Almost Home, Part One

 

 

I flew to Munich on a Lufthansa Boeing Airbus that was so brand new it seemed like it had just been removed from its box and never flown. I could find no sign of use or wear. I developed a fond feeling toward the airplane. It lifted off like a spaceship as the sun was setting outside the window, over Newark. They warned of severe turbulence over Nova Scotia and insisted nobody even think about moving from their seat, but this turbulence never came. The plane was so still it seemed not even to be flying.

I slept deeply and woke up over Europe. I was away from my seat when they collected the headphones — that detestable air-travel tradition that never dies. Why can't they just let it go? Those cheap headphones. Anyway, when I got back to my seat my own headphones were gone.

Things became very European very fast. I politely asked the male flight attendant if he could inquire about my headphones, mistaken for the airline's own. He said there was no way my headphones were taken. 

"My colleagues would never do that," he said briskly. 

When the German lady sitting next to me returned, she told me that she had handed them my headphones, thinking they were Lufthansa's. No problem, I said, we'll just tell him. When he came back, she testified for me, in German. Instead of apologizing and saying, "You were right the whole time," he found a new way to make me feel bad. I asked if I might retrieve the headphones later, and he scoldingly informed me how busy they were and that this would depend on whether there was time. Fair enough. But implicit in this scolding was something I have come to know as uniquely Northern and Central European: The art of making people feel that they have (always) ever so slightly misbehaved. Especially if the person in question is God forbid an American, there seems to be an extra dollop of the tone. A do-you-think-you're the-only-person-on-this plane type of vibe. Always the presence of a pull emanating from the center of the society, the collective good, the volk, the folk, the conscience that never rests. In America, people in airports and everywhere else are often crabby, hostile, ignorant, mean, spiteful, or all of the above, but not in the European tradition of somehow affixing the irritation to an exaggerated sense of one's place in the universe. That get back down quality... which I associate with Luther but I might be wrong. Calvinist maybe? Social Democrats.

Well in any case, I battled with all this during the eight years I lived in Sweden with my mother and sister, starting at age 11. I am a fusion between an American and a European and these two sides have never really learned to cohabit.

But when I return to Europe, minor cultural clashes aside, I feel relaxed and happy, like I am home. I understand why things are the way they are, as I do not in America. I understand public spaces. Things make sense to me.

At the airport in Munich,  I sat down at the nearest cafe and started marveling at how great everything looked, rather than focus on exactly what time it was. I ordered Miso soup and a small carton of water and it cost $20. Not kidding.

I soon started moseying toward the gate and all of a sudden I was, as in a bad dream, miles from where I was supposed to be. I thought this was a small(ish) airport! I walked and ran for probably fifteen minutes, and missed my connecting flight to Vienna.

I went to the Lufthansa information counter, and was pleasantly surprised by the very nice woman who said it was actually not my fault. I told her that it most certainly was my fault (a reverse of the prior situation on the flight.)  She pointed to several others nearby who had the same problem, on the flight from Newark, which was in fact late arriving. She confirmed that the connecting gate was incredibly, incredibly far from the gate where we arrived. She even gave me a coupon for 10 Euros that I could use at any cafe for food or drink. Next flight to Vienna in five hours, so better get comfortable. I was loving Europe all over again. That coupon... that would never occur at a US airport!  So quaint, sweet, well-organized and decent. 

I bought a David Sedaris book, sat down at a bistro and ordered sausages and coffee.  David Sedaris is good — very funny — but never quite takes you anywhere. Nothing feels different afterwards. I must stop buying his books at airports.

After I finished eating I started to cry, for not being a straight-swimming fish and getting it together, especially at AIRPORTS. I managed to get online for a small fortune and wrote despairing emails to my relatives, wondering why I am like this and what can be done. I must have been exhausted, because even Lufthansa was not down on me for missing that flight. I am told I am too hard on myself. The positive interpretation is this: My father has always stressed family pride in the fact that we are not "airport nerds." The quip goes like this: "If you never miss a flight, you're spending too much time at airports." Right on! And you spend even more time at airports when you miss the second flight....so make sure you're somewhere good, like Munich.

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