8 June

(Photos)

Ok, so what kind of adventures might one have on an international outing such as mine?

Harry dropped me off at the airport after driving me there and preparing me for a ten hour flight. I was carrying this game called Tripoley which is basically a big board game in a cardboard box. It’s for Eric’s mum, and I found this pristine 1960 vintage copy. So I wanted to carry that on so as to protect it. So I check two bags instead of the one I had originally planned to check so i can carry the game on. Enter the extra bag fee. C’est la vie. However, what had me nervous was that they took me from my check-in station to the end of the counter where I had to wait for someone. Why couldn’t they just tell me that I had to come to that register to pay the fee? Do I need this added stress and visions of strip searches with large hairy anally interested parties?

It’s the little hurdles that make the race interesting I am told.

So the little hateful cretin at check-in placed me in a middle seat next to this rock solid sleeper who had little sympathy for my bladder and loved his $2 cologne. And I thought he was my friend.  How does airbus expect people who are not quite as skinny as my skinny ass to sit in these seats? I spent a goodly amount of time pacing around the bathrooms.  (Shut up, you in the back.)

Let me tell you about the Frankfurt airport. It’s fucked. The plane landed but was denied a gate. I guess this is standard operating procedure for Frankfurt. We climbed down the steps and were taken by bus to a random door into the terminals. No instructions. Lousy signage. The signage really is pretty much useless unless you already know where you are going and sort of temporarily misplaced yourself. In trying to get where I needed to go I went through security twice (which should have been unnecessary being that I was connecting) and had my passport stamped thrice. Finally I found a stair well that a lady told me about. She said one level. That translated into four landed flights of stairs (8 segments of steps). One level. Then go over and take an elevator up, wait for it, one level. Then you can get to the A gates. Don’t follow the signs that say A gates. They are there to torment you. Mind you this was after 10 hours of flying. On the plus side they did, at my last pass through security, test the game for explosives. Fuck, I was thinking they were onto something. There was that moment of “great, I bought this used…”. Then again, it’s probably good that I checked both those other bags.

Getting onto the second plane was a pleasure. Window seat next to a pair of Swedish women traveling to Toulouse on business (part of their regular regimen). Only about an hour and a half I think. Love that kind of flight. The Swedish women agreed to help me find baggage so I didn’t get my passport stamped three more times.

So then several of us sit around baggage station 5 waiting with everyone else and our shit doesn’t show. People walk around looking over the empty conveyor. Still nothing.

So at this point I indulge in a perfectly reasonable panic attack. I have no luggage (except my laptop and a board game) and I’m in a foreign country where my friend is nowhere to be seen. Sometimes you just earn them.

Finally one of we forgotten finds out that those of us on an international flight had our baggage routed to baggage station 7 where customs is located–and our baggage MAY still be there. No shit, MAYBE. It was there. What was not there was a person from customs. Personne! We just walked out and into France. At least the system thinks we did something customs related.