First off, I'm still alive.
The trip to Chicago was rather uneventful. On the flight between Chicago and Frankfurt, though, I got lucky.
I sat next to this U.S. Army commander (I don't know what his actual rank was, but he is in command of several thousand troops in Germany, Turkey, Saudi Arabia and around the Balkans).
He was on the way back to his troops from a few weeks at the Pentagon, and I had a lengthy and very interesting discussion with him. He brought to light a much more holistic viewpoint on the international politics and military strategies being waged in Eastern Europe which I found particularly enlightening.
Once I arrived in Frankfurt, I had a few hours to kill before my connecting flight. Since my ankle was acting up, I figured that I would go to the United Red Carpet Club for a comfortable, relaxing hour or two (having sold my soul to United Airlines in exchange for Premier Executive status, I am entitled to such pampering).
The information guy told me it was down the escalator around the corner. What he failed to mention was that 'around the corner' meant two miles of dimly-lit corridors, random escalators leading to God knows where, and military checkpoints before I ever got to the Red Carpet Club. By the time I got there, I could have sworn that I'd taken enough turns to bring me back right where I started, albeit perhaps in another dimension.
Needless to say, my sprained ankle was not rested.
Things got more interesting on the Lufthansa flight to Istanbul. At one point I had to pee (hey, it happens). Because the stewardesses were carting around the drinks in the aisle behind me, I went to the forward section of the airplane to use the restroom there.
As I was standing waiting for whoever was in the little cubicle to finish their duty, I noticed the shocked and appalled faces of the few passengers in the first class section.
I had *dared* to trespass into their territory, and they exchanged concerned and angered words with each other, obviously quite displeased with my intrusion. One lady in particular, who was fat and ugly and wore 5 pounds of makeup and too much jewelry seemed particularly outraged and shot dark and meaningful glances in my direction.
I couldn't care less. I was tired and I had to pee and it's not like they could throw me out the plane. Since a fellow uptight snob was obviously still dealing with constipation inside the lavatory, I amused myself by going over to the nearest window for a pleasant look at the countryside. Naturally, this caused even more consternation from my little fan club. Heh, heh.
The stewardess eventually noticed me, and the immediate concern on her face was evident. Here was this unshaven, uncultured, obviously crude and uneducated American who didn't know his place in the hierarchy of the German aircraft.
Before she got her say in, I tried a little lighthearted humor by asking whether she thought the person inside the cubicle was still alive (OK, OK, I know it's not that funny but you have to keep in mind the sleep deprivation effect here).
Regardless, this tactic didn't work, and she 'suggested' that I use the rear restrooms. I figured, what the hell, it's just one uptight stewardess and a bunch of stuck-up wannabes.
So I made my way to the back of the plane. Naturally, there was the problem of the carts, and this stewardess coldly informed me that there was another restroom in the front of the plane. I explained that I had already tried that, and had been sent to the back.
So we did the acrobatic passenger-cart dance routine, where everyone squeezes and shuffles past each other uncomfortably to get past. Before I could thank her, she gave me a frosty "you're welcome" like I wouldn't have the manners to say thank you myself.
I cursed her and her associates and the entire nation of frigid German women. They got back at me when they were serving dinner, when one of them 'accidentally' dropped some grapes on my head.
Life is not all that bad, though, and we made it to Istanbul without getting shot down by NATO aircraft. Imagine that.
In Istanbul, no Leila. Though she is now CEO of a travel agency, apparently she did not notice the fact that our planes landed in completely different airports in Istanbul. And she wasn't actually flying on Pan Ukrainian Airlines (it was more something like vlukrhza) And no one here speaks a word of English.
But she found me (it was the irresistible smell of my sweaty socks, I think) and off we went to the Cartoon Hotel (yes, this is not a joke. I'm actually in a Cartoon Hotel in Istanbul).
Tomorrow, we're off to the country.
Cheers,
Gabriel
