Our airplane was late so all the gates were full. Our plane parked on the tarmac. We had been asked to pull the shades to keep the plane cool so we could not look out the windows to see where we were sitting. When I got out the door, I was confronted by a long steep set of stairs. Ken was right behind me. I turned to ask Ken about getting down. We were both carrying backpacks and a rolling bag. At the same time as we were poised trying to figure out what to do, two young men were on the top p[latdorm saying, "elevator". The stairs were wide which meant holding on to both rails was impossible. Not a good situation.
Finally, the young men convinced us to use the elevator. Now the elevator is a freight elevator, with chains front and back and a railings on the side. It looked old and rickety but we got on. One man took Ken's cases down the stairs while I got on the elevator with my case. One man held my arms. The railing was about waist high. Down we went, very slowly. We made it. The two young men greeting us at the door were the kind men who had come to push our wheel chairs, which they did, cutting lines everywhere. They stayed with us until they put us into a taxi. All's well that ends well but it was a rocky ride.
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