendant pulling down Mom’s window shade when she saw her sleeping. Love those Carpatair folks.
After we landed I went to load money onto my phone. I conference called with fellow Fulbrighters, and talked with Dad via Skype and phone. Wondering how Britt and Sandy are enjoying Paris. It is great to have Mom here, bum leg and all.
PS: So you now that we did not make it to Greece. On Thursday, I really wanted Mom to make the call since she was the only one who really knew how her knee felt. I was OK either way. Even when I had made the reservations to go, I didn't have that exuberant rush of endorphins I usually have when planning to go somewhere. The flights we had wanted weren't available, so we had to pick an alternate itinerary at a higher price, which gave us less time in Greece. Plus, I had really gone back and forth with how I felt about going somewhere that second weekend. Part of me wanted to go somewhere I knew she woud like, but part of me wanted her to see what my daily life is like in Chernivtsi. We were able to get a full refund, thanks to US docs. I know Greece scored well on the blog poll, but I don't think its is going to happen this time.
St. Petersburg and Moscow are also going to have to wait. It is a buearocratic nightmare getting a visa to Russia when one lives in a place that doesn't have it's own Russian consulate and one is required by law to carry one's passport at all times. The fact that the closest Russian consulate is between a 6-15 hour train ride away and the postal system here is unreliable (want to mail a package? go to the train station, give it to a train car attendant and tell the recipient of your package what times that train car gets in the next day...fedex, DHL, UPS doesn't happen here) mean that Russia will have to wait. I hope no one has been reading this blog for months now only in anticipation of seeing Lenin's body in his glass tomb!
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