I'm not what you'd call an overprotective mother.
I'm not hyper-vigilent, over-involved.
I'm the one who always thinks that rules don't apply to me; because "bad things don't happen to me".
So, when I began writing on Blunderview about my anxiety over our daughter travelling to Europe, I knew that for people who know me a little bit better, there would be some furrowed brows- Joyce? Worried about her kid flying to Paris with thirty other people? Weird.
Here's the truth that I wasn't willing to share until my kid landed on terra firma in Paris, France on March 28, 2010.
She didn't travel with the group.
She was entirely and utterly alone, at the tender age of fifteen.
Why? You ask? (believe me. It's a question that has caused me great anxiety for weeks now...)
My brother and his family live in Rome. It seemed too perfect. Arianna all the way to France and Germany from little ol' Blunderview- She should stay a little longer and take in Italy with family! My sisters cooked up an idea. They would fly to Munich with our daughter Jane and my niece; where they would tag up with Arianna and then proceed to Rome for another adventure.
So we started the paperwork with EF Tours.
(never. I repeat
never send your kid with EF Tours)
Their glossy pamphlet assured us that extending the trip was "no problem"! so we proceeded with the adventurous plan. We signed a waiver that we understood it might not be possible to place her with her group. I assumed that they would do their utmost, but just needed to cover their legal butts.
We received the itinerary, and the child was no where near her school group. They flew out of Toronto; she flew out of Ottawa. The kid's itinerary was a milk run. Six hours alone in Ottawa. Connecting flight to Frankfurt, Germany. (huge,
huge airport) Two hours in Frankfurt to make a connecting flight to her final destination: Paris, France. Once there, she had instructions to make her way through customs, retrieve her luggage, and look for a) her group from school and/or b) an EF Tour guide named Serena who would be holding up a sign.
We didn't like any of it. Not one little bit. We solicited help from: the school, a local travel agent, my world-travelling sisters. They were all very helpful. We went to the airport in Winnipeg and spoke to the people at Air Canada. They were unable to change the flights themselves, because of the way EF purchases large lots of tickets from them; but they looked into their system and found a better alternative for Arianna. She could fly Wpg to Toronto by herself, then hook up with the group for the rest of the way. They provided us with flight numbers and info and assured us that EF could make the necessary changes.
EF blew smoke up our asses, excuse the French.
They dragged their heels, fed us political jargon, then phoned back three weeks later to say that it was too late for them to make the necessary changes. Besides,
we had signed the waiver.
We all worked on badgering them.
They cared not.
So, we started work on option B: Equipping the kid with every possible tool she might need to get herself to Paris. Every tool. How to read airport signs. How to be street smart. How to navigate an airport. How to ask questions. Arrangements with the airline to get her an escort.
I loaded up her backpack: Tim Hortons card. Tylenol. Muscle relaxants. Cold medication. Snacks. (let's not forget that this is the kid who gets every virus, and has a back injury from her infortunate incident with a car on an icy day)
Meanwhile, Air Canada could not set her up with an escort. For reasons I still don't understand. At this point, cigarettes were sounding like a really healthy idea. (for me silly, not her) So were driving my entire family off the pier. Together.
Two days before her departure she woke up with a fever.
Oh My Gosh.
Took her to the Doctor. Added antibiotics to her backpack regime.
4:45 Am, March 27, drove her to the airport.
She got herself checked in.
Through customs.
Off to Ottawa.
We texted throughout the day. She was safe, confident, not worried.
I relaxed.
Napped intermittently throughout the day.
She last texted us just before boarding for Frankfurt, and then I went to bed.
She should have called us from Frankfurt, but we heard nothing. No big panic, since she said she wouldn't guarantee a phone call. There was less time there, and she had to make another transfer, so we simply waited for the next phone call, which we expected at 3:00 AM from the airport in Paris.
3:00 AM- nothing.
Four.
Five.
Six...
Seven......
Eight.
8:15.
I said- what happened? Are you all right?
She said- heh. I have some stories for you, mom.
(our connection was not perfect, and I don’t fully understand the stuff she said, but I’ll try to reiterate)
Something messed up in Frankfurt, and she said she had to do baggage check all over again. (does she mean that her carry ons had to go through security again, or does she mean that she had to retrieve her suitcase, and go through check-in all over again?) Then she had to change TERMINALS (that is not how we understood it to be) and take a BUS to it. Then she flew to Paris, where she was to go through customs, retrieve her suitcase, and look for her group, and/or an EF tours agent named Serena holding an EF tours sign.
She found neither.
She said something like this:
“A guy kept following me around. He said that he was from EF tours and that he had arranged a cab to take me to my hotel. Nothing he said really added up, and he was really uninformed, he didn’t even know the name of the hotel we were staying at. I ran away from him, I got my own cab, and I went to the hotel by myself.”
She’s never been in a cab.
She’s never arranged for a cab.
She’s never flown.
Never gone through customs.
An hour later, her group came to the hotel.
Twenty-five hours after we left her at the airport, on a wing and a prayer.
I spent the morning intermittently crying.
Proud of my daughter.
Terrified at what might have been.
(flashbacks of another time, many years ago. A voice from a consulate, half a world away. A precious young woman- assaulted. Agony.)
Wanting to be angry at someone. Something.
But full of such wonder. Such gratitude.
Remembering all the prayers of many people.
Mad at EF Tours.
Profoundly proud of my daughter.
Yes, our second born departs on Wednesday. With her aunties who will be with her every step of the way.
And in two weeks, I suspect that the child who went away aged fifteen, will return to us an adult.
I can't wait to see her and hear all about it.
And THAT, my friends, is the real story.
With this lot.
With this lot.
