How I hate Times New Roman! I'll try to keep this blog in a font I like for TNR just sets my teeth on edge. I started this blog to record my experiences traveling in Europe this summer; it seemed like a better way to do it than long emails to family and friends, because I can add images, scans of tickets or little memorabilia or Lufthansa salt and pepper packets, whatsomeever. But since it's my blog I can likewise ramble, for isn't that what blogging is all about? I could never survive the restrictions of Twitter, using only 144 characters or whatever it is; I like to wander too much.
Before I go on, a note, dear gentle reader: remember that blog posts come in reverse order, so that in order to start this tale, you have to go to the bottom of the blog and read up. It's annoying but such is the blog world.
So that out of the way, the title: it comes from something my parents used to say all the time, if asked how they were or how something was going, they would reply "Same old seven and six." I have no idea what that means, it's just something I remember hearing all the time when they were both still alive. I thought about my favorite oilfield phrase, "a**holes and elbows," but I figured that would get me banned from the more sophisticated intertube circles.
So, again, with that too out of the way, let us begin. This trip began last year sometime when it was decided by my daughter's high school German class that it was time to take a tour of Germany. After much discussion, which I didn't have that much part in other than to say that it sounded like a good idea--and by saying this I mean to give all the credit to my wife Becci, who did all the negotiation and all the arrangement and all the wrangling with the tour company; she really did a lot of work to make this happen--it was arranged thusly: we three, myself, our younger daughter Sarah, and Becci, would fly to Germany with the rest of the German class and chaperones, which ended up being eight kids, juniors and seniors in high school, and seven parents. After a 10-day bus tour of Germany, we would split up: all save me would go to a small town in western Germany, from whence the German kids who have come to Utah on an exchange program have come for 15 years, although no one from Utah has ever done the reciprocal and gone there; this was to be a first. I would leave the last night of the tour and be picked up by my nephew Rodger, who lives in the Netherlands, and stay with him the week that Becci and Sarah were in Heinsberg, the small German town, with host families. A couple of days after that split, our other daughter, Rachel, would fly from college in D.C. to Amsterdam, where Rodge and I would pick her up. After the week with the host families ended, the Salt Lake families would fly home, while Becci and Sarah would get on a train and go to The Hague, where Rachel and I were staying in Holland. We would then spend a week together there, then travel to Amsterdam for four days, staying in a canal boat. Then we would once again split, Sarah and I going home, Becci and Rachel taking a train to Berlin to stay with her mother. If you are as worn out just reading all this as I am writing it, just imagine Becci making all these arrangements. Different flights to be arranged with the tour company, the host families, train tickets back and forth across Europe; as I said she really did all the work on this, while the rest of us just sat back and enjoyed. So a hearty h/t to you, Becci!
Ok, now the intro is out of the way, so I can get going on the actual story. I'm just going to transcribe my journal fairly verbatim but I'm sure I'll remember something and meander farther afield
, so don't expect either consistency in time or thought (as if you would anyway). I take as my model Norman Nevills, the river runner; he kept small notebooks similar to this when he was on the river in the 1930s and 1940s, but they were pretty bare notes: "Got to Lava Falls. Lined. Camped at Mile 185." and then in the long winters in Mexican Hat, where he lived he would type them up and add to them. I'll do the same. I kept these notes in a small (4x5 inches) spiral notebook that I bought at the University bookstore for $.88 (ever notice how there isn't a cent sign on a computer keyboard?) The first few pages I used a black ball point but I always prefer blue, so after we got to Berlin I used the pen that came in the hotel room, a nice shade of blue; wore one out but I had grabbed another, and there it is, still stuck in the rings, a perfect place for your pen. The "little BIG book" was the perfect size to fit in a coat or even pants pocket, and although it got pretty hammered by the end, being taken in and out of pockets and backpack; I held it together with paper clips and tape. Note to self: next time, take rubber bands to wrap around journal...
Here's a typical page:
In my awful handwriting; the only person I know whose handwriting is worse than mine is my beloved wife (sorry, dear, it really is true!) I kept a journal that I wrote in each and every day during the US bicentennial year, 1976--why, I don't know, it just seemed like something to do--but now when I go back I can't read it. Then I used cursive handwriting and that made me switch to all caps block printing. I had to look and make sure I wasn't writing any calumny about anyone or anything, for when I do keep a journal I figure why candy-coat things? Part of the therapy of keeping a journal is using it to defuse any anger or frustration you might encounter, so I don't hold back. That said, I don't want to burn any bridges with anyone I might meet again someday, so certain names will be changed to protect the guilty.
So for the final time, here we go...
June 7, 2009
"We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown." So sayeth the Major [John Wesley Powell]. Actually in the Salt Lake airport on our way to Chicago, then the long hop to Dusseldorf, then on to Berlin. This has been in the works since last spring, and now here we are, on our way.
Trading seats around so I can sit in an exit row, more leg room. Thanks to Chris T., another of the chaperones, who gave up her seat for me. Yesterday I felt like Jack Bauer on the TV show "24," with a clock ticking down all day, as I dashed to unpack my river gear and get my possible kit and other stuff out, "sanitize" it for the airport (i.e., take out all knives and matches and other things that I use on the river but won't pass TSA), pack my carry-on, put wooden dowels in all the windows, get the house ready, and on and on and freakin' on. So we finally got it all by about 9PM and collapsed. Didn't sleep much but that's OK, hopefully I can sleep OK on the long flight to Europe. [Ha!]
Not as anxious as I thought I would be; I guess it's that inevitability that goes with any long-planned event, after a time the preparations just take hold and start to sweep you along with them. It makes me think of that great Bill Beer quote from We Swam The Grand Canyon; as he floated in his life jacket to the edge of Lava Falls, he kept thinking he could swim to shore, but then he felt the current grab him and it was too late. "Suddenly I relaxed," he wrote; "there were no more decisions to make."
As we went through security, they had to do the sniffer wand on my CPAP (which I'm really glad I brought!). It's happened before and I read up on some CPAP website that it's some kind of SOP for them. Can't imagine why, I guess some nefarious terrorist tried to sneak something on a plane or something using one of them? At any rate, who knows why the TSA does anything it does? Going through security at the same time was the whole Colorado Rapids soccer team. Last night RSL, the Salt Lake team, choked once again in the last minutes and blew a 1-0 lead, letting the Rapids tie the game. The girls were greatly impressed by the young athletes, especially Mehdi Balucchi.
On the plane, one of those tiny regional puddle jumpers, all the way to Chicago. Gods I hate these little planes! They squeeze you in like toothpaste into a tube, and I always have to ask for a seat belt extender. --all strapped in with no place to go--. --finally moving--. We did a bunch of trading seats around so I got an exit row but the compromise is less hip room. I'm jammed up against the side, but at least I can move my legs, they are crushed against the seat in front of me. On the runway, powering up, and here we go! ZOOOOMM! Still enough of the child to enjoy the view from up high, even if I hate to fly; I like to go new places but I hate to fly. Rainy and cloudy, so probably won't see much out the window. Sitting over the wing anyway, so oh well.
Flying is so timeless, you sit in a seat for X# of hours, the view outside not changing much--not at all if you aren't in a window seat--even on a clear day, but especially today when it's overcast (although we're over the overcast, so to speak), and then suddenly you feel a change in the engines, there's a descent, a rush, and there you are, someplace completely different. I've never set foot in Chicago, so it's a new one for me.
I have an ambition to be faithful in keeping my notes this trip; I did it for the whole five days on the river [I was on the river the week before leaving, in Desolation Canyon on the Green; got off that on Friday and left on Sunday for this trip], and got about half of one of these notebooks filled. People kept asking "what are you writing about?" What we see and do. "Why do you keep a journal?" Why not? It gives me something to do and keeps my hands occupied, which I would otherwise have to restrain from poking my eyes into your fingers, 3 Stooges style, for being so nosy!
Lots of picture taking. I always prefer to make my pictures with words; it takes more effort but it makes you think about it more. Today's "point and shoot" cameras are really "point and forget." Must be getting close, I can feel the engines changing. Glad to be on a Lufthansa flight on the long part, they always do things right. -just learned that we have 40 minutes to make a connection two terminals away, and we're just stooging around in the sky, making gentle turns, but not descending, taking a tour of the Chicago suburbs.
Later, on the Lufthansa flight to Dusseldorf. Because the United flight leaving Salt Lake was late, and we spent a lot of time dawdling around the sky over Chicago, and landed at some obscure gate in the middle of the north Chicago forty, we had to do a power-walk though two concourses (although we did not have to take a bus as we had originally thought, Deo Gratia!) --Departing right on time, Ordnung Muss Sein! --we made it with a few minutes to spare, whew! My first test; I've been worried that old and fat and out of shape as I am, after last year's cancer treatments, I wouldn't be able to keep up with all these teenagers. But I didn't fall by the wayside even though I was puffing pretty good. At least we were hanging around the airport for hours. Now watching a Sims version of the safety talk, in German; now in British/English. Got a pretty good seat, for economy; on the end of a middle row, it's offset a bit so that I can at least get one foot out into the aisle. But we're just behind First Class. Whenever I'm on a plane with First Class I just hate the people in those seats. I don't care if they feed and clothe thousands of starving children or change water to wine or raise the dead, if they're in First Class I just loathe them. Damned elitists, better than the rest of us. If this plane landed in the river I would happily stomp all over them to get out. Of course if it was me up there that would be different!
Later, an hour or two into the flight. Still over Canada, Over Newfoundland, but about to go over the Atlantic. I do like the little screens that show you your progress
, that's a nice innovation. Six hours to Dusseldorf. These Germans really know how to run an airline. On a US carrier, you're treated like a inconvenience at best, and a piece of meat at worst, herded into cramped, dirty seats, charged for every breath you take. On the Lufthansa flight, we've already been given snacks, drinks, a nice dinner, a moist hot towelette to cleanse ourselves, free movies and TV and music, and pleasant smiles all around. All in economy! I can only imagine First Class (I can only imagine because they've pulled the curtains to keep our foul economy class breath from the rarified air they breathe.) --about to go feet wet, over the Gulf of St. Lawrence-- I tried asking for drinks in German and got a nice smile from the attendant: "Tomato saften, bitte!" Cheap thrills. Like the woman on the river trip, it will be hard to go back to US airlines.
Later, about an hour out of Dusseldorf. Dozed, can't say I slept any, but at least I was able to doze off for a few minutes at a time. The lights just came on so it's time for breakfast and coffee! I can smell coffee and am so very ready for a cup or five. Not a bad night, if you discount sitting in a chair for seven hours. The guy in front of me watched show after show; when he'd exhausted all the movie options he watch the shopping channel. I watched Transporter 3, which was entertaining enough. I turned the in-seat TV off for a few hours and sort of dozed. If we can all get through today we should be in good shape as far as jet lag goes. One more connection to make, to Berlin. Nice little breakfast snack, and some coffee made me perk right up. Be really glad to get off this plane, as nice as it's been. --flying right over England, as close as we'll get on this trip, unfortunately--. --about to land, gear down...
OK, on the last flight, from Dusseldorf to Berlin. Since it's an 8AM commuter flight, the whole plane is full of sober, serious German businessmen in white shirts and dark suits and ties. What a comedy of errors on arrival! On the way over we had to fill out a form swearing we did not have the swine flu. So like any normal person all of us, save one, checked all the boxes saying that we never felt better. That one, whom I'll call Herb from now on, wrote that he was "not feeling well." So we get off the plane and there in the jetway are these medical teams, two serious-faced women in white coats, masks, latex gloves, a big medical kit open and ready, with police nearby for backup, just straining at the leash to pounce on someone foolish enough to say he's "not feeling well." What a maroon! So we get about halfway into the terminal and someone says where's Herb? His wife comes up and says that the MedicalPolezei have dragged him off into a room. I should say that we have about 25 minutes to make the flight to Berlin, and we still have to go through passport control and back through security. So just about when Becci and I are ready to write him off, here he comes; they gave him a quick check-up, poked and prodded a bit, and let him go. Having dodged that bullet, on we go to passport control where we have to make sure we stand in the line for Auslanders--the other is for EU passports, even though there is no one in that line--and then back through security. So I have a bottle of water that I'd forgotten about and I can't take it and there's no place to dump it, so I have to chug it down, with one of the kids on the trip chanting "Chug! Chug!" Then they see my little bottles of hotel shampoo--which had gone right through the TSA--and the kleinesicherfrau says "You have zie Liquids! Ziss is a Problem!" At least I got to keep my toothpaste but I had to throw away the shampoo. So we finally all get through and dash to the gate, and we are missing one of the mothers and two girls! They showed up at the last minute and we finally filed on board, viewed askance by the sober Deutsch buergers. One thing I have to say, though, is that there is no problem with seat belts too small on Lufthansa flights!
Scored a good window seat for the 50 minute flight to Berlin, so I'll get a B-17 view! Have to bomb by radar today, though, as it's overcast, but at least there's no flak. Our high school girls in their cut-offs and halter tops are a real contrast to all the dark serious business suits! Can't help but wonder what it was like in this same piece of sky 65 years ago, in an unheated, unpressurized bomber, with the veterans of the Luftwaffe, the Jagdflieger, doing their very best to blast you out of the sky and send you to a hideous death, to see black puffs of flak bursting ahead of you, see fighters pop up through the cloud layer and head straight at you. I'd be scared shitless, to be honest. The clouds clear a bit and there's a peaceful patchwork green countryside; imagine floating down into this same landscape in a parachute, having just jumped from a burning B-24?
Almost there, just like flying to Las Vegas or Denver from Salt Lake City, you barely have time to make the altitude before you start going back down again.
Later, on the bus in Berlin. Got to the airport, got our bags, got through their customs, no problem, just waved through. Met some of the others on the bus tour and our tour guide, Steve. Seems like a very nice guy, younger; he tells us that even though we have about 35 people this is only part of our group, the total will be 52! That's going to be a crowd. Now stuck in a stau, or traffic jam.
Later, on a very nice little corner balcony at the Econtel Hotel Berlin Charlottenberg. Kind of lost track of time; I know this is Monday but Sunday, spent on the plane, seems like it didn't even happen. So
, got to the hotel in good order, got a regular room, with two twin beds, but as soon as I sat on the bed it collapsed; something I'll have to watch out for. So after a bit of discussion Becci went downstairs, since she speaks German, and talked to the desk and they switched us to this very nice corner room, with a nice kleinebalcony overlooking the street, with a much nicer shower and of course this balcony. Sometimes being big has its advantages! Freshened up a bit and went downstairs to meet Steve and the rest of our group--the ones who are here, some won't get here until tonight--in the lobby for an orientation stroll. I think it's actually to keep us from crashing out and thus jet-lagging ourselves, but OK. So we walk about four blocks to the Charlottenberg Palace; right along the River Spree across the Schlossbru
cke, where I remember walking ten years ago when we were here. Walked around the Palace grounds a bit but by now my feet were feeling the long hours of sitting and walking, so rather than march around the Palace grounds, as beautiful as they were, I did what you are supposed to do in the gardens, I sat and looked at them and relaxed. After a bit Steve came back, and as he had to head back to the airport to pick up another part of our group, it was decided to return to the hotel. On the way over, though, we decided to take a boat tour on the Spree as we had some hours before that night's first group dinner. It was a good idea but there were unintended consequences: as we sat on the boat in the warm sun and listened to the tour guide droning in German, all of us--me, Becci, Sarah, and the two girls that we were sort of in charge of, Ruby and Brooke--were soon fast asleep. [In discussions before the trip it was decided that each chaperone would be in charge of certain kids, so Becci and I were in charge of Sarah, and two of her friends, Ruby and Brooke] Were a little disoriented; the boat stopped and everyone else jumped up and got off, so we figured it was the end of the tour, but it turned out we were a bridge too early. As a result, we had to take a 3-transfer subway route back to the hotel. Becci managed that very smoothly, despite being harassed by some drunk as she tried to buy the tickets; he wanted to sell us his tickets and she kept waving him off and finally said something in German that caused him to go looking for another customer. Got back to the hotel and this time did collapse onto the bed and sleep an hour or two.
Later, back on the balcony again. After we woke up it was about time to gather for dinner, so in the fullness of time we did so and all walked back to Charlottenberg to a Russian restaurant, where we had a very nice buffet style dinner; it was a tiny little place so we were all in different rooms, and didn't get a chance to really meet each other. So far we've met a group of five older ladies--one of them younger, actually--from Indiana and Michigan, and a bunch of boys and their teachers from a Catholic high school in Missouri; and another bunch of kids, younger than ours, from...somewhere. After dinner we went back to the hotel where Becci was waiting downstairs for her mother Anneliese and sister Brigitte, so that they could collect the suitcase of A's stuff that we lugged over the Atlantic for her, so I waited with her. When they came, we all went to the hotel bar and had a drink. We saw all the other adults in the lobby from our group, and saw the last of our tour, a bunch of girls from Colorado, come in. What a big group! Luckily it turns out there's a little grocery store right by the hotel that's open until 10! PM!, which is unusual for the Berlin suburbs. For being known as the nightlife capitol of Germany if not Europe, if you're off the Ku-Dam (the main downtown district) they roll up the streets about 6PM. So this way the kids could go get snacks and stay up later than the rest of us, who were desperate to crash.
Before I go on, a note, dear gentle reader: remember that blog posts come in reverse order, so that in order to start this tale, you have to go to the bottom of the blog and read up. It's annoying but such is the blog world.
So that out of the way, the title: it comes from something my parents used to say all the time, if asked how they were or how something was going, they would reply "Same old seven and six." I have no idea what that means, it's just something I remember hearing all the time when they were both still alive. I thought about my favorite oilfield phrase, "a**holes and elbows," but I figured that would get me banned from the more sophisticated intertube circles.
So, again, with that too out of the way, let us begin. This trip began last year sometime when it was decided by my daughter's high school German class that it was time to take a tour of Germany. After much discussion, which I didn't have that much part in other than to say that it sounded like a good idea--and by saying this I mean to give all the credit to my wife Becci, who did all the negotiation and all the arrangement and all the wrangling with the tour company; she really did a lot of work to make this happen--it was arranged thusly: we three, myself, our younger daughter Sarah, and Becci, would fly to Germany with the rest of the German class and chaperones, which ended up being eight kids, juniors and seniors in high school, and seven parents. After a 10-day bus tour of Germany, we would split up: all save me would go to a small town in western Germany, from whence the German kids who have come to Utah on an exchange program have come for 15 years, although no one from Utah has ever done the reciprocal and gone there; this was to be a first. I would leave the last night of the tour and be picked up by my nephew Rodger, who lives in the Netherlands, and stay with him the week that Becci and Sarah were in Heinsberg, the small German town, with host families. A couple of days after that split, our other daughter, Rachel, would fly from college in D.C. to Amsterdam, where Rodge and I would pick her up. After the week with the host families ended, the Salt Lake families would fly home, while Becci and Sarah would get on a train and go to The Hague, where Rachel and I were staying in Holland. We would then spend a week together there, then travel to Amsterdam for four days, staying in a canal boat. Then we would once again split, Sarah and I going home, Becci and Rachel taking a train to Berlin to stay with her mother. If you are as worn out just reading all this as I am writing it, just imagine Becci making all these arrangements. Different flights to be arranged with the tour company, the host families, train tickets back and forth across Europe; as I said she really did all the work on this, while the rest of us just sat back and enjoyed. So a hearty h/t to you, Becci!
Ok, now the intro is out of the way, so I can get going on the actual story. I'm just going to transcribe my journal fairly verbatim but I'm sure I'll remember something and meander farther afield
, so don't expect either consistency in time or thought (as if you would anyway). I take as my model Norman Nevills, the river runner; he kept small notebooks similar to this when he was on the river in the 1930s and 1940s, but they were pretty bare notes: "Got to Lava Falls. Lined. Camped at Mile 185." and then in the long winters in Mexican Hat, where he lived he would type them up and add to them. I'll do the same. I kept these notes in a small (4x5 inches) spiral notebook that I bought at the University bookstore for $.88 (ever notice how there isn't a cent sign on a computer keyboard?) The first few pages I used a black ball point but I always prefer blue, so after we got to Berlin I used the pen that came in the hotel room, a nice shade of blue; wore one out but I had grabbed another, and there it is, still stuck in the rings, a perfect place for your pen. The "little BIG book" was the perfect size to fit in a coat or even pants pocket, and although it got pretty hammered by the end, being taken in and out of pockets and backpack; I held it together with paper clips and tape. Note to self: next time, take rubber bands to wrap around journal...Here's a typical page:
In my awful handwriting; the only person I know whose handwriting is worse than mine is my beloved wife (sorry, dear, it really is true!) I kept a journal that I wrote in each and every day during the US bicentennial year, 1976--why, I don't know, it just seemed like something to do--but now when I go back I can't read it. Then I used cursive handwriting and that made me switch to all caps block printing. I had to look and make sure I wasn't writing any calumny about anyone or anything, for when I do keep a journal I figure why candy-coat things? Part of the therapy of keeping a journal is using it to defuse any anger or frustration you might encounter, so I don't hold back. That said, I don't want to burn any bridges with anyone I might meet again someday, so certain names will be changed to protect the guilty.So for the final time, here we go...
June 7, 2009
"We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown." So sayeth the Major [John Wesley Powell]. Actually in the Salt Lake airport on our way to Chicago, then the long hop to Dusseldorf, then on to Berlin. This has been in the works since last spring, and now here we are, on our way.
Trading seats around so I can sit in an exit row, more leg room. Thanks to Chris T., another of the chaperones, who gave up her seat for me. Yesterday I felt like Jack Bauer on the TV show "24," with a clock ticking down all day, as I dashed to unpack my river gear and get my possible kit and other stuff out, "sanitize" it for the airport (i.e., take out all knives and matches and other things that I use on the river but won't pass TSA), pack my carry-on, put wooden dowels in all the windows, get the house ready, and on and on and freakin' on. So we finally got it all by about 9PM and collapsed. Didn't sleep much but that's OK, hopefully I can sleep OK on the long flight to Europe. [Ha!]
Not as anxious as I thought I would be; I guess it's that inevitability that goes with any long-planned event, after a time the preparations just take hold and start to sweep you along with them. It makes me think of that great Bill Beer quote from We Swam The Grand Canyon; as he floated in his life jacket to the edge of Lava Falls, he kept thinking he could swim to shore, but then he felt the current grab him and it was too late. "Suddenly I relaxed," he wrote; "there were no more decisions to make."
As we went through security, they had to do the sniffer wand on my CPAP (which I'm really glad I brought!). It's happened before and I read up on some CPAP website that it's some kind of SOP for them. Can't imagine why, I guess some nefarious terrorist tried to sneak something on a plane or something using one of them? At any rate, who knows why the TSA does anything it does? Going through security at the same time was the whole Colorado Rapids soccer team. Last night RSL, the Salt Lake team, choked once again in the last minutes and blew a 1-0 lead, letting the Rapids tie the game. The girls were greatly impressed by the young athletes, especially Mehdi Balucchi.
On the plane, one of those tiny regional puddle jumpers, all the way to Chicago. Gods I hate these little planes! They squeeze you in like toothpaste into a tube, and I always have to ask for a seat belt extender. --all strapped in with no place to go--. --finally moving--. We did a bunch of trading seats around so I got an exit row but the compromise is less hip room. I'm jammed up against the side, but at least I can move my legs, they are crushed against the seat in front of me. On the runway, powering up, and here we go! ZOOOOMM! Still enough of the child to enjoy the view from up high, even if I hate to fly; I like to go new places but I hate to fly. Rainy and cloudy, so probably won't see much out the window. Sitting over the wing anyway, so oh well.
Flying is so timeless, you sit in a seat for X# of hours, the view outside not changing much--not at all if you aren't in a window seat--even on a clear day, but especially today when it's overcast (although we're over the overcast, so to speak), and then suddenly you feel a change in the engines, there's a descent, a rush, and there you are, someplace completely different. I've never set foot in Chicago, so it's a new one for me.
I have an ambition to be faithful in keeping my notes this trip; I did it for the whole five days on the river [I was on the river the week before leaving, in Desolation Canyon on the Green; got off that on Friday and left on Sunday for this trip], and got about half of one of these notebooks filled. People kept asking "what are you writing about?" What we see and do. "Why do you keep a journal?" Why not? It gives me something to do and keeps my hands occupied, which I would otherwise have to restrain from poking my eyes into your fingers, 3 Stooges style, for being so nosy!
Lots of picture taking. I always prefer to make my pictures with words; it takes more effort but it makes you think about it more. Today's "point and shoot" cameras are really "point and forget." Must be getting close, I can feel the engines changing. Glad to be on a Lufthansa flight on the long part, they always do things right. -just learned that we have 40 minutes to make a connection two terminals away, and we're just stooging around in the sky, making gentle turns, but not descending, taking a tour of the Chicago suburbs.
Later, on the Lufthansa flight to Dusseldorf. Because the United flight leaving Salt Lake was late, and we spent a lot of time dawdling around the sky over Chicago, and landed at some obscure gate in the middle of the north Chicago forty, we had to do a power-walk though two concourses (although we did not have to take a bus as we had originally thought, Deo Gratia!) --Departing right on time, Ordnung Muss Sein! --we made it with a few minutes to spare, whew! My first test; I've been worried that old and fat and out of shape as I am, after last year's cancer treatments, I wouldn't be able to keep up with all these teenagers. But I didn't fall by the wayside even though I was puffing pretty good. At least we were hanging around the airport for hours. Now watching a Sims version of the safety talk, in German; now in British/English. Got a pretty good seat, for economy; on the end of a middle row, it's offset a bit so that I can at least get one foot out into the aisle. But we're just behind First Class. Whenever I'm on a plane with First Class I just hate the people in those seats. I don't care if they feed and clothe thousands of starving children or change water to wine or raise the dead, if they're in First Class I just loathe them. Damned elitists, better than the rest of us. If this plane landed in the river I would happily stomp all over them to get out. Of course if it was me up there that would be different!
Later, an hour or two into the flight. Still over Canada, Over Newfoundland, but about to go over the Atlantic. I do like the little screens that show you your progress
, that's a nice innovation. Six hours to Dusseldorf. These Germans really know how to run an airline. On a US carrier, you're treated like a inconvenience at best, and a piece of meat at worst, herded into cramped, dirty seats, charged for every breath you take. On the Lufthansa flight, we've already been given snacks, drinks, a nice dinner, a moist hot towelette to cleanse ourselves, free movies and TV and music, and pleasant smiles all around. All in economy! I can only imagine First Class (I can only imagine because they've pulled the curtains to keep our foul economy class breath from the rarified air they breathe.) --about to go feet wet, over the Gulf of St. Lawrence-- I tried asking for drinks in German and got a nice smile from the attendant: "Tomato saften, bitte!" Cheap thrills. Like the woman on the river trip, it will be hard to go back to US airlines.Later, about an hour out of Dusseldorf. Dozed, can't say I slept any, but at least I was able to doze off for a few minutes at a time. The lights just came on so it's time for breakfast and coffee! I can smell coffee and am so very ready for a cup or five. Not a bad night, if you discount sitting in a chair for seven hours. The guy in front of me watched show after show; when he'd exhausted all the movie options he watch the shopping channel. I watched Transporter 3, which was entertaining enough. I turned the in-seat TV off for a few hours and sort of dozed. If we can all get through today we should be in good shape as far as jet lag goes. One more connection to make, to Berlin. Nice little breakfast snack, and some coffee made me perk right up. Be really glad to get off this plane, as nice as it's been. --flying right over England, as close as we'll get on this trip, unfortunately--. --about to land, gear down...
OK, on the last flight, from Dusseldorf to Berlin. Since it's an 8AM commuter flight, the whole plane is full of sober, serious German businessmen in white shirts and dark suits and ties. What a comedy of errors on arrival! On the way over we had to fill out a form swearing we did not have the swine flu. So like any normal person all of us, save one, checked all the boxes saying that we never felt better. That one, whom I'll call Herb from now on, wrote that he was "not feeling well." So we get off the plane and there in the jetway are these medical teams, two serious-faced women in white coats, masks, latex gloves, a big medical kit open and ready, with police nearby for backup, just straining at the leash to pounce on someone foolish enough to say he's "not feeling well." What a maroon! So we get about halfway into the terminal and someone says where's Herb? His wife comes up and says that the MedicalPolezei have dragged him off into a room. I should say that we have about 25 minutes to make the flight to Berlin, and we still have to go through passport control and back through security. So just about when Becci and I are ready to write him off, here he comes; they gave him a quick check-up, poked and prodded a bit, and let him go. Having dodged that bullet, on we go to passport control where we have to make sure we stand in the line for Auslanders--the other is for EU passports, even though there is no one in that line--and then back through security. So I have a bottle of water that I'd forgotten about and I can't take it and there's no place to dump it, so I have to chug it down, with one of the kids on the trip chanting "Chug! Chug!" Then they see my little bottles of hotel shampoo--which had gone right through the TSA--and the kleinesicherfrau says "You have zie Liquids! Ziss is a Problem!" At least I got to keep my toothpaste but I had to throw away the shampoo. So we finally all get through and dash to the gate, and we are missing one of the mothers and two girls! They showed up at the last minute and we finally filed on board, viewed askance by the sober Deutsch buergers. One thing I have to say, though, is that there is no problem with seat belts too small on Lufthansa flights!
Scored a good window seat for the 50 minute flight to Berlin, so I'll get a B-17 view! Have to bomb by radar today, though, as it's overcast, but at least there's no flak. Our high school girls in their cut-offs and halter tops are a real contrast to all the dark serious business suits! Can't help but wonder what it was like in this same piece of sky 65 years ago, in an unheated, unpressurized bomber, with the veterans of the Luftwaffe, the Jagdflieger, doing their very best to blast you out of the sky and send you to a hideous death, to see black puffs of flak bursting ahead of you, see fighters pop up through the cloud layer and head straight at you. I'd be scared shitless, to be honest. The clouds clear a bit and there's a peaceful patchwork green countryside; imagine floating down into this same landscape in a parachute, having just jumped from a burning B-24?
Almost there, just like flying to Las Vegas or Denver from Salt Lake City, you barely have time to make the altitude before you start going back down again.
Later, on the bus in Berlin. Got to the airport, got our bags, got through their customs, no problem, just waved through. Met some of the others on the bus tour and our tour guide, Steve. Seems like a very nice guy, younger; he tells us that even though we have about 35 people this is only part of our group, the total will be 52! That's going to be a crowd. Now stuck in a stau, or traffic jam.
Later, on a very nice little corner balcony at the Econtel Hotel Berlin Charlottenberg. Kind of lost track of time; I know this is Monday but Sunday, spent on the plane, seems like it didn't even happen. So
, got to the hotel in good order, got a regular room, with two twin beds, but as soon as I sat on the bed it collapsed; something I'll have to watch out for. So after a bit of discussion Becci went downstairs, since she speaks German, and talked to the desk and they switched us to this very nice corner room, with a nice kleinebalcony overlooking the street, with a much nicer shower and of course this balcony. Sometimes being big has its advantages! Freshened up a bit and went downstairs to meet Steve and the rest of our group--the ones who are here, some won't get here until tonight--in the lobby for an orientation stroll. I think it's actually to keep us from crashing out and thus jet-lagging ourselves, but OK. So we walk about four blocks to the Charlottenberg Palace; right along the River Spree across the Schlossbru
cke, where I remember walking ten years ago when we were here. Walked around the Palace grounds a bit but by now my feet were feeling the long hours of sitting and walking, so rather than march around the Palace grounds, as beautiful as they were, I did what you are supposed to do in the gardens, I sat and looked at them and relaxed. After a bit Steve came back, and as he had to head back to the airport to pick up another part of our group, it was decided to return to the hotel. On the way over, though, we decided to take a boat tour on the Spree as we had some hours before that night's first group dinner. It was a good idea but there were unintended consequences: as we sat on the boat in the warm sun and listened to the tour guide droning in German, all of us--me, Becci, Sarah, and the two girls that we were sort of in charge of, Ruby and Brooke--were soon fast asleep. [In discussions before the trip it was decided that each chaperone would be in charge of certain kids, so Becci and I were in charge of Sarah, and two of her friends, Ruby and Brooke] Were a little disoriented; the boat stopped and everyone else jumped up and got off, so we figured it was the end of the tour, but it turned out we were a bridge too early. As a result, we had to take a 3-transfer subway route back to the hotel. Becci managed that very smoothly, despite being harassed by some drunk as she tried to buy the tickets; he wanted to sell us his tickets and she kept waving him off and finally said something in German that caused him to go looking for another customer. Got back to the hotel and this time did collapse onto the bed and sleep an hour or two.
Later, back on the balcony again. After we woke up it was about time to gather for dinner, so in the fullness of time we did so and all walked back to Charlottenberg to a Russian restaurant, where we had a very nice buffet style dinner; it was a tiny little place so we were all in different rooms, and didn't get a chance to really meet each other. So far we've met a group of five older ladies--one of them younger, actually--from Indiana and Michigan, and a bunch of boys and their teachers from a Catholic high school in Missouri; and another bunch of kids, younger than ours, from...somewhere. After dinner we went back to the hotel where Becci was waiting downstairs for her mother Anneliese and sister Brigitte, so that they could collect the suitcase of A's stuff that we lugged over the Atlantic for her, so I waited with her. When they came, we all went to the hotel bar and had a drink. We saw all the other adults in the lobby from our group, and saw the last of our tour, a bunch of girls from Colorado, come in. What a big group! Luckily it turns out there's a little grocery store right by the hotel that's open until 10! PM!, which is unusual for the Berlin suburbs. For being known as the nightlife capitol of Germany if not Europe, if you're off the Ku-Dam (the main downtown district) they roll up the streets about 6PM. So this way the kids could go get snacks and stay up later than the rest of us, who were desperate to crash.
