In Transit

I'm a person who needs to know what's going to happen. I like spoilers for movies and books. I like to know what's on a menu before I get to a restaurant. Maybe that's why I studied history, since it all happened already, there wasn't much room to be surprised. All that being said, I was very concerned with our transit through Frankfurt airport, worried we wouldn't make our connection to Salzburg, in the little over an hour we had to do it.
I prepared myself. I watched videos on you tube of people transferring in Frankfurt from non-Schengen to Schengen flights. I watched them again with Herr Haifisch. I stalked the Frankfurt airport site for weeks leading up to the trip, tracking where (and how late, it was usually late) the plane from Philly came in, and where the flight to Salzburg left. They have a mapping tool on the site, where you can put in where you want to start, and where you want to go. I did this. Daily. I was ready as I would ever be, or so I thought.

First though, we had the flight to get through. It's been a long time since we've flown internationally. Long enough that I don't really remember it. Last time for me, was coming back from Amsterdam via Iceland via Toronto (never again) with our oldest daughter when she was a teenager. Last time for Herr Hai was coming back from deployment to Afghanistan. We also had transited through Frankfurt previously on our not-so-nice very horrible trip to Kazakhstan, but I didn't remember much about it, beside being stuck somewhere for hours with nowhere to eat. Yet, here we are, doing it again.

Here's my review of Lufthansa economy class on an Airbus 330 from Philadelphia to Frankfurt. It was fine. As a real German might say, "I could fly on it." As soon as we boarded, the flight attendants starting speaking to me in German. I was like a deer in the headlights. I had been practicing, studying diligently. I had no idea what was going on. They spoke to my husband in English, which led to him smirking, "You must really look German or something..." Back to the review... Seats were fine. Economy class, a little bit more room than I expected. So that we could get the seats we wanted, we paid ahead of time to choose: an aisle and window. No, we weren't those people who book and aisle and window and hope no one sits between them, the 330 is a 2-4-2 configuration. We wanted seats as close to the front as we could get without paying extra due to our tight connection. Service was good. They kept speaking to me in German, him in English, until my nonsensical replies and stunned, stupid looks made them realize I wasn't German. Food: meh. Didn't taste bad, but there was no longer a choice. Nothing with meat, just a pasta dish with cheese, because it's better for the environment (aka they can save money and not say they're being cheap). Last time we flew Lufti economy (2007), it was some sort of meat dish or salmon. Both were hideous, so in retrospect, the cheesy pasta was actually a step up. Only one (1) glass of wine or beer. No free after dinner drink. Last time there was an offer of free cognac or Bailey's Irish Cream. I didn't take a picture of the food, sorry. It really wasn't much to look at though.

But we were on our way. The seat back entertainment was good. It worked. It took a while for mine to kick in all the way. I had the movies, but not the all important airplane channel. That's always my choice for entertainment when it's available, along with reading, writing, playing stupid games. I'm one of those freaks who likes to track the plane on the map, know how high, how fast, how cold outside, all of that. Her Hai's was working, but mine wasn't. He offered to switch seats with me, though he prefers the aisle and I prefer the window, but it magically got sorted out after everyone's went down and came back up.

We skipped after dinner coffee, gobbled down that melatonin, and got ready to sleep. We had gotten up early, before four, took our customary four mile walk through the neighborhood including nine laps around the nearby elementary school, with the hope that we would be so tired we'd sleep. Sure. I stuck in my new bluetooth earbuds even though I was sure I'd be that person who lost them in the seat, and put on my airplane sleep music: Eastern Orthodox choral pieces by Capella Romana (Lay Aside all Earthly Cares). We both slept on and off. Herr Hai, of course said he didn't, but at times he was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. I almost put the little Lufti-provided pillow over his face so we didn't get thrown out of the emergency door by irate fellow passengers.

At some point, I woke up, looked at the map, then out the window to see dark skies, kind of lightening up, and clusters of light. Airplane channel tells me we're over the United Kingdom.

The next time we woke up, it was sunny. That was good, because the weather had been very rainy in Germany for about a week. Breakfast was served, the standard roll, butter, jelly, yogurt, fruit you get in economy on a Transatlantic flight. Coffee. The view was fine. Nothing too exciting, not that I expected to see castles and such from the airplane window.

Those videos, the maps, the plan. All down the toilet in minutes. We did all right at first, follow the crowd, go along quickly. Somehow, we got lost. I mean, I'm probably the only person who can get lost in an airport when there's really NOT A CHOICE AS TO WHERE YOU'RE GOING. All right, maybe we weren't lost, but it sure seemed like it. It took us forever to find immigration. Even the old nuns from our flight beat us there.

I have to say this about German border control, they're very efficient. They let us come up together. The officer looks at me, starts to speak in German. Looks at Herr Hai, then the passports, "oh," and switches to English. "How long is your stay in Germany?" Herr Hai, "Well, we're just switching planes here to Austria, so an hour? But we're coming back..." BLAH BLAH BLAH he doesn't want our life story, and honestly, he looks kind of put off. So I say, in really bad German, "Drei Wochen." Herr Border Guard replies, "Oh, three," stressing three, "weeks? Welcome to Germany." Stamp, stamp the passports, and we're off.

Again, I think we were lost. We walked around the mall area on top, down stairs, upstairs, through the duty free area, through a tunnel at some point, ffs, trying to get to the B gates. I don't even remember just hours later in what order all that happened. It's getting close. We had maybe an hour twenty minutes to change, and Lufti assured us, as well as the well meaning folks on the German forum on trip advisor, "plenty of time". It didn't seem like it. I felt like I was in one of those old Hertz commercials running through the never ending airport.

Then smack: right into a security checkpoint. Minimal line, don't have to take off shoes. I get through, the female agent says something in German. Again, I have no idea. Not a clue. "Oh, American?" I say, "Yes." She says, "Put up hands. I'm going to touch your by your breasts. Welcome to Germany." Meanwhile, Herr Hai has to take off his hiking boots, and I hear behind me, "Do you have metal in the soles?" Seriously? They're Merrell Moabs. We're lucky there's even rubber in the soles. Time is ticking... We're undergoing additional screening and all I can see is our plane to Salzburg leaving without us.

Finally, they just said, "Oh, go ahead." So we did before they changed their mind and took his boots apart. It was practically a sprint. I had long given up dragging that jinky bag and was carrying it on one shoulder. Finally-- B gates. Then we count down, and we make it! Yay. In fact, we made it with time to spare. In fact, there's no plane at the gate. Turns out, we had to be bussed out to the plane, which was very empty. I'd say a quarter full. But we settle in, the plane gets on the way, and we're really off to the beginning of our adventure.Les mer