War is Hell, Flying on Airplanes with Kids is War.

We started traveling on a Friday afternoon and stopped traveling late on Saturday afternoon.  There were seven hours of timezones in the middle.  There were also two plane rides, a bus ride, and finally a short drive in the middle also.  We flew out of MSP airport with the kids, both ours and the members of the exchange program. Our time spent in the terminal was interesting enough.  The terminal we used was very small.  It features one restaurant, one coffee stand, one news stand, and a substantial amount of chairs.  None of the airlines that use this terminal are known for consistent on-time marks.  Luckily, US security measures are stringent and inconveinent enough that travelers need to arrive so early to the airport that they never need worry about a late flight, they'll be there to agonize over ever extra second spent in the overtly beige environment.  This terminal does feature a single saving grace -- an indoor playground.  Anja was able to run around for nearly an hour before getting on the plane.  I'd like to think this helped but it wasn't quite enough to entertain her while we were waiting.  After she and I had spent some time in the play area we went back to see Susi and Ian, who were holding all of the snacks, to get a small bite to eat.  We did so and Anja's eye saw the small (dirty, gross, expensive) video game arcade that is also available to entertain children waiting for late aircraft.  Susi had the patience and fortitude to actually take both Ian and Anja in there for a while.  Excursions to these video game arcades rarely cost us any money.  The kids don't know the different between the actual game and just pressing buttons and watching things change on the screen.  They really don't require an action-reaction to have a good time.  To one strange man in the arcade, this was apparently too wild of a concept.  He repeatedly asked Susi if he could give them some tokens to play the games, and she both politely refused and informed him it didn't matter much to the kids.  Apparently, this made the odd man indignant and he decided to "win the kids a prize."

Much to our misfortune, this was a man of skill, and he managed to pull a motorcycle-rider dressed plush pig from the crane game.  This is a standard plush pig with a black jacket sown to it and a T-shirt embroidered with "Born to Ride."  Not that Anja can read, and not that she has any concept of the styling for this pig, but she now has it and loves it.  It is, quite possibly, one of the most terrible plush toys that has ever been pulled from a crane game and it is as I type this, still taking company with the rest of my daughter's bed-things in our little German apartment.

Then our plane arrived.  Ready to lift us to IcelandAir's main terminal in Iceland.   That's six hour flight for anyone wanting to score this trip themselves.  Anja slept on my lap, holding her pig.  Ian screamed on Susi's lap, holding on to any part of her body that might incite some discomfort.  He refused the use of his carseat.  

We enjoyed EU customs in Iceland and introduced the exchange kids to what it is really like in European airports.  Unlike the comfy American airports with chairs and restaurants, traveling Europe introduces the concept of a queue - large groups simply funnel themselves down into a single file line but only at the last possible moment.  A vast amount of time is spent standing waiting for the persons managing the little tiny gate to open it.  And at Iceland the gates are packed right next to each other.  If there is more than one gate open at a time, then there is a pleasant risk of entering the wrong gate the first time and having to start the process from the end of the crowd.  This was roughly an hour.  No students were lost and only one of them managed to lose their ticket on the plane.  Losing a connecting flight's ticket on the plane is a bit like losing a shoe.  I've never done either and think it requires some substantial lack in foresight which makes someone think it is not important.

Our second flight was from Iceland to Frankfurt, Germany, and we could at least begin to start tasting victory.  Oh, this was three hours for anyone still counting.  Again, Anja sleeping and Ian screaming.  It was an A+ time but at least it was shorter than the bus ride that followed it.  Yes, to get from Frankfurt to where we are actually staying in German it requires another three hour bus ride.  The bus driver was also an interesting case in culture.  I've found that the US is not the only culture which has people who take intellectual niches and dialect to the extreme.  The bus driver spoke a local dialect of German known as Schwäbish.  And while I can understand some German, Susi understands quite a bit, and has even studied in areas renowned for thick dialects, this guy was not comprehensible.  Even one of our hosts made mention of the fact that he was "grumpy" and "not trying very hard" to work with his passengers.  I picked up on that when he slammed the bus-storage door right in front of me while I was holding a stroller.  He had decided it needed to be on the other side but did not feel that it was worthwhile to communicate that with anyone but himself.

As this could have been grossly overwhelming much of it faded quickly into memory.  Both because of sleep depravation and due to the incredible kindnesses we received upon our arrival.  The teacher that is hosting us actually can't.  As she is younger, her and her husband have a very nice apartment but it is not equipped to handle a three year old and an 16 month infant.  That takes up space, which is limited in Germany, and special equipment, which is generally expensive here.  So instead, she has helped by arranging us a very nice apartment with all of the "fixins." And even before we entered the door she had filled our refrigerator with all of the basic necessities to make it to Monday (beer, cheese, meat) and some niceties for the kids (two adorable plush dolls and some candy).  She also made two large pans of Lasagna.  We ate very well.

Ian and I, happy and settling in.  No that's not a zit, it's a gash from my children.

Our entire group gathered and ready to sleep.