Once I got on the plane and sat down, I turned and looked out the window and let the ugly-cry-sobbing out. I tried to be quiet, but my heart was sad and broken. I knew this would not be easy, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to leave Ron and Steph behind. I didn’t say much all the way to Dallas/Ft. Worth.

We landed and were rushing to our next gate when over the loud speaker I very clearly heard “Leslie Johnson, please pick up the white paging phone.” I often wondered who those people were that were instructed to pick up the white paging phone? I had also wondered if those people who were being paged even heard the announcement being said? These were the days before cell phones and the internet. Everything was done the old-school way. We used phones attached to the wall that had a cord from the handset to the base. You know that feeling when you feel your body drain from your head to your toes, the kind of drain that you feel when you hear someone you love has suddenly died? It was that kind of drain. I looked at my dad and said, “They’re just calling to tell us it’s still ok to come right?!!!” I looked around and found one of those white paging phones. The operator on the other end of the line instructed me to call Nancy Cocariu before getting on our next flight for Frankfurt.

We were already rushing to our next gate for the flight to Frankfurt. We still had to check in at the gate before we could board. So while dad did that, I called Nancy at a payphone right next to the boarding gate desk. Payphones back then required actual coins to use. I must have had quarters in my purse, because I don’t recall having to go anywhere to get change. I wouldn’t have had time to do so anyway. When Nancy answered the phone, I could tell she was frantic. She told me Val had called her and told her to tell us not to come. Things had gotten too dangerous, and it was unlikely we would be able to get the baby after all. The woman who needed to authorize the Romanian translation of our paperwork was refusing to do so. She had seen a Romanian propaganda film showing that Americans were adopting babies to bring back to use for human organ transplants. Without this authorization, we would not be able to finish the adoption. By law, she was required to authorize adoption paperwork until June 1st. But she was refusing to obey this law. As I was talking to Nancy, I could see the gate agent and my dad having a very heated conversation. I have never felt Satan’s influence so strong in my life, as I did at that very moment!!! The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, I felt sicker that I had before, but in a different way. I knew if we didn’t go now, this adoption would never happen. The evil I felt enveloping me was so thick it was tangible! Satan didn’t want these special spirits to leave Romania. I had the distinct impression that Errin was more valiant that we knew, and Satan knew this. He would do all in his power to stop her from coming to our family.

I asked Nancy to hold on for a minute, I waved for my dad to come and talk to me for a minute. He came over and told me the gate agent was giving us grief about getting on the plane without a VISA to enter Romania. He told my dad that he could actually keep us from getting on the plane. And that even IF we did make it Romania, there was a big chance they wouldn’t let us leave the airport, and that we could be detained there. Dad told him in very strong words, that we WOULD be getting on that flight. We had been told by Val and Nancy not to try to get a VISA before we left because it wouldn’t be approved and back to us in time. They told us we could pay $50 cash apiece at the airport in Bucharest when we got there. We were told to have two new fresh crisp one hundred dollar bills. I had those safely tucked in my bag ready for that purpose. After dad told me this, I asked if we could have a quick prayer. If I felt I should still go after that prayer, I would continue on with or without my dad if necessary. I wasn’t sure if he would agree to still go after hearing what Nancy had said. I offered the prayer, and the burning feeling inside my heart was stronger than ever. I KNEW I had to continue this journey as see it out to the end, whatever that would be. I KNEW I had to give it my all. After the prayer I asked dad what he planned to do because I was going to Romania with or without him. He felt the same way. So he went back and won the argument with the agent at the gate. I told Nancy that we had just prayed and felt we should continue on. She burst into tears begging and pleading for us not to go, that it was too dangerous. I told her I needed to board our flight, and to let Val know that we were coming anyway and to have someone at the airport to meet us. I asked her to call Ron and let him know what was going on, and to let him know I hadn’t lost my mind. I asked her to pray for us. She was still begging with me not to go when I hung up. My last words to her were, whatever you have to tell Val, please tell him we are still coming, and to please have someone at the airport to get us.

The flight to Frankfurt was the longest, coldest flight I had ever been on. We were sitting right behind one of the EXIT door, and there was a definite breeze. I was sitting next to the window, and that made it even colder. I prayed the entire flight, that the woman’s heart would be softened and that she would authorize the translation of our paperwork. I prayed that we would be kept safe, and be able to find Val’s people to help us once we got to the airport. I also continued to pray that I would not have to throw up in a public place.

As we flew through the night, I don’t think I slept at all. At one point I noticed an amazing sight in the sky outside my window! It looked like swirling rainbows or prisms in the sky!!! It took me a minute to figure out that what I was seeing were the Northern Lights. I asked a flight attendant to be sure, and she told me yes indeed that’s what I was seeing. It was as if Heavenly Father was letting me know it would all work out, and everything would be ok. This went on for quite some time, and then it started to get light. We finally landed in Frankfurt to gray and drizzly weather. We had a little bit longer of a layover there, so we made our way to our next gate with ALL of our stuff, because now we had to change to a different airline as Delta did not fly directly into Bucharest. We got checked in, found something to eat, and waited for the next flight. When we bought our tickets we were to fly from Salt Lake City, Utah to Dallas Fort Worth, Texas to Frankfurt, Germany to Bucharest, Romania. Each time we got on a new flight and had to go up and then down again, my morning sickness got worse and worse. I had talked myself into being okay for one more up and down.

When we boarded the plane in Frankfurt, it was filled with Middle Eastern men from Turkey. We didn’t know at the time, there had been a change to our flight schedule. Instead of going straight to Bucharest, we would fly past Romania to Istanbul, Turkey and then back. I don’t have a problem with people from other countries, but these men were vulgar and many stood at the back of the airplane smoking. That was still allowed in 1991! The smoke was so thick you could barely see through it. Not only did my asthma kick in, but the smell made my morning sickness even worse. Because we were flying in the coach, we were required to use the restrooms at the back of the plane. I waited for as long as I could, and finally had to get up to use the restroom. The Turkish men said vile horrid things to me as I had to wait for a restroom to open up. They were all filled with Turkish men. As each door opened, I could see and smell urine and fecal matter floating on the floor! These men had not used the toilet, they had gone to the bathroom on the floor - of every single restroom in the back of the plane! It took all I had not to toss my cookies right there in the middle of the isle. They taunted me even worse as I frantically searched each restroom to try and find a clean one. I felt violated from their words as I quickly walked up to the front of coach and spoke to a flight attendant. I told her the situation in the restrooms at the back of the plane, and that I was pregnant with terrible morning sickness. I told her if they insisted that I use those restrooms, there would be a lot more to clean up than they already had. She was kind, and slipped me through the curtain into the first class area. She told me to come and check with her any time I needed to use the restroom for the duration of the flight. This was such a tender mercy!!! Being the germaphobe that I am, I have a difficult time using public restrooms as it is, let alone the ones on airplanes that are in such tight quarters. There was one more thing looming in the back of my mind after we found out we were going to Turkey first. This added one more up and down.

As we circled to land in Istanbul, I marveled at the beautiful onion dome churches that lined the banks of the sea below. The majority of the people on the plane were going to Turkey. Some asked us where we were going when they saw we were not getting off the plane. When we told them Romania, they asked “Why would you want to go there? It’s not safe!” We had been told by Val and Nancy not to tell anyone we were coming to adopt a baby. We were told to tell people we were just going to sight see. When we told people this, they looked at us like we were crazy. Because we did not have a VISA to enter Turkey, we did not get off the plane. I’m not sure if this is standard procedure in Turkey, but a bomb squad came on the plane to check for bombs. They wanted us to get off the plane while they did this. We told them we did not have a VISA to do so, and would not be able to get off the plane. Without a VISA we could have been detained and not allowed to get back on the plane. They argued with us for a while, but finally told us to sit back down after they had checked the area where we were sitting. All of these things were so foreign to me!!! The restroom situation, men with machine guns checking for bombs. None of the things I had experienced so far had been anything I had ever come close to experiencing here in America!

When we finally took off for the short and final flight to Bucharest, there were only eight passengers onboard the plane. I couldn’t help but think, how could Romania be worse than the men who had been on our previous flight?

We soon began our descent into Bucharest, the capitol city of Romania. I could see the airport below. There were many planes sitting all over the runway. Many had Air Tarom on the outside of them, most were obviously not in working order. We were told later these planes were left on the runway to make people think Romania had a large fleet of airplanes. Romania wanted the world to view them as a strong world power. We could have flown in on this Romanian airline, but had heard horror stories of drunken pilots, no seat belts, loose seats with missing bolts to secure them to the floor, and no food or drinks available. It would have cost a lot less, but some things are just not worth skimping on.

When we landed, a tank drove up and pointed its gun at our plane. We were told to stay in our seats until we were escorted off by military soldiers. They boarded the plane with machine guns. They motioned for us to stand up and get off the plane. They followed each one of us off the plane with a machine gun in our back. We had to disembark on the runway. Down the steps they roll up to the door, and then we were escorted onto a bus surrounded with military men holding machine guns. The tank was still pointed at our plane. Like a dummy, I took my camera out to take some pictures. I took a picture of the front of the airport, and then turned to get a picture of the tank. The soldiers outside started yelling at me, “NO PICTURE!!!! NO PICTURE!!!!” Not knowing if I would capture anything or not, I already had my finger on the button, and I snapped a couple pictures as I hurriedly put my camera away.

From there we were driven back to the airport terminal, and had not seen our bags yet. We were taken inside where there were a lot of Romanian soldiers. They were scary. I was carrying the majority of the money. I had a concealed money pouch under my bra with about $15,000 in mostly 20's, some 50's and a few 100's. The reason being, it was all but impossible for dad to pull off carrying that much cash without being noticed. My pouch alone was probably four to five inches thick. But I was wearing two shirts and a heavy sweatshirt, so it was not visible. Dad was carrying the larger bills in a zipper on the back side of his leather belt, in addition to a money belt that tucked inside his pants. The guards pulled dad aside as they were overly concerned about his video camera. They were not happy about this. They dumped everything out of it, and went through it with a fine tooth comb. While this was happening I was taken to a separate room and bodily frisked. They were not interested in the large stack of money I had concealed, but were interested in other things. That was my first experience with Romanian men, which turned out to be the rule with many of them. They were vile, vulgar, rude, and the epitome of evil. Never before, and never since have I ever felt so violated and in the presence of so much evil darkness.

When the guards were satisfied at length, I was reunited with my dad, and we were taken down the corridor to a small office that looked more like a jail cell. There was a guard inside, and he opened a small barred window, and demanded our papers. We handed over our passports. We obviously did not have a VISA stamp to enter the country yet. He took them and studied them for what seemed an eternity. He looked at the passports, and then at us, then back at the passports and then at us. This went on a few more times, and it was clear he was not happy we were there. He then asked what our business was in Romania. We gave our practiced answer, that we were there to sight-see as tourists to see the beauty of the country. He looked at me with a “sure you are” kind of look, I don’t think I lied very well. I felt he knew just as well as I did what my real purpose was in coming to Romania, as so many others just like me had come before. He reluctantly all but put a hole through our passports as he stamped them and briskly threw them back at us. I timidly asked where we could purchase the VISA stamp. He pointed down the hall to a meager unassuming desk that was manned by a woman sitting on a stool. He then opened the barred gate, just like the prison gates you see in old movies, and we were on our way down the corridor to get our VISA. We had been told in advance to have two brand new, crisp, clean $50 bills to use for this. We handed the woman our bills, and laid our passports on the desk. She took each bill and held it up to the light, turned each one over and studied them for a long time. Then she felt them, and smelled them, and was finally satisfied. She stamped our passports and we were directed further down the corridor to find our baggage.

Thankfully, the baggage area was also heavily guarded and also behind bars. I was relieved to see our boxes and bags sitting there, apparently unopened. We were required to open everything. I held my breath, wondering how we were going to get past customs with all this stuff, telling them we were just there as sight-seeing tourists. Nancy had instructed me prior to tell the customs people the items we brought were for the children in the orphanages, but that we were only there as tourists. All of our adoption paperwork had been sent with Father Tofan a few weeks prior to our arrival. The guards at customs were a little bit nicer, and also spoke better English. They cautioned me before they opened the gate to let us out that we needed to keep a careful watch on our bags. We soon learned what they meant by that.

There were many creepy looking men eagerly wanting to assist us with our baggage, and to sell us a baby. We were deluged with these men yelling at us if we wanted to buy a baby, and telling us they had babies and they were also demanding that they handle our luggage and all of our boxes. They immediately started picking our stuff up and walking away with it. I've never seen such determination in my life to help us, or more accurately to help themselves to the cache of items that would go for a high amount on the black market. They could have all retired on what they would have made on that haul.

We had no idea who was coming to pick us up, what their name was, who they looked like, if it was a man or a woman. I took control of our baggage while dad chased down the box thieves. Other men were trying to take the luggage from me, but somehow I was able to hold on to it. Frantically, I began looking around to see anyone that might be there for us. The thought ran through my mind, what if Val didn’t get the message? What if there is no one here for us? Where will we go? What will we do? This truly isn’t a safe place to be!!! Especially surrounded by all these men trying to take everything we had! As these thoughts were running through my mind, I saw a man in his late 20's or early 30's holding a sign that said "Mr. Leslie and John". I waved at him, and he immediately came over with the same exuberance as the box thieves and began picking up our things. I don't think dad had seen his sign yet, as he was just coming back with the boxes he had retrieved. He grabbed the man by the arm, and asked him to identify himself somehow. He was nervous and didn't speak much English, but mentioned Val's name. Then showed dad his sign, which probably saved his hide, because after being accosted as we had, we were fighting to defend everything and all that we had brought no matter what it took! We understood his name was Florine, and Val had sent him to pick us up. We both sighed a huge sigh of relief to know that Val knew we were there and had sent someone to get us. Another miracle, another answered prayer.

Florine drove up in his tiny little Dacia car and dad and I looked at each other wondering how in the world we would fit everything in that tiny little car. He in his broken English said "oh, we can do". We had took three of the largest boxes that were allowed on the airplane at the time, which were much larger than anything allowed today. I would say two were about 3 feet by 3 feet and the other about 4 feet by 2 feet. He stacked some on top of the car and tied them on with a little piece of rope. The other one went in the back seat and that's what I sat on because there was no seat behind the driver and passenger seats. I looked at the floor board beneath me, and could see the road through the holes in it. The outside of the car was in much better shape than the inside of the car. Dad’s seat wouldn’t stay sitting up on its own, so I had to hold it up with my knees as we drove through the busy streets of Bucharest. Dad had two huge bags sitting on his lap, and I had two huge bags in addition to the box in the back with me. There is no way that one more thing would have fit. Most of the cars over there at the time were Dacia brand, made in Romania. And they were tiny. We later found out that Dacia is what Romania used to be named centuries ago. A name that has great meaning to the Romanian people. Val's oldest daughter is named Dacia as well.

I have to admit, by this time, I was running on fumes. I felt like I was going to throw up any second, and was tired to the point of almost passing out. We hadn’t eaten a good meal since Frankfurt, and hadn’t drank much either. It was late afternoon, and we had been up for two days with not much sleep. I remember looking out the window of the car at the large presidential palace that had been Ceausescu's home. Florine told us it was the largest individual home in the world. There was such poverty all around, and then this lavish extravagance. We were totally fascinated and amazed at the antiquity of the horses and farm wagons mixed in with the somewhat modern buses, trucks, and Dacia cars. We also soon learned that pedestrians were of no concern to anyone driving. Walking was a dangerous hazard.

I remember seeing two older women carrying a very large flower wreath. I commented on it, and Florine said it was for a funeral. I worried that by the time we would make it to our destination, the boxes on top of the car would be missing. Drivers in Romania are crazy!

Somehow we made it all in one piece to Florine's small apartment somewhere in Bucharest.

More to come on this family adventure.

Love Ya, Les :)

Family

Chapter Four : The Longest Flight Ever