I used to share the same perspective. This year, my birthday coincided with our family trip to Austria. My partner had booked the only non-direct flight from London, which included a three-and-a-half-hour layover in Hamburg, Germany. The thought of such an extended layover filled me with anxiety. Just a week before our departure, I expressed my frustration about how we were supposed to pass the time in Hamburg, while my partner reminded me that he had meticulously planned every aspect of the trip, all while I leisurely enjoyed my wine.
The first flight went smoothly, and we enjoyed a pleasant hour in the air to Hamburg. It was vacation season, and it felt like every traveler was also stopping in Hamburg, as we stepped off the plane into a terminal resembling an American airport. (If you’ve traveled abroad, you know that American airports often pale in comparison to their international counterparts.)
Upon arrival in Hamburg, all international passengers faced the inconvenience of going through security again. Unfortunately, on that day, security personnel were on strike. Thousands of travelers were left standing in bewildered queues that stretched throughout the terminal. To entertain the kids while we waited, we set them up in a designated play area within the security zone.
And then it happened.
My daughter, absorbed in her iPod, had entrusted her favorite stuffed animal to my son. He was commanding it to perform stunts—jumps, barks, and all that fun stuff six-year-olds do. One of the tricks involved the toy walking up a wall, and I watched as my son waved it at a red wall fixture.
Suddenly, chaos erupted! A siren blared, red lights flashed, and a massive iron curtain descended from the ceiling, dividing the security area and cutting off the throngs of people waiting in line. Airport staff rushed to manage the situation, directing passengers away from the curtain or ushering them through. In a moment reminiscent of a Hollywood action flick, one attendant even shoved an elderly man aside to clear the way. Once the curtain thudded to the ground, silence fell, and we all stood there in disbelief as if we had just survived a tornado.
I instinctively grabbed my son and held him close. I wasn’t entirely sure if his actions had triggered the alarm, but I had a strong suspicion they had, so I kept my head down. Minutes passed, and the curtain remained in place. When I finally dared to look up, I noticed a woman gesturing excitedly a few feet away.
There stood the Hamburg Airport fire brigade—seven robust firefighters in oversized yellow suits—examining the situation. They appeared perplexed, scratching their chins and pointing at the ceiling.
The sound I made was akin to the mother in A Christmas Story when the waiters at the Chinese restaurant prepare the duck for dinner. I clutched my partner’s arm tight. “I feel like I need to apologize to them,” I whispered anxiously.
“Don’t say a word!” he hissed, “We don’t even speak German!”
A nearby mom with her daughter tapped my shoulder. “Don’t say anything,” she advised in a thick German accent. “I’m not saying what he did was right,” she pointed at Charlie, who had stealthily crept away from the fire brigade’s view, “but this is an embarrassment for the Hamburg Airport. Let them figure it out.”
Her insider advice was a relief. Who better to navigate German bureaucrats than a local? We stayed silent. As much of the crowd remained trapped behind the curtain, the lines began to move more swiftly. Eventually, we made it through security and to our gate. Having narrowly escaped an international incident on my 40th birthday, we decided to order some prosecco.
As we toasted to the moment, my partner triumphantly reminded me that he had been the one to book the flight with the lengthy layover. It dawned on me that layovers deserve a certain appreciation. Isn’t life itself one prolonged layover? Being 40—or in your 40s—is similar—a transition between youth and old age, between ambition and acceptance. For women like me, it’s a pause between the days of caring for babies and managing teenagers, a unique transitional phase in its own right. A brief intermission in a journey can be a beautiful reminder that the present moment holds as much excitement as the destination.
As we boarded the plane, there was the German mom and her little girl once more. We promised to keep our son from touching anything.
This article was originally published on July 16, 2015.
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Summary:
In reflecting on a memorable layover in Hamburg during a family trip, the author draws parallels between travel and life’s transitional phases. The chaos that ensued due to her child’s antics serves as a metaphor for the unpredictable moments that shape our experiences. The piece emphasizes the importance of appreciating the present, while also acknowledging the unique challenges and joys of navigating life’s various stages.