For my last day in the U.S., I went with my mother to the Everglades Seafood Fest. This weekend-long festival, celebrating the Shellfish God, takes place in Everglades City, on Florida’s west coast, about 2 hours through insect- and Reservation cop-infested territory. Once there, it’s largely rednecks, bikers, festival food, seafood, and country music. We met a very nice soldier set to be shipping out to Afghanistan in a few months, listened to some Josh Gracin.
I tell you this story to tell you another story. While at the Seafood fest, I devised a game, titled, “Spot the Fair Personality.” Really hot redneck chick with average-looking rocker dude? Check. Really fat chick with comically skinny boyfriend? Check. Seemingly normal woman with visible racist tattoo? Check. (The tattoo in question read “Aryan Princess” and was scrolled across her chest.
After arriving at the airport in MIA (too anxious to be really nervous, yet) I noticed some crazy personalities, and came up with a similar game. Group of about 10 German punk rockers/metalhead, some easily into their sixties? Check. I waited at the terminal for about an hour and half to board, and wandered around some. Sat across from the cutest guy ever… no wedding ring, American. He stayed on the phone the entire time I was there, and I heard him call someone named Arnold “babe.” My luck. I gave up and fetched some water.
Whilst waiting to board, a German family (a middle-aged couple with elderly parents?) literally pointed and laughed at me for carrying a fur coat. I know three words in German (guten tag, danka, scheudenfruede) but I got the gist of what they were saying… “Silly American girl, thinks its SO cold in Germany!” (please note, right not, at 7:50am, it is something like 50 degrees here in Dusseldorf, and I can walk outside in just my shirt sleeves.) I didn’t want to bother explaining to them that I was connecting.
I sat, as luck would have it, all the way in the back of my section of the airplane. Next to the bathrooms, as always. The gentleman I sat next to was older, in a not-very-distinguished sort of way. We literally did not exchange one word. He woke up for meals, and that was it.
Supper, since you asked, was a penne alfredo with spinach, a lemon cake too sweet to eat, bread, and a dollop of really tart slaw. Quite edible. Interestingly enough, the meat option was chicken in spinach. I guess spinach is a “thing” in Germany. Breakfast, served at about 11pm Miami time, was a piece of ham, four wedges of salami, two slices of Cheddar cheese, a cold roll, a hot roll, and some yoghurt. I have learned in the past few hours Germans love their fucking bread. I actually ate the salami, something I have never eaten in the past. It was oily and buttery, and seemed to sort of melt in my mouth.
I realized at some point early in the flight exactly what I forgot to pack. Earphones, and, likely, my “Dirty Russian” book. Earphones I’m sure I can pick up, but missing the book upsets me a bit, as I ordered it expressly for the trip. It is filled with all sorts of curse words which, being a lady, I wouldn’t use, as well as fun little phrases, like how to ask a taxi driver to bring you to a brothel, or how to tell a lover you are married, and would like to keep your affairs covert.
I did not happen to sleep at all on the flight over, as much as I would have liked to. My seat barely reclined, and I was unwilling to snuggle with the gentleman next to me (who was quite comfortable leaning up against the window.) Besides, one of my friends lent me a really good Neil Gammon novel (American Gods) and I stayed up finishing it. So, when breakfast came around, I stocked up on caffeine. Maybe I can get a few minutes of sleep on the 5-hour flight to Moscow. It’s hard to believe that after all that, I’m still only a little over halfway there!
Upon arriving in Dusseldorf, I managed to hold up the line in passport control as the very nice passport woman (the quintessential German sort, with fair eyes and hair, tall and slender) called to find out which gate my flight was due into, and directions for how to get there.
On first glance, Dusseldorf is very similar to most other airports in the EU. The baggage claim is grey, depressing, and no-frills. The rest of the airport is grey, with marble floors and steel, and very modern-looking. However, the more I explored, the more character I noticed. Whereas in American airports, which are most welcoming for your arrival (baggage claims and the like), European airports seem to be nicer for those leaving. The terminals and entrance areas are filled with nice little Duty-Free shops, selling Designer makeup and all sorts of liquor. I think American shops are mostly knick-knacks. This airport seems to have a metric shitton of cafes… first I see a McDonalds café, then one entitled “Chicago” with a giant skyline. Next thing I know, there is a café every 20 feet or some, with some of the most delicious-looking sandwiches, mostly on artisan bread, on display. I take pictures of some random things, and you’ll likely find those on facebook. Then I come to a 3-story escalator, and follow it to the top. To a Starbucks, naturally. But behind that was an amazing bit of sculture… hundreds of twisted metal bars in perfect lines, being spun slowly around. I take another escalator up to the next story, to see an “observation deck.” The deck in question was out of order, but it stood at the end of a long line of kiosk-style travel agencies, each with its own cubicle. Also, there was a very confused-sort of restaurant. It was closed, so I snuck in. Travel agency-kiosks stood next to the bar. It reminded me of Cracker Barrel, if it were run by the Wongs from Futurama… slightly Southwestern cowboyesque, but not. Antlers and steer skulls, along with random taxidermied animals adorned the walls, but the little shop that was opening up served-you guessed it-sandwiches. The walls were burnt yellow. I snuck in and took a picture of the airport outside, but employees started arriving, and I wasn’t brave enough to take pictures of the restaurant itself.
With not much less to explore, and a scarily heavy bag and scarily warm coats over my arm, I decided to go through security. Boy are these Germans THOUROUGH. Everyone going through gets patted down. The giant, angry-looking redheaded woman (who, I will imagine, DID NOT play “Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS,” doing the world of cinema a great disservice) was probably more intimate with me than your average doctor. I probably now have a latex glove or scalpel accidentally tucked away in my intestines as we speak. Not that I’m complaining… I beats being blown up by Chechens. Although, what they would be doing in Dusseldorf, I don’t know.
So, that’s about it, so far. I’m hanging out at the gate, waiting to board my plane. I’m a little freaked out by the weather. All the Germans are wearing coats and scarves, and I’m really worried that Moscow is cold but not THAT cold. In which case, I packed the totally wrong set of clothes.
Another quick note: these German men are ADORABLE. Not to say that they all are, obviously not. It just seems like, per capita, they have more than their share.
Oh, also. Fun fact. This airport might have a surplus of cafes, but it does not have a surplus of WCs. There is one on the first and third floors, from what I gathered in my exploring. I also really hate how these EU airports lack the actual paper towels, using the reusable cloth ones instead. I just want to wash my face, and dry it properly! But, I was amused that they sell thongs in the vending machine. At least, I think that’s what they were advertising. Were they one-size fits all, I wonder?
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