I walked down the halls of Atlanta Hartsfield Airport listening to the thunder and staring at the rain. “No problem,” I thought, “my flight into New York lands 4 hours ahead of my next flight… I can give a few hours.”
Missionaries do things as cheaply as possible. I had constructed my voyage using two separate tickets. My flights to New York and my flights into Niger were not booked with the same airline.
I stepped into the terminal at JFK Airport about 45 minutes past midnight and 50 minutes past the departure time for my flight into Istanbul. All the desks were closed and the mammoth building sat silent. “Problem,” I thought.
(For the record, I got great prices on those tickets.)
At 2 a.m. I stood in the airport train and watched as what seemed to be New York suburbs appear before me. Perhaps I had taken the wrong train. I said to myself, “Self, you should get off as soon as you can and turn around; I hope we don’t get mugged.” In the moment, the first thought that came to mind concerning New York was, “People get mugged here.”
I returned to the airport and found a kiosk with a phone for calling hotels. The fifth call went something like this.
“Hello. I’m a passenger her at the airport. Do you have a room available?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful, do you have a shuttle?”
“Yes, sir, our shuttle runs from 5 a.m. to 11 p.m.”
“So… you don’t have a shuttle.”
“No.”
Fantastic.
I realized then that I would be passing the night in the airport. With my bags piled up before me on a cart which a nice lady had rented and given to me, I circled the empty Turkish Air desk wishing I were somewhere else in bed. A gruff voice pierced my lament. “Hey, you can’t do that.” I looked up to see an angry janitor. “You can’t be walking back and forth like that.” There’s nothing like hitting a guy when he’s down.
I found the nearest seats and set up camp. I glanced around to see if other unfortunate travelers were in the same predicament as I. On the bench to my right sat a lady staring intently into space with a large grin on her face. She appeared simultaneously nice and creepy. On a few benches over lay two young men who seemed to think that they were at a slumber party. Huddled under blankets, they were both zonked out and roaming in sleepy land. Someone could have cracked them in the skull, and they would have never been the wiser. I slumped over onto my luggage and tried to make the best of it.
I nabbed a few hours of sleep and morning came. I was waiting impatiently for the desk to open when something interesting happened. Remember that Pixar short film about the old man who plays chess with himself in the park? Well, scout’s honor, that guy came and sat down beside me. With no visible tooth in his head, he smiled broadly, poked my shoulder, and began speaking to me in Albanian. I returned his vigorous smile with one of my own and nodded knowingly. In case you were wondering, I don’t speak Albanian.
When the airline desk opened, I used my nicest voice to beg for mercy. I knew that Turkish Air had no reason to help me since I had not booked the entire ticket with them. The lady’s initial happy appearance turned grave as she pecked at her computer. Then, her happy visage returned. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” she said. She then rebooked my tickets for a small fee. I was content and made my way upstairs to the McDonald’s for a long-awaited breakfast.
Since flights into Niamey are not daily, I had had two choices. I could have spent another day in New York, or I could leave immediately and spend 36 hours in Istanbul. You know you’re a missionary when you’d rather spend a night in Istanbul than in New York City. But, in fairness, I had never been out of the airport in New York City while I was moderately familiar with the transportation system of Istanbul… and I still didn’t want to get mugged.
I arrived in Istanbul with images of beds running through my mind, but one of my bags was missing. Of course it was. It still baffles me how, in the middle of the biggest airport in Turkey, I could find no desk for Turkish Airlines. I finally found someone but was given a number and directed to use a phone on the wall. My last encounter with a phone was not successful, and I was wary.
I picked up the phone and dialed the prescribed number. Silence. After a few moments, an excited voice answered and exclaimed something in Turkish. I responded in English. The voice happily replied, “Coming!” Apparently, I had telephoned the baggage leprechaun.
I waited. And I waited. I decided that my luck had come to an end and sat down on a rail. Then, a slightly bent and significantly bald man materialized and bustled my way. “Come!” he ordered. I followed the baggage leprechaun and promptly found my missing item.
Aside from a 5-minute, $23 taxi ride, my stay in Istanbul was great. My hotel room came with early check-in, two big breakfasts, and, yes, a shuttle service. I then continued on to Niamey, Niger without incident. I never got mugged.
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