Getting Here

I have been dreading flying to Morocco with an infant for approximately one year. Which means that I have been dreading flying to Morocco with an infant since before Elliot was technically awarded the Fulbright. And before we actually had an infant. I’m not proud of this, but it’s true. I’m from a family of flight attendants but I don’t particularly like flying and I assumed that any child of mine would feel the same. The scenarios that I envisioned looked something like this:

Scenario One: The baby would cry for nine hours straight while I walked the aisles surrounded by a sea of glaring faces. I would do my best to apologize in a variety of languages but eventually would have to buy everyone a strong drink, which would drain my bank account and do nothing to solve the problem since those bottles are so small.

Scenario Two: Same as Scenario One, except for with so much turbulence that we can’t even get out of our seats so we sit in between two pissed off Europeans as Cecily screams.

I won’t even go into the plane crash scenarios.

My anxiety was eased somewhat when my cousins, flight attendants, world travelers and all around awesome people offered not only to give Cecily and me standby passes but to accompany us all the way to Morocco. Elliot had to get to Rabat early to meet with his advisers so I stayed back in Seattle for a couple of days. Once we got a little misunderstanding cleared up at the ticket counter (the agents were a little bit confused about why I was flying one way to Morocco, alone, standby and with an infant) and met my fabulous cousin Sara and her friend Chona I started to feel more optimistic. But then, in a last minute change of plans, the Seattle--Atlanta flight filled up and Cecily and I were the only ones to make it.  I left Sara and Chona at the gate hoping they’d make the next flight.

 I was the last one on the plane, and as I walked down the aisle, heads turned in dismay. As I neared my seat I watched my seatmates open their eyes and glare menacingly in our direction. They’d thought they had an extra seat. Instead, they were getting us.

Then the woman spoke: “I’m a Grandma and LOVE BABIES!” she said, reaching out to take Cecily.  Not only did she hold her for part of the trip she also provided Kleenex, table space, moral support, ear phones, and Werther’s Orignals (natch.) She ordered all of my drinks, got me extra pretzels and talked about how smart/beautiful/talented/advanced Cecily was for the duration of the flight. She’d started her day on a plane flying out of the Alaska Bush and was probably exhausted. But instead of sleeping, she helped us.  In fact, she even carried my bags off the plane until we met the other half of our entourage, Suzanne and Craig, who were waiting at the gate.

Cecily with her amazing travel team before boarding the plane to Madrid

I figured that since the first flight was so smooth the next one would be disastrous.  And I was okay with that. But then Suzanne and Craig spoke some kind of airline professional secret code and got me and Cecily the bulkhead row all to ourselves. And the bulkhead rumors turned out to be true—there really ARE these special clip on bassinets that you can actually put a baby in so she can be showered with gifts from her travel companions while you drink a beer and watch a movie.

International Travel Can Be Fun

Cecily was a champ. She slept, hung out on a lot of floors, and made googly eyes at an enormous bearded Spaniard who ended up tickling her toes all the way from Madrid to Tangier. Flying into Tangier was amazing. It’s surprisingly mind-blowing to see what a thin stretch of ocean separates Africa from Europe.
Cecily slept through the landing in our new city, waking up on the tarmac to a gust of famous Tangier wind.

We Will Miss You Suzanne, Craig, Sara and Chona!

Moral of the story: Babies bring out the best in people. And maybe I shouldn’t be such a pessimist.