So, it turns out that I might not do so well with my English in this entry. If that’s the case, forgive me. Having been in Spain for five days speaking only Spanish then going back to France where I pretty much only spoke French for another day, then I spent the night in the airport, I think I’ve only spoken a total of a half hour of English in the past 6 days. That means that I’ve been thinking in Span-ench-glish… i.e., I can’t really talk to anyone anymore. Oh well. Such is life. You’ll also have to forgive me if this is a bit eclectic; I think I fell asleep last night/this morning, but it wasn’t a very comfortable sleep (see picture/video).
It’s a good thing I like traveling so much. I am on the plane from Munich to Denver right now writing this entry, on my 14th flight of 2008. As of right now, I’ve got plans to have been on 19 flights total in 2008 by July 7th when I start work. Granted, that’s still a lot fewer than last year (from just August to November of 2007 I had 18, and I probably topped 34 flights for all of 2007), but maybe once I start working I can pick the pace up a bit. I think the long flights should count for a bit more, too. Either way, that’s a lot of time spent going through security lines and at airports (not to mention the fact that I worked at an airport over the summer). Luckily I’ve got my new iPod to keep me entertained, with no fewer than 150 movies on it in four languages.
And speaking of traveling, what an adventure these last few months have been. I’ve missed everyone at home, but I have had a great time. I’ve been in 9 countries in less than three months (USA, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, the Vatican, Spain, and Switzerland, with the five new countries bolded). I’ve also made some really great friends. Life is amazing, I have to admit. I love to be alive and I love to live life. I just wish that I had a few more lives to live. I’d be a neurosurgeon and I’d get a PhD in Chemistry, Economics, Astrophysics, and American History and I’d write books about geology and I’d learn 10 languages and I’d go to Africa and build houses and I’d ice fish in Norway and hike Everest (they say that one in ten mountaineers who attempt it die, not to mention all their Sherpas—so I’d only try that if I had my poor little Tubby cat’s 9 lives). Not to mention I’d learn to play the violin and piano, and the guitar well enough that I could sit on the street in Honolulu and panhandle enough to get by while I lived on the beach and ate coconuts… actually, I don’t know if that’s true. That last one might drive me crazy after a week or two, but I’d still love to play the guitar better. Oh, what a wonderful life! What an amazing world! I know, I digress; what you really want to know is how I ended up on this confounded plane in the first place. If you’ve ever seen that Seinfeld episode where they start at the end and then play it backwards, I’m going to give a go at the same thing.
Well, al luck would have it I almost missed this flight today in Munich, because I got off my flight from Paris with plenty of time, and I didn’t push or shove as some are wont to do because, hey, I had enough time and I prefer to be kind whenever I can be, so I moseyed on over to the H gates, and then it turned out that I had to go through a long tunnel I passed some other folks who had just gone through security, I suppose since they were coming directly in from Munich, but then I had to go through passport control. I wasn’t excited about it until I saw that I’d get another Munich stamp (I believe I have one from last time I was here, too), which is fun, and worth the three minutes I had to wait in line, right? There were only about 10 people in each of the lines, and they were moving relatively quickly. Well, it would have been three minutes if it weren’t for the fact that the woman directly in front of me didn’t have a passport. She waited till she was at the front of the line to look for it, and then couldn’t find it anywhere. She handed the passport control woman her drivers license (it was from California or something), and the passport control woman had to hold back a laugh. She wouldn’t accept it. The woman insisted that she was an American citizen, but it’s a lot easier to say than to prove, so it was a no go. (Note to self, if I tell people I’m American, just because I’m white and wear Hurley t-shirts doesn’t mean they’ll let me go through passport control… oh… wait a minute…). So, to further prove that she was an American, and that she had a passport, she showed the lady at the desk (I’ll call her Hilda because I’m sick of typing out the passport control woman) her itinerary, which came from Italy or something. So, our American friend (from here on out we’ll call her Jane) insisted that she wouldn’t have been able to make it from Italy to Munich if she didn’t have a passport. Hilda wouldn’t have any of it, though. I must admit, Jane wasn’t really convincing. Jane realized this and produced the ticket stub from Italy, and about this point I started to be less than happy with my own situation, stuck watching Hilda and Jane talking about whether Jane was really an American or not while some twenty people had gone by in the other lines. I had chosen Hilda because her line was the fastest; and let’s be honest, it wasn’t Hilda’s fault Jane lost her passport. If I was Hilda, though, I would have told her to get out of line, find her passport (and if I was feeling nice I’d tell her she could come back to the front once she did) but I wouldn’t let Jane stand there. I had stuck it out because I had hoped that Jane wasn’t foolish enough to think she could actually get through passport control without a passport, but I was wrong. I looked at my watch at this point, and then at my boarding pass, and it turns out my plane started boarding ten minutes ago. I switched lines, waited all the way though the one line, and through the checkpoint before Jane and Hilda sorted things out. Goodness.
Well, I was in a hurry at this point, but I still had 25 minutes before the flight left, and as far as I could tell I was right next to my gate, and I still had 11 euros. I stopped in a shop to buy some Swiss chocolate (I needed it there because I didn’t get any in Switzerland because the United Nations robbed me… I didn’t feel too bad about it because I figure the they need the money more than I do… at least I’ve come to grips with my place in life and society, whereas they have no idea that they’re completely impotent and won’t ever be otherwise). There wasn’t a single attendant at any of the desks. I was shocked. I walked around for a while, and finally found two at the far end of the store going out the direction I didn’t want to go, but when I tried to pay, they insisted that no, they had to go back to the other side (where I wanted to leave). So, I had to follow the attendant all the way across the (rather large) store and pay at her register… which ate up more time. Well, I started running once I had paid, only to discover that my gate, while right next to me, was behind a large glass wall. I couldn’t figure out why on earth it was, but whatever, I ran along the wall until I found myself at another checkpoint, where they checked passports and boarding passes. At this point, I decided that either the Germans, Lufthansa or the EU must have been insane to make me go through this all after I had already been in a secure zone (having just gotten off the plane from another EU country). While waiting, I heard a final call for the Lufthansa flight to Denver (there’s only one a day). So, when I made it through that line you can only imagine my joy at seeing another security checkpoint where I had to not only go through security, take off my belt and shoes, but also show them my boarding pass (this within a stone’s throw from the other checkpoint. Not even a Steve Young stone’s throw. My niece Rachael can throw this far on a bad day. It was like ten feet). When I got through I broke into a full sprint, and made it on. I think I was either the last or second to last person on the plane. I can’t even tell you how happy I would have been to have spent the night in Munich… But hey, all’s well that ends well.
Speaking of which, earlier this morning when I woke up (can I even say woke up? That would mean I had slept…) when I got up I went over and got in line (I was second since I let another American couple go in front of me since they seemed more worried about their flight to Greece than I was about my flight to Munich). I did the whole thing in French; yes, I’m going to Denver via Munich, at 7:05 am. Yes, I’ve got two bags to check. I’d like a window, please. No, I don’t have any liquids, gels, or explosives. Well, she’s about to send my bags back, and then, after all that, she tells me “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a reservation. You’re not booked on any flight going out of Paris today.” I was flabbergasted. Why ask me if I wanted a window if you hadn’t even found my flight yet? So, she directed me to the Lufthansa help center, where I went and talked to another woman, who asked me for exact details. I said I thought I was on the flight to Munich around 7am, but they had told me there was no reservation. She asked for my reservation number, and I told her I didn’t have it, and she said she couldn’t search by just my name. I was dumbfounded. How on earth can they not search by my name, and how did they lose my reservation in the first place? I kept my cool though (I did ask her “Are you serious?” a shout out to all you Zoolander fans), and she found my reservation. Apparently when I changed it from the 18th to the 22nd, it was written down but didn’t register in the computer. So, she fixed it and I went back to the check in line and wait to get up front. I make it up front, and the woman (a different one than the first time) told me that they had no reservations for me going out of Paris that day. Have I mentioned that I love traveling? I really do. It’s always an adventure. So, she advised I go talk to the people at the Lufthansa help desk. I insisted that I had just spoken to them, and pointed out the person I had spoken to across the room, and the woman at the counter called the other woman and confirmed that I was, in fact, signed up for the flight and that the other woman had just gotten to input the data. How she forgot it is beyond me, but that’s fine. We all make mistakes. The woman checking my bags was dumbfounded that my carryon (loaded with books, of course) weighed 19.6 kilos, when it’s only supposed to weigh 8 kilos. So, she made me take books out of it and transfer them to my backpack (she discovered this after she had sent off my luggage to the depths of the airport), but I put them back in my roller bag as soon as I was around the corner and didn’t have any trouble with them since then. The flight I’m on now is pretty empty, so I put it in its own overhead compartment. Anyway, I caught my flight with plenty of time, and flew to Munich without incident… until I got to Munich, that is.
As an aside, they just served lunch. I had the chicken. I know, it was a risky move. Chicken over pasta? Either way the airline usually doesn’t get it right, so I might as well go for the protein, right? Well, it was pretty good. Anyway, it made me think about the employees. I suppose they must eat the same food everyone else on board does, so I wonder if they ever take out the good stuff (i.e. the chicken, or whatever they like) before they go start serving it. Maybe next time I should ask them what they’re eating… And do they eat all (or some at least) of the extra cheesecakes? I mean, if not I’m sure they just go to waste. Then I had an even funnier thought of Elder (now President, I suppose) Uchdorf, who used to fly for Lufthansa, as a pilot in the front making announcements in his unique accent to the passengers while chowing down on chicken an cheesecake. I’m not sure that visual will be quite as funny for you if you’re not here and you’re not sleep deprived, but I got a kick out of it. Ok, game on.
So, I decided to sleep in the airport last night. It really just made the most sense. My flight left from Paris at 7am, so I had to check in by 5am, but the first trains in the morning leave at 5 from Paris, and it would have cost about 60 euros ($100) to catch a cab… So, I slept in Charles de Gaulle airport. I slept with my backpack on, one arm through my duffle bag strap, and one leg over each suitcase. I was kinda hoping for some more excitement, but the best that happened was at 2:30 am some guy came out and put out the dividers to set up the lines. Then at about 4:30 some Greek-Americans came and sat next to me and scared the living daylights out of me (I was sleeping with earplugs in, and I had actually fallen asleep, and when they sat down it surprised me). Then finally, after being there for about five hours, some people came and I went through the line to get my ticket… good thing they had it…
We all need to eat a piece of humble pie from time to time. Imagine my surprise when I left the house of the director of the program last night. I took off around 11pm, and Jack Welch, the husband, gave me his best plan on how to get to the airport. I thanked him, and got on the metro. When I was on, I was looking at the metro map and a French girl came up and asked if I needed any help (in pretty good English), and she told me an even better way to get there and helped me take my bags off the metro. Then when I was going up the stairs another guy stopped and helped me carry my bag up to my platform, even though he was going the other direction. He offered to help, I accepted, and I didn’t even think twice about it until he was at the top of the stairs and I was still only halfway up carrying two bags—but he just dropped it off and took off. Then two other guys helped me as I ran into different staircases. Frankly, the French have lived up to most of my expectations. They are cold, hate Americans, egotistical, and the world revolves around France (don’t worry, I missed that part of geology 101, too). I saw a different face of Frenchmen in the south of France when we were down there, and it was incredible. They were wonderful, kind, open and loving. Then last night I saw Parisians who weren’t like the stereotype, which shocked me. So, even in France there are people of all types. It doesn’t mean I agree any more with them opposing the war in Iraq and then illegally selling weapons to our enemies, but I do have a lot more respect for them as individuals.
Before I went to the Welch’s apartment, though, I came back from Spain. Monday morning I woke up in Palma de Mallorca, the tropical dream island in the middle of the Mediterranean. I had a traditional Mallorquin encemata for breakfast, then stopped by the beach and filled a can with sand I’m bringing home with me. I was worried that they wouldn’t let me bring it in my carryon (since I didn’t check anything in Spain) but they did. So, after saying goodbye friends there, I went from Palma to Madrid, where I had my last napolitana for a while, and from Madrid I flew to Paris.
Well, I’ve arrived, so I think this will be enough for now. The south of France was incredible. I can certainly see why the Riviera is so famous. It was warm and nice out almost the whole time. Good times were had by all. Some fun stuff happened there, but I’ll write about that later. In the meantime, I’m going to go play with my nieces, sleep a lot, and get ready to drive to Utah tomorrow!
La vie est belle!
It’s a good thing I like traveling so much. I am on the plane from Munich to Denver right now writing this entry, on my 14th flight of 2008. As of right now, I’ve got plans to have been on 19 flights total in 2008 by July 7th when I start work. Granted, that’s still a lot fewer than last year (from just August to November of 2007 I had 18, and I probably topped 34 flights for all of 2007), but maybe once I start working I can pick the pace up a bit. I think the long flights should count for a bit more, too. Either way, that’s a lot of time spent going through security lines and at airports (not to mention the fact that I worked at an airport over the summer). Luckily I’ve got my new iPod to keep me entertained, with no fewer than 150 movies on it in four languages.
And speaking of traveling, what an adventure these last few months have been. I’ve missed everyone at home, but I have had a great time. I’ve been in 9 countries in less than three months (USA, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, the Vatican, Spain, and Switzerland, with the five new countries bolded). I’ve also made some really great friends. Life is amazing, I have to admit. I love to be alive and I love to live life. I just wish that I had a few more lives to live. I’d be a neurosurgeon and I’d get a PhD in Chemistry, Economics, Astrophysics, and American History and I’d write books about geology and I’d learn 10 languages and I’d go to Africa and build houses and I’d ice fish in Norway and hike Everest (they say that one in ten mountaineers who attempt it die, not to mention all their Sherpas—so I’d only try that if I had my poor little Tubby cat’s 9 lives). Not to mention I’d learn to play the violin and piano, and the guitar well enough that I could sit on the street in Honolulu and panhandle enough to get by while I lived on the beach and ate coconuts… actually, I don’t know if that’s true. That last one might drive me crazy after a week or two, but I’d still love to play the guitar better. Oh, what a wonderful life! What an amazing world! I know, I digress; what you really want to know is how I ended up on this confounded plane in the first place. If you’ve ever seen that Seinfeld episode where they start at the end and then play it backwards, I’m going to give a go at the same thing.
Well, al luck would have it I almost missed this flight today in Munich, because I got off my flight from Paris with plenty of time, and I didn’t push or shove as some are wont to do because, hey, I had enough time and I prefer to be kind whenever I can be, so I moseyed on over to the H gates, and then it turned out that I had to go through a long tunnel I passed some other folks who had just gone through security, I suppose since they were coming directly in from Munich, but then I had to go through passport control. I wasn’t excited about it until I saw that I’d get another Munich stamp (I believe I have one from last time I was here, too), which is fun, and worth the three minutes I had to wait in line, right? There were only about 10 people in each of the lines, and they were moving relatively quickly. Well, it would have been three minutes if it weren’t for the fact that the woman directly in front of me didn’t have a passport. She waited till she was at the front of the line to look for it, and then couldn’t find it anywhere. She handed the passport control woman her drivers license (it was from California or something), and the passport control woman had to hold back a laugh. She wouldn’t accept it. The woman insisted that she was an American citizen, but it’s a lot easier to say than to prove, so it was a no go. (Note to self, if I tell people I’m American, just because I’m white and wear Hurley t-shirts doesn’t mean they’ll let me go through passport control… oh… wait a minute…). So, to further prove that she was an American, and that she had a passport, she showed the lady at the desk (I’ll call her Hilda because I’m sick of typing out the passport control woman) her itinerary, which came from Italy or something. So, our American friend (from here on out we’ll call her Jane) insisted that she wouldn’t have been able to make it from Italy to Munich if she didn’t have a passport. Hilda wouldn’t have any of it, though. I must admit, Jane wasn’t really convincing. Jane realized this and produced the ticket stub from Italy, and about this point I started to be less than happy with my own situation, stuck watching Hilda and Jane talking about whether Jane was really an American or not while some twenty people had gone by in the other lines. I had chosen Hilda because her line was the fastest; and let’s be honest, it wasn’t Hilda’s fault Jane lost her passport. If I was Hilda, though, I would have told her to get out of line, find her passport (and if I was feeling nice I’d tell her she could come back to the front once she did) but I wouldn’t let Jane stand there. I had stuck it out because I had hoped that Jane wasn’t foolish enough to think she could actually get through passport control without a passport, but I was wrong. I looked at my watch at this point, and then at my boarding pass, and it turns out my plane started boarding ten minutes ago. I switched lines, waited all the way though the one line, and through the checkpoint before Jane and Hilda sorted things out. Goodness.
Well, I was in a hurry at this point, but I still had 25 minutes before the flight left, and as far as I could tell I was right next to my gate, and I still had 11 euros. I stopped in a shop to buy some Swiss chocolate (I needed it there because I didn’t get any in Switzerland because the United Nations robbed me… I didn’t feel too bad about it because I figure the they need the money more than I do… at least I’ve come to grips with my place in life and society, whereas they have no idea that they’re completely impotent and won’t ever be otherwise). There wasn’t a single attendant at any of the desks. I was shocked. I walked around for a while, and finally found two at the far end of the store going out the direction I didn’t want to go, but when I tried to pay, they insisted that no, they had to go back to the other side (where I wanted to leave). So, I had to follow the attendant all the way across the (rather large) store and pay at her register… which ate up more time. Well, I started running once I had paid, only to discover that my gate, while right next to me, was behind a large glass wall. I couldn’t figure out why on earth it was, but whatever, I ran along the wall until I found myself at another checkpoint, where they checked passports and boarding passes. At this point, I decided that either the Germans, Lufthansa or the EU must have been insane to make me go through this all after I had already been in a secure zone (having just gotten off the plane from another EU country). While waiting, I heard a final call for the Lufthansa flight to Denver (there’s only one a day). So, when I made it through that line you can only imagine my joy at seeing another security checkpoint where I had to not only go through security, take off my belt and shoes, but also show them my boarding pass (this within a stone’s throw from the other checkpoint. Not even a Steve Young stone’s throw. My niece Rachael can throw this far on a bad day. It was like ten feet). When I got through I broke into a full sprint, and made it on. I think I was either the last or second to last person on the plane. I can’t even tell you how happy I would have been to have spent the night in Munich… But hey, all’s well that ends well.
Speaking of which, earlier this morning when I woke up (can I even say woke up? That would mean I had slept…) when I got up I went over and got in line (I was second since I let another American couple go in front of me since they seemed more worried about their flight to Greece than I was about my flight to Munich). I did the whole thing in French; yes, I’m going to Denver via Munich, at 7:05 am. Yes, I’ve got two bags to check. I’d like a window, please. No, I don’t have any liquids, gels, or explosives. Well, she’s about to send my bags back, and then, after all that, she tells me “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a reservation. You’re not booked on any flight going out of Paris today.” I was flabbergasted. Why ask me if I wanted a window if you hadn’t even found my flight yet? So, she directed me to the Lufthansa help center, where I went and talked to another woman, who asked me for exact details. I said I thought I was on the flight to Munich around 7am, but they had told me there was no reservation. She asked for my reservation number, and I told her I didn’t have it, and she said she couldn’t search by just my name. I was dumbfounded. How on earth can they not search by my name, and how did they lose my reservation in the first place? I kept my cool though (I did ask her “Are you serious?” a shout out to all you Zoolander fans), and she found my reservation. Apparently when I changed it from the 18th to the 22nd, it was written down but didn’t register in the computer. So, she fixed it and I went back to the check in line and wait to get up front. I make it up front, and the woman (a different one than the first time) told me that they had no reservations for me going out of Paris that day. Have I mentioned that I love traveling? I really do. It’s always an adventure. So, she advised I go talk to the people at the Lufthansa help desk. I insisted that I had just spoken to them, and pointed out the person I had spoken to across the room, and the woman at the counter called the other woman and confirmed that I was, in fact, signed up for the flight and that the other woman had just gotten to input the data. How she forgot it is beyond me, but that’s fine. We all make mistakes. The woman checking my bags was dumbfounded that my carryon (loaded with books, of course) weighed 19.6 kilos, when it’s only supposed to weigh 8 kilos. So, she made me take books out of it and transfer them to my backpack (she discovered this after she had sent off my luggage to the depths of the airport), but I put them back in my roller bag as soon as I was around the corner and didn’t have any trouble with them since then. The flight I’m on now is pretty empty, so I put it in its own overhead compartment. Anyway, I caught my flight with plenty of time, and flew to Munich without incident… until I got to Munich, that is.
As an aside, they just served lunch. I had the chicken. I know, it was a risky move. Chicken over pasta? Either way the airline usually doesn’t get it right, so I might as well go for the protein, right? Well, it was pretty good. Anyway, it made me think about the employees. I suppose they must eat the same food everyone else on board does, so I wonder if they ever take out the good stuff (i.e. the chicken, or whatever they like) before they go start serving it. Maybe next time I should ask them what they’re eating… And do they eat all (or some at least) of the extra cheesecakes? I mean, if not I’m sure they just go to waste. Then I had an even funnier thought of Elder (now President, I suppose) Uchdorf, who used to fly for Lufthansa, as a pilot in the front making announcements in his unique accent to the passengers while chowing down on chicken an cheesecake. I’m not sure that visual will be quite as funny for you if you’re not here and you’re not sleep deprived, but I got a kick out of it. Ok, game on.
So, I decided to sleep in the airport last night. It really just made the most sense. My flight left from Paris at 7am, so I had to check in by 5am, but the first trains in the morning leave at 5 from Paris, and it would have cost about 60 euros ($100) to catch a cab… So, I slept in Charles de Gaulle airport. I slept with my backpack on, one arm through my duffle bag strap, and one leg over each suitcase. I was kinda hoping for some more excitement, but the best that happened was at 2:30 am some guy came out and put out the dividers to set up the lines. Then at about 4:30 some Greek-Americans came and sat next to me and scared the living daylights out of me (I was sleeping with earplugs in, and I had actually fallen asleep, and when they sat down it surprised me). Then finally, after being there for about five hours, some people came and I went through the line to get my ticket… good thing they had it…
We all need to eat a piece of humble pie from time to time. Imagine my surprise when I left the house of the director of the program last night. I took off around 11pm, and Jack Welch, the husband, gave me his best plan on how to get to the airport. I thanked him, and got on the metro. When I was on, I was looking at the metro map and a French girl came up and asked if I needed any help (in pretty good English), and she told me an even better way to get there and helped me take my bags off the metro. Then when I was going up the stairs another guy stopped and helped me carry my bag up to my platform, even though he was going the other direction. He offered to help, I accepted, and I didn’t even think twice about it until he was at the top of the stairs and I was still only halfway up carrying two bags—but he just dropped it off and took off. Then two other guys helped me as I ran into different staircases. Frankly, the French have lived up to most of my expectations. They are cold, hate Americans, egotistical, and the world revolves around France (don’t worry, I missed that part of geology 101, too). I saw a different face of Frenchmen in the south of France when we were down there, and it was incredible. They were wonderful, kind, open and loving. Then last night I saw Parisians who weren’t like the stereotype, which shocked me. So, even in France there are people of all types. It doesn’t mean I agree any more with them opposing the war in Iraq and then illegally selling weapons to our enemies, but I do have a lot more respect for them as individuals.
Before I went to the Welch’s apartment, though, I came back from Spain. Monday morning I woke up in Palma de Mallorca, the tropical dream island in the middle of the Mediterranean. I had a traditional Mallorquin encemata for breakfast, then stopped by the beach and filled a can with sand I’m bringing home with me. I was worried that they wouldn’t let me bring it in my carryon (since I didn’t check anything in Spain) but they did. So, after saying goodbye friends there, I went from Palma to Madrid, where I had my last napolitana for a while, and from Madrid I flew to Paris.
Well, I’ve arrived, so I think this will be enough for now. The south of France was incredible. I can certainly see why the Riviera is so famous. It was warm and nice out almost the whole time. Good times were had by all. Some fun stuff happened there, but I’ll write about that later. In the meantime, I’m going to go play with my nieces, sleep a lot, and get ready to drive to Utah tomorrow!
La vie est belle!
