14/08/2009
I leave today for Brussels. Katie and Deidre come by with scones. They are delicious and consumed with tea. I’m worried though that they will make me hungrier later in the day, which later is confirmed as a valid concern. There is a goodbye that goes by all too quickly and then a few minutes later Ethan and Zach come. We play a game of FIFA and they as partners crush me. We have a rematch and I score the only goal in the 88th minute. We say goodbye and they leave me to my baggage and family. I go to get ice cream with my siblings and we head back, running into Betsy at Parilla. Pleasantries are exchanged and she is shocked to learn that I am leaving. Either we have not spent enough time together or I am talking about the wrong things. I’d like to think that it’s the former; I’ve not spent enough time with nearly enough people. I make some last minute calls to say good-bye but only get machines. I leave my phone on the kitchen counter intentionally. I grab a shirt and the four Euro I was given by my godmother and prepare to go to the car. I check on a concert ticket to a summer festival being printed out and forget the shirt. I then start loading the luggage and forget the concert ticket. Everything but what I’ve forgotten and left is loaded and we head out.
We go to the ticket counter but no indication of Lufthansa is there. We ask Delta and they send us to United. I try to check in, but have no flight number on my reservation, so I have to ask to be checked in. The clerk scans my passport with a loud sigh and he prints out my ticket, but not before scorning me for not having a return flight. My bags are checked and with the tickets in hand I head to security. Here was what was in those bags and what I carried on…
Complete baggage list, to Brussels:
Ticket Boise-Denver
Ticket Denver-Frankfurt
Ticket Frankfurt-Brussels
4 Euro
$770 cash
Passport w/ Visa
Wallet
Vaccination history
Hotel reservation
Power cords for computer and hard drive
Socket adapters
USB cord for my hard drive, but no hard drive.
Camera & USB cord
Computer & charger
Hemp long sleeve shirts (2)
Short sleeve button front shirts (3)
Linen pants (3)
Cotton pants (3)
Corduroy pants (2)
Sweaters (2)
Tee shirts (5)
Underwear (10)
Socks (13)
Pea-coat
Towel (a traveler’s best friend)
Bungee cords (2)
Mace
Pebbles (5)
Xeroxed story about trans-Russian drive (1/2)
Selected Stories of Chekhov
Pack of gum (12)
Altoids (2)
Copies of passport, visa, and all papers required for the obtaining of said documents
Pens (11)
Birthday letter
Passport photos for Belgian police and Senegal visa (6)
Black hiking boots
Black sneakers
Pocketknife
Nebulizer
Shave kit-
Inhaler (2)
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Disinfectant cream
Migraine medicine (30)
Allergy medicine (200 +- 30)
Malaria Medication (for 16 weeks)
Eye drops (3)
Deodorant (2)
Tongue cleaner
Razor
Extra Blades (16)
Floss (3 yds.)
Extra fluoride toothpaste (2 oz)
Sleeping bag and sack.
Dry bag
Travel pillow
Travel books (Amsterdam, Belgium & Luxembourg, and Senegal & the Gambia)
Wind-up flashlight
Bandana
Buff
Travel clock
Where there is no Doctor
Mosquito net
Tent Stakes (for mosquito net)
Raincoat
Conjugation book of French verbs
All of the above fit into 1 suitcase (37 lbs) 1 backpack (22 lbs) and a carry on (weight unknown). They could all easily be carried at one time, and fit very nicely on the plane I’m sure.
Multiple hugs are shared between the family, and I go through the security checkpoint. I wave once though the man who checks the authenticity of the passport and the wait in line with my back to my family. I get through put my shoes on, and look back in time to see them walking away. Waiting for the plane there is an old man with a white beard on his chin that connects with his moustache for at least 2 inches along it’s plane listening to gangster rap. My flight to Denver is delayed; leaving me 8 minutes before the connection to Frankfurt supposedly closes the gate. I ask the man behind the counter for help and he bumps me up to the eighth row, which just happens to be the last row of first class. I chat with a middle-aged woman next to me who redirects the conversation instead of telling me her name though I ask twice. She may have been famous, but I doubt it. She is nice enough though, and at the end of the flight when I explain my situation and ask her to stand up quickly when we land she runs to the front of the plane with me, out the walkway and shows me where the train is to my gate. I flash her a big smile say good bye and then wait awkwardly for the next train to come while the other passengers look at the boy panting and sweating. I hop on at the B gates and off at the A gates. After climbing the stairs, I see my gate and get in the line, which is still substantial. I pull out my ticket and passport and am informed I need to fill out a form. It is fast and consists of an emergency contact and my attestation that my passport is authentic.
On the plane the only people who are talking all speak German. I am in the last row, and as such get to see everyone on board. The flight attendants are all male and all but one is black. My seat is very comfortable and the one next to it is vacant. It seems to be the only vacancy on the plane. The pilot is overly talkative and comes on the PA every hour or so. I consider stealing a blanket for a while after reading about a reporter trying to drive across Russia and then afterwards, Chekhov. I have never read him before and I am surprised why since it is great. I then think about making Chek-ray specks and it makes me chuckle to myself. (See the inner tribulations of even the happiest person! See doubt and greed in even the most pious! See guilt and heartbreak in the most hardened criminal! $2.50.) Luckily, the person across the isle is watching a bollywood movie and doesn’t see this strange display. The bollywood fan goes to sleep while it is still light out, although as the pilot informed me we are flying over the arctic circle and the sun will not set. We are asked a few minutes after he doses off to shut our windows. Dinner is the served and I am given a decent sized plate of pasta, and a beer. The beer puts everything I’ve had in the US to shame easily. I watch “I Love you Man” with another beer (they are complimentary) and read a bit more, making it to around page 200. I try to go to sleep, but despite the vacant seat next to me, and the tipsiness I feel I can’t. My foot keeps falling asleep and that prevents the rest of me from doing it. I finally manage to go to sleep after all the reading lights but one are off.
15/08/2009
When I wake up most of the other people on the plane are as well, but they light coming through the windows is still substantial. I don’t really want to read anymore, so I chew a stick of gum and read the Lufthansa magazine. It has the best interviews I’ve ever read. In an expose on Bristol every other question is “You like this staircase? Does it concern you that at the top was the town gallows and this was the approach?” It was kind of fantastic that it was in the airport magazine. I resolve to buy a Lufthansa shirt when I get home. I think it’s odd that I’m already thinking about home, but shove it off. We land very smoothly and stop less so. I’m one of the last off the plane, carrying no Lufthansa blanket, and I see a glass smoking room and the hazy silhouette of the people within. “Fastest people off the plane” the person next to me jeers. I laugh and we chat for a bit. He is done with his flights. He is seeing a friend. We walk for a long time and finally get to a long gate that people are walking through one at a time in a single file line 250 yards long. We get split up in customs. I am searched four times. He is not touched. I get out and my ticket says gate 21. I have a five-hour wait and spend the first hour standing near the departures screen watching German soccer. I pick up a paper and the picture on the front is of Obama shoving an Indian re-enactor and looking disgusted. For the first I can remember, I wish that I knew German. I buy an overpriced slice of pizza without cheese and take a nap. When I wake up it is 20 minutes until my plane leaves. I see no plane in the gate, nor ticket taker at the desk. I look around for a switchboard but there isn’t one in sight. I run across the corridor and when the woman hangs up the phone I ask her about my flight. “Gate two” she says. “Hurry” she adds nonchalantly, “it stops boarding in two minutes.” I grab my pack and sprint as fast as I can, going through the abandoned portion between moving walkways. I tighten all the straps that I can and wish I had kept my boots tied tightly after the last security check. I get to the desk and I am given the all clear. I run through and down some stairs and I am confronted with a locked glass door and a bus idling. I pound on the glass and yell for help in English and French. One man makes a motion to help but is scorned by a waitress and the bus remains idling. 7 people enter the hallway where I’m still banging on the glass and the bus pulls away. I turn around and they all give me a nervous smile, which I reciprocate. The door opens and a man in a luggage truck gives us the shhh finger and loads us onto the truck. No one gets to ride with the luggage. We drive very quickly (probably about 25 mph, judging on my scooter) and it still takes around 10 minutes, but we catch up to the bus and are let on the plane. The total number of passengers is 13.
There is no English on the plane now, only German. When we get to Brussels there is German and French. I get out of the plane and make my way out of the airport slowly. I exchange a few dollars and ask the money converter where the train is. He tells me but I can’t understand, and finally after becoming too embarrassed, let him tell me in English. I go to get my luggage and after retrieving my backpack notice someone grab my suitcase. I’m about to yell at him when he says something to his friends and throws it back on the carousel. He glances over at me pulling it off and he stops laughing. I get on the train to downtown after purchasing the 3 Euro ticket (a taxi was 35-45 euro) and we roll out of the station. Almost everyone has just one piece of luggage. I have all my things in chairs where I can see them and watch the train move along. The city looks half like it is cleaned everyday and half like it only just came out of the throws of WWII. I get to the station and pay a taxi to take me to my hotel. It is 2.30 to hire. The ride cost me 4.30 and that is because the driver spent 1 Euro asking for directions. Or maybe he was just chatting, they were speaking Dutch so I couldn’t tell. I unload my things and enter the hotel. I ask for my room and show the reservation. The man compliments me for trying to do it in French and sends me upstairs.
The room is quiet and clean and overlooking a bunch of tents, trumpet, and accordion players. It is smaller than the cell in Darkness at Noon. But I like it a lot. I try to get online to email my parents but the Internet is 10 Euro per hour. I shower and brush my teeth in the little shower connected to the room. I go downstairs to get directions to where I’m meeting the group and talk to the man behind the counter for about an hour. He winds up giving me a map. I shove my passport in my pants (so someone’s going to have to really want to pickpocket me) and head for the hostel where I’m meeting everyone.
All the students are nice enough. We do a roll call and head for a beer only bar the coordinator knows. I have two beers made by monks. The one I remember is the Rochefort, which is sweet as heaven and black as hell. The coordinator sits with us. He is Dutch, balding slightly and a really interesting guy with an air of a kind of curious sadness. He is a doctor of economics as it turns out, and could easily write a book about what we’re drinking. I meet a 18 year old from Prague who offers to show me around once we’re done. We go off and see the EU parliament, even though the official meeting place is in Strasbourg, and the national library among other things. I take blurry pictures and when we get back to my hotel I have the odd impression that he is attracted to me. This puts me off, and I know how a few girls I knew must have felt at various points in their lives. He asks if I am tired and I say yes and I suggest leave so I can go to sleep as politely and subtly as possible. He doesn’t get it so I’m a little more forceful and he leaves. He asks if he can come back tomorrow morning, as he will need to leave in the afternoon. I consent, figuring he will not and go to sleep. The time on my clock says 11:30 local time. It is actually 3:00 and my clock is broken.
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