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Sometimes the best luck is the luck you don't even know you have at the time. For example, Baiba and I were walking down the street in the weird little town in Latvia where she grew up the day after we flew in from the States and were stopped by the mother of one of her friends. She wanted to know how on earth we arrived. We had no idea what she was talking about until she told us that a volcano had erupted in Iceland and most airports in Europe were closed until further notice. Furthermore, it appeared that our Ryanair flight from London was the second to last to arrive at the Riga airport before it was shut down. Millions of travelers were now stuck in various European airports waiting for the ash cloud to lift. We could easily have been among them, it was a matter of about six hours.

We were all the more lucky because our flight path took us directly to Iceland for a nine hour layover. In planning our itinerary we were in need of one-way tickets, which the faltering economy eagerly helped provide. Iceland air flies from Seattle to Reykjavik, and from there to wherever else they fly. The catch is there are horrifyingly long layovers at the airport, which is nowhere near the actual city. From Reykjavik we flew to London, where we had to transfer to a smaller airport and wait another six hours for our budget airline flight to Riga, this time in the middle of the night. The entire journey lasted about 36 hours, 26 if you subtract the time change. As we flew out of Iceland on the second evening of our journey, we saw the volcano in question steaming out of the window. About six hours later it blew it's top.

Our luck was even better if you consider the volume of the baggage we were carrying. We did our best to buy everything we needed for the next ten years in the States because the prices are so much lower. We boarded the plane in Seattle with three net-book computers, a bicycle with all the bags and racks, two expensive cameras, a bunch of sundry electronics for your truly, and enough shoes, clothes, and souvenirs for a small army. Our luggage weighed in at just over 100 kilograms. I know this because we bought a wonderful luggage scale that saved us untold amounts of money in extra luggage fees. Iceland air wasn't a problem at all, but Ryanair, along with most of the budget airlines in Europe, have taken to playing a big game of gotcha with their customers concerning the weight of their baggage. If you think I'm overreacting, consider this. Ryanair's website warns that they will charge the customer and extra 20 British Pounds for every kilo over the allowed 15 the bag weighs. So at $20 U.S at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, the scale paid for itself instantly.

We spent an entire day packing at Bill and Cheryl's house in Seattle and it was a bit of a disaster. Looking at the pile of belongings we had, I felt certain we could fit them in the three big checked bags, two large carry-ons, and the bike box we had procured for the occasion. And indeed we could, with each bag weighing over 20 kilos. No matter how heavy we made the carry-on luggage, we couldn't make it work. Finally Cheryl had the marvelous suggestion of buying the right to check another bag from Ryanair. This was possible on the internet, and cost about $70, but it was much cheaper than paying Ryanair's penalty, or shipping things via post. Having four checked bags “evened out” the weight to the point where we were legal, and we were ready to head to the airport.

Traveling with 100kg of stuff on a 36 hour plane ride is a great test of whether two people are meant to be together. I'm happy to report that Baiba and I did surprisingly well. The first step towards our success was recognizing that what we were doing was nuts and we had every right to expect disasters. We pledged to treat each other nicely when disaster struck, and for the most part we kept to that pledge. Our second good decision was to spend as much money as we had to in order to preserve our bodies and our sanity. That meant luggage carts, hotels, and taxis if necessary. As it happened, we only needed the luggage carts. At Seattle, they cost $4 a pop, everywhere else we landed they were free. We also developed a system whereby one of us would unload baggage from whatever bus or carousel whilst the other searched for the luggage carts. Here's how it went:
Round 1: Sea-Tac airport. Got everything in Cheryl's truck and unloaded without incident. Iceland air allows 50lbs. Per checked bag and makes no fuss about the size and weight of carry on items, so it was smooth sailing. Memo to Dave: there is no shrink wrap at American airports because the TSA tears into everything.

Round 2: Reykjavik airport, 8 hours later. This one was easy. No need to take out checked baggage since we have a connecting flight. Not a bad airport to spend all day in if you have to, except everything is really pricey. Our original plan was to go in to the city, but their didn't appear to be anywhere to stow our hand luggage and it was far too heavy to carry with us.

Round 3: London Heathrow, 15 hours later: This was the tough one. Weakened by a nine hour layover and another four hour flight, we landed at Heathrow and went through customs and immigration. The idiot at immigration was under the impression I needed a visa to get married in Latvia, which doesn't happen to be true, and threatened to “go check.” When I told him I'd be delighted if he checked, he lost heart and let me through with some comment about hoping I wasn't back on a plane after 90 days. Well, I hope so too...

Baggage claim at Heathrow gave us a scare. Only two of our three checked bags (we hadn't repacked into four yet because we were well under the Icelandair limit) were vomited up onto the carousel. Bad news, because lost baggage was the Achilles' Heel of our low-cost, all-out, air-freight scheme. You see, since we were flying Icelandair only to London, Icelandair would get our baggage only that far if they lost something. But in eight short hours, we had to be at another airport to catch another flight on another airline. Happily, the missing bag had been judged “over sized” by the monkeys at baggage claim at Heathrow, and I found it with the bicycle. We were fortunate, but stupid. In trying to avoid an expensive night in London, we almost ended up missing our connection because of lost luggage.

We had one more hurdle to jump over at Heathrow: how to transport 100kg of crap to Stanstead Airport about an hour a way. The London airports run a bus between their various locations, but their website stipulates that each passenger is constrained to two “medium sized” bags under the bus. We had to assume that our bike box was larger than that, but it was worth a try before we looked for a cab big enough to accommodate everything. I'm happy to report that the bus driver took it all in stride, although we were helped by being there later in the evening and having a half-full bus. It is worth mentioning that the price of the bus tickets for two people was about $50, so it would be worth comparing the cost of that with the more expensive Ryanair flights that leave from Heathrow. It may well be that the cost difference makes staying at one airport attractive. We encountered a serious traffic jam between Heathrow and Stanstead, but I wasn't worried. We were starting a ten hour layover, and the bus was reasonably comfortable.

Round 4: Stanstead Airport. I don't really know where Stanstead is in relation to downtown London, and I don't much care. We arrived by bus around 11 PM, with check in for our flight to Riga opening at 4 AM. We had a couple of things to accomplish before we took off. First, we had to pack our fourth bag so we would be under the Ryanair weight restrictions. We wanted to eat, and perhaps take a shower. The airport was quiet, but the floor was littered with sleeping budget travelers, their bodies strategically curled around their baggage to protect it from theft. We soon realized why, and let me tell you, you need to be really fucking careful of your belongings in Stanstead airport! There is nothing to prevent anyone from entering the check-in area where the sleeping travelers lie. That appears to be enough inducement for half the petty thieves in the greater London area. I knew something was wrong when a guy parked himself right next to our luggage cart while we were busily weighing our bags. I ended up physically blocking him from our stuff and staring at him until he found somewhere else to be. Later, I saw two other gentlemen signaling each other across the terminal, one carefuly picking his way among the sleepers, the other quietly pushing the luggage cart where the booty was surely deposited. Not a policeman was in sight. We watched over our stuff until four and went to check in. It turned out that in spite of our efforts one of our bags weight 0.7 kilos more than the limit, but the girl let it slide. We had just one more challenge. Our carry on bags flouted Ryanair's size and weight limits. At the gate, one agent was persecuting passengers, making them try to squeeze their bags into a metal cage meant to illustrate the appropriate size. The other girl was in much better humor, and I managed to slither over to her side of the line and creep on the plane. Once past the gate agents, no one has time to argue about bags anymore, and we were home free.

Round 5: Riga airport, 36 hours after leaving Seattle. No problems at immigration or customs, and Ryanair graciously got all our bags there. Tearful greetings with Baiba's family, as well as buttermilk and local ham in the car on the way home. Everything arrived all right, even the bike. I can report that the effect of leaving a prosthesis on for 36 hours is to have some of the skin inside dissolve into a sticky paste, but other than that and acute jet-lag, we were none the worse for wear. The volcano erupted sometime while we were waiting for the plane to Riga. We didn't know until the next day. That, in my opinion, is the epitome of good luck.