Home again, home again.

Ask me how my trip back to Serbia was. I dare you.

I knew it would be a long day of travel. We decided it would be best for me to spend a few days with other MCC people in Sarajevo, Bosnia before returning to Belgrade, so I was supposed to fly from Washington DC to London, London to Belgrade, and then Belgrade to Sarajevo (it was cheaper to fly into Belgrade and then to Sarajevo than it was to change my destination from Belgrade to Sarajevo). That is a lot of flying, and with connections on top of it, I knew to expect a lot of movement and perhaps some stress. I did not know to expect the Spanish Inquisition.

My flight from DC into London was a bit late, and I missed my connecting flight by about 45 seconds. The plane wasn't at the gate, the passengers had to take a little bus out to the plane on the runway, and I literally saw it pull away. The people at the desk said it couldn't come back for me, and that I should go to the information desk to sort out how to get to Belgrade. That seemed reasonable enough, so I went to the desk and explained the situation. I asked when the next flight to Belgrade was, and the woman said, "same time tomorrow." This was about 7:30 AM in London, 2:30 AM body time, and I hadn't slept at all on the plane. I was tired and confused and did NOT want to stay overnight in London, so I did something I'm not super proud of. My voice wavered a little bit and my eyes (conveniently!) filled with tears as I explained, "I'm not sure if tomorrow will work... I'm actually traveling for a funeral." Please notice that I didn't lie, per se. I didn't say I was GOING to a funeral, I said I was TRAVELING for one, which I was. The funeral is why I was traveling right then... I just happened to be traveling HOME from it... four weeks later. The woman's face changed, and she said she would "see what she could do." I said thank you, and fought back tears, which were about 50% genuine and 50% to get me on a quicker flight. She was able to get me on a 2:30 PM flight to Belgrade with JAT airlines. She got very serious and said I needed to be quite quick, as I would need to go to another terminal to catch that flight. I said that was fine, and the plan was set.

In Washington or Chicago or New York or ANY OTHER AIRPORT I have EVER been in, going to another terminal involves walking a bit, maybe getting on a little tram or bus, and walking a bit more. At Hethrow, however, going to another terminal involves 4 times zones and requires a sherpa. First, I had to be escorted out of the current terminal BY SECURITY. So that was fun. Then I had to go through immigration, fill out the little card thing, and even got a UK stamp on my passport (which was actually pretty exciting, I'll take all the stamps I can get!). Then I had to go collect my luggage. I should point out now that I had a LOT of luggage. I kept thinking of more and more things at my mom's house that I could use in Serbia, and I was bringing gifts for the other service workers and a few Serbian friends, and I had bought a lot of clothes in the US because I had done such a terrible job packing. As a result, I had two giant 50 pound suitcases, one of which was mostly full of maple syrup. Thankfully my luggage hadn't made it onto the flight either, so I was able to collect it, go through customs (thankfully they didn't ask why I had 4 bottles of vanilla extract...)and was off to find terminal 2!

Terminal 2 is, apparently, in northern Africa. After officially entering the UK, I have to get on a subway system- WITH my 100 pounds of syrup and 30 pounds of carry-on luggage- and ride to the next train stop. I finally lugged all the bags onto the train and found a seat. Then I watched the informational video of the TV in front of me about the on board showers, wireless internet, sleeping cars, and- hold up. SHOWERS? Where the hell was this TAKING me?

The train ride really wasn't that long, maybe 10 minutes. True to their word, the Brits had put helpful signs directing me from the train platform to terminal 2. What the neglected to put on the signs was that it is about 400 miles, uphill, while- again- carrying about 130 pounds of things that I suddenly could not remember why I ever wanted after not having slept for a day. I finally found terminal 2 and no one was at the JAT counter because it was more than 3 hours before the flight.

I should point out that, at this point, I didn't even care if I got on a flight to Belgrade. I would have happily gotten on a plane to Sarajevo, or Sofia or Istanbul, for that matter. I would have gotten on a school bus if they told me it would take me to the Balkans. But there was no school bus, and no one offered Sofia, so I waited for the JAT airline people, checked in, re-checked my bags, and went to wait in the airport.

I supposed the rest of the trip was uneventful. Once in Belgrade I had to go through customs again, collect my bags again, then re-check them to Sarajevo, and go through security again (twice! I was very secure). When I landed in Sarajevo it was about 10:00 pm and I hadn't slept since Sunday night in the US. There was also snow on the ground, and I was in a dress... note to self: when in Sarajevo in October, wear pants. Maybe 2 pairs.

The time in Sarajevo was wonderful, though. I hope Belgrade won't feel like I am cheating on it when I say that Sarajevo is a beautiful, beautiful city. It has such great intensity of passion and depth of character. It has been though some pretty deep shit but wears even the wounds of war with dignity. It is a place where a foreigner can feel safe and welcome, but it also doesn't reveal all that it is and has seen and survived all at once and, thus, remains endlessly interesting. If that city were a man, I would marry him, no questions asked.