Someone needs to tell Lufthansa and Frankfurt airport that Halloween has come and gone because they seem to be providing curated horror packages to customers. There I am, travelling home to Helsinki, even more tired than usual since I have to singlehandedly wrangle and wheel a 1.5 year old through the Triwizard maze that is Frankfurt Airport in enough time to catch my plane, when I skid to a stop at the gate just in time for boarding.
The ground staff rush me through with the assurance that I can leave the stroller “at the plane.” I set off confidently, assuming there will be an elevator waiting for me at the end of the corridor. And that’s when I encounter my old enemy: stairs. Not an elevator in sight. I rush back hoping to clarify this conundrum. The ground staff lady blinks at me and I realize that she’s taking her zombie impression a bit too far. Either that or she has long since lost her passion for life. Either ways her eyes look pretty dead as she tells me there’s no such thing as an elevator in this particular rung of hell.
Now, I know mothers are historically known for doing a lot of juggling, but that’s mostly metaphorical. We can’t literally juggle a toddler and a heavy stroller up and down a flight of stairs (and nobody would even pay to see that).
“You could ask a co-passenger to help you.” Zombie lady drawls dismissively. Clearly she assumes, based on my skin colour and generally exotic appearance, that I am neither German nor Finnish and therefore not utterly terrified by the prospect of speaking to a complete stranger, much less asking them for help.
Zombie lady ignores my initial plaintive plea for help but is jolted out of her trance when I slightly raise my voice and dramatically flail my hands around a few times. She consults her co-worker who proceeds to conduct what has to be the strangest form of lottery I have ever seen. With something of a gleeful cackle, she announces the name of a random passenger and browbeats them into helping me by loudly proclaiming that they “seem like a nice guy.” (To be fair the co-passenger did in fact live up to expectations and was very nice).
Meanwhile, my toddler is clearly smart enough to realize that there is no sympathy to be gleaned from zombie ground staff who are incapable of feeling any form of empathy, and couldn’t be bothered to throw even a tiny tantrum (bless his soul). He lays back in his seat and surveys the events with the polite interest of a benevolent emperor presiding over his subjects.
With the help of a couple of considerate co-passengers I make it down multiple flights of stairs, on and off the bus and onto the tarmac, where I glance around hopefully for signs of an airline or airport employee to come and gracefully whisk away my stroller. I’d even settle for a super grumpy and inefficient employee who grudgingly gets the job done. But alas! It appears both Lufthansa and Frankfurt Airport secretly believe that only able-bodied people who don’t need any assistance should be allowed to travel (or perhaps even exist.) I wonder where they get that idea from.
I’m definitely not enjoying this damsel in distress role that has been thrust on me. I try to adjust the vibe I’m giving out to be more “please help me” than “I will burn everything to the ground,” but it’s difficult.
My fellow passengers heroically step in once again to help me transfer both stroller and toddler up the ramp to the plane. The situation has reached an almost Kafka-esque level of absurdity at this point.
Once at the top I am met by a thoroughly confused steward and it takes a fair amount of patience and persistence to finally decipher what it is I am expected to do with the stroller (leave it folded outside the plane’s entrance it turns out). Feeling like I have solved the riddle of the Sphinx, I trudge into the plane. Sadly this was not the last hurdle, for lying in wait was a somewhat unreasonable lady who was reluctant to concede her window seat to my poor toddler. Turns out she was in the wrong seat. I can hardly blame this on the airline so I’ll let that one go. Unless it was part of the deluxe package. Who knows?
Thankfully the actual flight turns out to be delightfully uneventful and boring. But the preceding events lead me to fondly reminisce about previous experiences with Frankfurt airport. For instance a week before, when I arrive from Helsinki with my toddler, and passengers are instructed to follow the signs to baggage claim. Dutifully, I follow said signs, which lead to…surprise surprise! A flight of stairs. Like bigots, stairs have a pesky habit of appearing when you least expect them, it seems. But lo and behold, with a sigh of relief I spot not one, not two, not three, but four elevators just around the corner. A nice happy ending. Except for the fact that not a single one of the elevators work and I need to enlist the help of a considerate stranger to carry the stroller down the stairs.
On its website, Lufthansa mentions that strollers are allowed right up to the gate and this is confirmed when you check in. What they fail to mention; however, is that you also need to carry a magic umbrella that will help you transport said stroller along with child right up to the plane, Mary Poppins style. Of course, if I had a flying umbrella I would find a way to modify it so I would never have to take a plane again.
So would I recommend Lufthansa or Frankfurt Airport? If you’re looking to travel, probably not. But 10/10 would recommend for an authentic horror experience.
Tahira Sequeira 