In Danger from an Angry Mob

September winds whip up white caps in the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro

by Pringle Franklin

DUBROVNIK—“I almost got lynched!” Hopping into the front passenger seat of the rental car, I pulled the door shut with a bang.

Sam looked at me quizzically from the driver’s seat. He had waited in the tiny sedan while I went back into the Dubrovnik airport to change our flights. He had no idea that his wife had practically been in mortal danger from an angry mob.

“Go! Drive off,” I said, anxious to put some distance between my limbs and the pack of hyenas prowling near the Air Croatia Customer Service counter.

Now that I was in the car, I felt much safer, yet my eyes darted toward the rear window. To my relief, no one was chasing me with pitchforks. Things might have gotten physical if Divine help had not guided and protected me.

***

The trouble blew in with the weather. September is an ideal time to visit the Balkans, unless you catch the beginning of the windy season in Dubrovnik. We were scheduled to return home on September 26. However, for two days prior to our departure, high winds had shut down the airport. Many passengers were stranded. There weren’t enough hotel rooms in the area to absorb all the displaced people.

Luckily we’d reserved a spot at guest house near the airport; the owner spent the evening turning away travelers in search of a place to spend the night. Would that be us tomorrow evening, stuck in Dubrovnik with no place to sleep? Certainly our flight would be cancelled if the weather didn’t improve by morning. We slept fitfully that night. Outside our room, the metal shutters clanged alarmingly against the walls. On the nearby hillside, plumes of Italian cypress trees bent over as if toe touching.

By dawn the winds had quieted. Our flight was so early that I didn’t even have time to grab a cup of coffee before heading to the airport. The check-in area was awash with grumpy passengers, but things moved along, giving the appearance of being operational.

Within an hour, we had passed through security and found seats at our departure gate. “Looks like we are going to get out after all.” I leaned against Sam’s shoulder, smiling up at him.

But it was not to be. After after several hours of extended delays, an overhead announcement informed us — first in Croatian, then in English — that our flight had been cancelled.

Naturally the passengers who understood Croatian got a head start. Sam and I were in the second wave, with the English speakers, but we worked together to respond efficiently. He took charge of our roller bags, and I walked ahead briskly through the narrow corridors and voluminous airport spaces until eventually finding the correct queue. 

Waiting in line the first time

About 60 people were already in line when I joined up at the rear. As I stood and waited for the next 45 minutes for my turn at the help desk, the line behind me swelled to 300 or more people.

I passed the time by calming a 30-something-year-old Brazilian man who was traveling alone and needed a friend. His holiday had been rife with difficulties, he told me; when he’d arrived, Air Croatia had lost his baggage. The Airline did not compensate him sufficiently, and he had been forced to spend a portion of his vacation savings on clothes, shoes, toiletries.

Yesterday his homebound flight had been cancelled, due to the winds. And he did not like the attitude of the airline employees when they dealt with him. Now half the airport seemed to be here jockeying for the few available seats. At this rate, he might be forced to buy a new ticket on a different carrier — paying top dollar, of course.

I listened with maternal sympathy, hoping to reassure him. Then I shared my view that, no matter what was going on, we were in God’s hands — if we seek refuge there. For instance, during the morning’s delays at the gate, I had prayed a favorite prayer for protection: may nothing touch me this day which does not pass through the loving hands of my Heavenly Father.

Therefore, even in the stress of uncertainty, I felt at peace. As long as we were abiding in God’s will, all would be well. There was no need to fear.

My attitude cheered the Brazilian, and we both felt better.

Eventually I reached the desk of the Air Croatian representative who would determine our travel fate. The man searched his computer for flights and sadly shook his head. Due to the many misplaced travelers, most of the flights were already full.

Our options were less than appealing.

Would we like to fly out in two days time?  The man behind the counter asked.

No. We had already spent four days in Dubrovnik and did not wish to stay any longer.

Would we prefer to wait in the Dubrovnik airport until late afternoon and then fly to Zagreb?  After two days there, we could fly back Stateside.

When he mentioned an afternoon flight, my mind returned to the previous night at our guesthouse.  “It’s good you have an early flight tomorrow,” the dumpling-shaped hotelier had said. “In the fall, when we get gusts like this, the winds generally grow stronger as the day goes on.”

This information left me uneasy about the later departure. “Do you think the flight to Zagreb will actually get out?” I looked at the man behind the counter.

He shrugged, noncommittal. 

I felt stuck. Then I had an idea.

“My husband and I might be willing to rent a car and drive to Zagreb,” I said.  “That is, if we can get a car. How far is it?”

“A bit over six hours,” he said.

That was longer than I had hoped, yet as Americans, we were used to road trips. Hitting the highway seemed like the best avenue of escape.

If I had known then about my run-in with the angry mob, I might have done things differently.  But I didn’t see that coming.

Sorting out the details was a tad tricky because the Hertz agency was outside, situated at the far end of the parking lot. We could not hold up the re-booking line for the 20 minutes it might take to check on the availability of cars.

So the Air Croatia man suggested that he book us on the afternoon flight to Zagreb, followed by a trio of flights which would get us home several days later; if we secured a car, I could simply pop back over to his desk and let him know. He would cancel the flight from Dubrovnik to Zagreb without changing the rest of the itinerary.

I felt we were being rather agreeable by offering to pay for a rental car as part of our solution; airline seats were scarce and, If this plan worked, we would be giving up two places that someone else could use.

Twenty minutes later, Sam was signing paperwork at the Hertz kiosk, so I circled back into the airport. By this point, the queue of rankled passengers was even longer. I circumvented it and made a bee line for the service counter. My friend the representative was busy helping a family of three people, so I stood to the side to wait–in full view of the frustrated queue dwellers behind me.

I did not realize that the hyenas were watching me with threatened eyes.

When the Air Croatia man was free, I stepped toward the service desk. I didn’t see what was coming next. From my left, an American man leapt forward from the line and pushed me aside, slamming his passport and papers down on the counter.  He cast his elbows wide, glaring, pushing me back.

“No, you will not,” the man shouted. “Do you see that line? We have been standing there for an hour. Go back and wait your turn like everyone else.”

The tone and tenor of his accusation startled me. He made a scene, making everyone within ear shot believe that I was a line jumper. He wrongly assumed that I had not waited my turn. My mind flitted back to the patience and trust that I had assumed earlier while calming the Brazilian. This American man was simply venting his rage and frustration at the first target: me.

I was too shaken up to speak. Instead, I looked desperately for help at the Air Croatia representative, placing the flight itinerary which he had recently given me on the counter. “We got the car,” I told him.

Before he could reply, another American man accosted me from the opposite side of the counter.

“I saw what you did,” this second man said. “It’s despicable. You ought to be ashamed of yourself”

Behind us, a rowdy woman from the line began to shout and boo. The crowd moved threateningly, pushing forward in my direction.

“Please, step back,” the Air Croatia man said. “I have an arrangement with the lady.”

The first man shook his head in disbelief. Grumbling and muttering, he retracted his documents and his territorial stance. Relieved, I nodded at the Air Croatia man, who was working as quickly as he could to remove our names from the flight to Zagreb.

However, the second man was not finished. He shook his finger at me and said, “Lady? That’s no lady.”

I attempted to explain. “It’s not like that,” I began.

But the man narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I know what you did. Don’t try and talk to me. I stood right here and saw everything.”

He looked like he might spit in my face. Part of me wanted to justify my position. It hurts when people treat you like a bad guy, especially when they have misjudged you.

But by God’s grace, I swallowed the rest of my unspoken words and kept silent, remembering the timely lesson which I had received that morning. Sitting at the gate, I had been reading Renovation of the Heart by Dallas Willard. With perfectly divine timing, the chapter “Children of the Light” told me exactly what to do in this type of situation:

“When accused of being in the wrong when they are not, they (children of the light) will not defend themselves, but will say only as much as is required to prevent misunderstanding…and to assist those who truly desire to know the facts of the case.”

It was not important that I defend myself or mollify my ego, which felt wronged.  Willard’s words made that clear to me. To attempt to argue, merely to satisfy my need to appear in a better light, would only heighten the conflict. I kept my focus on the Air Croatia man, ignoring the continued insults and slurs from the man on my right.

Within minutes, the flight change was complete. Before leaving, I thanked the Air Croatia man, then shot away like a rabbit fleeing from a pack of hounds. My heart was racing as I headed toward the exit, in search of Sam in the rental car. I had the nagging feeling that someone might follow me outside and jump me in the parking lot. Luckily, no one was willing to give up his or her place in the line.

As we drove away, my shoulders relaxed, my breathing slowed. What a crazy and frightening episode! I remembered my prayer for protection from earlier that morning. God had allowed this unpleasant encounter. Therefore, what could He wish me to learn from it?