Getting to A’dam

The nightmare at Charles De Gaulle was over. We were airborne and heading into Frankfurt for a layover till Amsterdam.

I don’t remember much about the flight, I think I sat middle.Except for a very obnoxious middle eastern early teenager who sat next to us, talking to his buddies across the aisle. Tyler and I were that tired. I remember the in flight magazine being interesting, but not take from the airplane quality. (actually I did, but threw it away later)

It was also the first time I would hear the language I started an app to learn from three years prior.

The app lied to me.

It said I was in the sixty percent fluency range.

Yeah dawg, that’s a no from me.

In all reality, I was probably at a 35% range. It was a trip hearing the language though, and I did get excited to hear it even though I couldn’t comprehend it.

Frankfurt, is a clean airport, like most airports with long hall ways and glass walls facing the tarmac. This would be one of the first times I would see a German bakery.

Granted it was in a airport, but it was still a shock.

Speaking of food, we were both pretty hangry, and tired. Tyler wanted something, I was too broke, or didn’t want to deal with the foreign transaction fees so I was hoping I could bum a couple fries off of him. We walked up and down that airport, for we had 2 hours to kill.

And our gate wasn’t announced yet, so we walked aimlessly wondering where it would be. Then we finally found the gate, it had the usual divided bench seating, but also there were three tables in the corner looking out towards the airport. We quickly claimed that spot as ours and spread out.

There was an old married couple and an elder gentleman, luck would have it that the Americans all found each other. I asked them what their holiday was about and what they were doing.

The old married couple was heading to Rome to celebrate their wedding anniversary.

The old man was on his way to golf some where.

It was a nice slice of strangers just trying to make polite conversation till departure.

And depart they did, our gate was shared with a flight leaving before ours to Rome.

We finally board our flight and would be on our way to Amsterdam.

There wasn’t anything special about this flight. Maybe I was too tired to care.

It was cloudy when we approached the runway. I looked out across the Dutch landscape and began smiling ear to ear.

Amsterdam!

My inner 14 year old fan of Harold and Kumar jumped for joy.

My inner 25 year old thought about an Afrikaans Dutch Lady I once knew.

My 29 year old self thought, “Where the heck is our Hostel?”

It was a night without a bed, and a day of shuffling between airplanes. Laying on something soft sounded amazing.

But first,

Tyler’s freak out part 2.

Shout out to baggage handlers. You are literally handling someone else’s baggage. Thanks for caring!

Our bass pro bought rucksacks were of different manufactures and styles. Each had our own unique features, and drawbacks.

Mine was water resistant not water proof. Tyler’s rucksack was, well kind of. It had an outer shell elastic removable poncho that covered the entire bag.

It was raining in both Frankfurt and Paris, he thought it wise to wrap his bag in his poncho with a couple other items, a portable charger, and an umbrella tucked inside.

Well, some where in transit that poncho became separated. When Tyler went to retrieve his bag, he instantly started to rummage through the bag.

“Where the fuck is my charger?”

and cue another anxious observation of verbal assaults to everyone from passerby’s, customer service reps, custom’s agents, his parents, and the police.

He went to complain to someone and I wanted to make it through customs. So we split up.

Once through customs you can not go back through.

*Unless your Tyler.

We had to split up again, cause he was damn sure someone stole his property.

His plan didn’t work out and thirty minutes later we met up again.

I found a public busted charger, and plugged in my phone hopping for the best.

We were both famished.

Thank God for American Corporations, when out of the corner of our eyes we caught the sight of an all to familiar logo.

Burger King to the Rescue.

We ate like it was our first meal in days. No words, just enough time between bites to slurp down orange Fanta, and wipe away sauce.

Now we could go to Amsterdam.