Sky Angel..A Christmas Story
Posted: Thursday, December 14, 2006
by Ann Lombardi
The Trip Chicks
On winter break from my teaching position at a Swiss international school, I was headed from Korea back to Switzerland after the joyful wedding of two former students. It was December 23rd, the morning of my return flight, and for some unknown reason, I felt jittery. It didn’t matter that I had rehearsed the grueling 20-hour journey many times in my mind. I was still the queen of white-knuckle fliers. Even worse, with impeccably bad timing, I seemed to be coming down with a monster sore throat. “Don’t worry, Teacher. Just trust the angels," said Mrs. Choi, the sister of the bride.
My first hour airborne, I convinced myself all was well. Then came a knockout punch. In minutes I was reeling with fever, a fiery throat, and aching, swollen glands. Minutes dragged on like hours. I tossed and turned, my long cramped legs twitching fitfully under the seat in front of me. Concerned flight attendants took my pulse in hushed shifts and propped me up for forced sips of ginger tea. I felt absolutely miserable, preparing myself for the longest flight ever.
Suddenly the aircraft descended through the clouds and touched down. Relieved that we had reached Europe, I feebly fished around for my carry on bag. “Ladies and gentleman, please remain seated. We are in Bangkok for a short stop," the captain announced. An instant later an emergency medical team rushed on board in a vain attempt to coax me off the plane. “God, please protect me all the way to Switzerland," I prayed while white jackets hovered over me. Short on funds and determined to make it to Zurich, I was afraid of being alone and sick in an unfamiliar land.
“Please let us take you to the hospital," pleaded a nurse. “You are very ill. The airline can’t be responsible for your condition." “If you won’t get off the plane, you must sign this waiver," the captain exclaimed. In a feverish daze, I penned a wobbly signature and drifted off to a hard sleep.
Hours later, I sensed something cool on my burning forehead. Someone in my row was humming a Korean lullaby in a rich baritone voice. I squinted with bloodshot eyes. Seated next to me, a small muscular man was cheerfully arranging cold compresses on my face. “Feeling better, young lady?" the gentle stranger asked. He spoke German with a lilting Korean accent.
“Something to eat?" he smiled. My throat was raw. I imagined tasting the juicy Asian pears we savored at the wedding. “A Korean pear would be wonderful, sir" I mumbled groggily, unaware of my impossible request. “Mr. Kim will do his best for you," he replied. His dark eyes twinkled and his grin revealed boyish dimples. “Now let’s pray you get well quickly."
My ears popped painfully as the plane looped its way through choppy gray clouds. We landed with a thud at Zurich Kloten Airport . I strained to sit up. Cottonball-sized snowflakes bounced silently off the aircraft’s frozen wings. “Let's go, young lady. God blessed you with a restful sleep," chirped Mr. Kim. Then without a word, he effortlessly hoisted my 5’10" body off the plane. Legs dangling, I threw my arms around Mr. Kim and held on tight.
“Where are we going?" I asked, worried and confused. His chiseled face lit up. “Young lady, don’t fret. I’m here to help you," Mr. Kim reassured. In a flash, he checked me into a spotless airport hotel. Magically, my suitcase appeared at the foot of my bed. I snuggled under the fluffy down quilt and tried to doze off. There was a soft rap at my door. In walked a bearded Swiss doctor, a spitting image of old St. Nick.
“I am Dr. Steiner," he said as he touched my forehead. Tapping my chest, he plopped a thermometer in my parched mouth. “Ach, still some fever. Now let’s have a look at your throat." I wondered out loud where Mr. Kim had gone. “Your friend went outside to run an errand," explained the doctor.
He tossed his stethoscope into a sturdy black bag and with a quick “You’ll be well again soon," Dr. Steiner left my room as fast as he had bounced in. Mr. Kim reappeared moments later, his cheeks flushed and his navy blue overcoat dusted with glistening snowflakes. “I bought this herbal medicine for you. You’ll feel better, young lady" he beamed. I smiled weakly, gulped down a tiny, pearly-white pill, and drifted back to sleep.
The ringing phone jolted me awake. It was my Swiss friend Ruth. “Fritz and I are so glad to hear your voice, Ann. We were very worried about you after that nice man phoned us. Stay in bed. We’re driving to your hotel now." The rest of her words were a blur. My mind was racing. How did Mr. Kim track down my friends in a town three hours away from the airport? How did..?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a white plastic bag on the night table next to my bed. Neatly taped on top was a bright blue piece of paper. “Farewell and God bless you, young lady" the note said. “Be safe. Until we meet again." I reached into the sack. Inside I found a receipt for my prepaid hotel room....and three beautiful, golden Korean pears. They were Christmas gifts from my guardian angel.
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Ann Lombardi, a former English as a Foreign Language teacher, is a long-time travel consultant who hangs her backpack in Atlanta , Georgia . After traveling to 60 countries with her fair share of misadventures, Ann still believes that travel is the best education, laughter the best medicine, and kindness the key to peace on our planet. She loves sharing travel tips and helping people travel smart. You can reach her at www.TheTripChicks.com or www.AskTheTripChicks.com
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