Let the games begin.
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Saturday, 2 August 2008
European Adventure Travel Day 1: Portland, Oregon to Zurich, Switzerland
The day starts innocuously enough. Wake up. Drink coffee. Stumble into the shower. Get dressed. Drink more coffee. Realize that today is the day you leave the country.
Eyes pop open. You're awake now.
Head to the airport. Check in baggage and pray silently for an aisle seat at the ticket counter. Proceed to security checkpoint and clench your ticket and passport between your teeth as you perform the quasi-striptease/elaborate game of Simon Says with TSA employees. Drink more overpriced coffee purchased from sullen employee at tiny shop. Board plane. Sit. Wait.
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Living on the West Coast is only convenient if you're flying to, say, Australia (unless you have to fly to Boston to join the people you're going to the Antipodes with, but that's another box of disgruntlement entirely). My first flight was from Portland to Philadelphia at the ugly hour of 0845. I was sitting between halves of a military family ( I offered to trade seats, but they quoted some previously unknown airline rule about number of kids allowed in a row. I don't know. Maybe US Airways made it up), but their two children were the quietest children I have even seen on a plane in ten years of flying. There was an unattended minor sitting next to the window in the row in front of me. At some point during the flight, said unattended minor pressed her face between the seats and said to me, very seriously:
"Excuse me ma'am, but are we in Philadelphia?"
We were somewhere over Lake Michigan at the time.
The rest of the first flight and making my connection in Philly were relatively uneventful. My gate was located at the end of one of those silly terminals with several gates and a big open area full of seats that is reached by a ridiculously long hallway, so long, in fact, that no one can be bothered to leave once they have reached the gate, resulting in a hot, sweaty, smelly, crowded area. Fun.
[airport]------------------------------------------------------( )
Depiction of hallway to terminal
Got on the plane. Am seated next to two cute Swiss German boys, apparently fresh from a trip to Vegas. They speak German to each, French to me, and very limited English: "blackjack," "hit" (pronounced "heet" with a high giggle at the end), and "thank you very much." Before take-off, I attempt to learn German via text message from my roommate, but she only managed to teach me one word: sali, which is Swiss-German for hi.Shortly, I discover that I am the one tiny pocket of American-ness in this giant pressurized tin can full of homeward-bound Swiss vacationers, all of whom are speaking German. Naturally.
The flight is delayed twice, due to weather in Zurich, as if nine hours on a plane isn't already enough. I entertain myself by watching the two boys play card games, all of which were hilarious to both players and baffling to me. I contemplate buying headphones until I find out the in-flight movie is The Golden Compass. Pass. People, do not forget headphones on international flights. It is very unwise.
We took off at sunset. Sleep was intermittent, at best, and after only a few hours we were chasing the sunrise over the Atlantic. Flying east on a red-eye is the weirdest feeling. I have no idea how long the flight was, but I think "forever" is a safe guess.
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