Ich bin heir.

And now we get to the real reason I even have this blog.

I arrived in Germany on Wednesday, October 30th at noon. I left Spokane at about noon on October 29th.

Before leaving I assumed my anxiety would be out of control. Instead it was the opposite, I was able to sleep, I didn't get my usual pre-flight dry heaves, and dad and I had a nice conversation about "no til farming" on our way to the airport.

At the airport, I was checked in before dad even parked the car. Bags were checked through to Germany (very nice as I would not have to pick them up and recheck the bags before customs). And then after taking some family photos, my personal Alaska/Horizon escort arrived.

To which I say everyone should have a friend who works for an airline. Justin strapped on his employee badge, and led me to the gate (this being the Spokane airport it was about fifty feet from where my parents stood). Justin sneaked me snacks from his flight attendant jump seat one two rows behind me, bought me a lovely seafood lunch at the Seattle airport, and directed me to my next terminal. Flying from Spokane to Seattle has never been easier. (Although he could not tell me what mountains/volcanoes we were flying over, he will have to take a geography lesson from Amanda). 

There was a small snaffu at the international terminal in Seattle where the gate attendant told me I might not get through customs in Germany and might have to buy a ticket back. He was short and looked like Lenoard from Big Bang Theory but with the greasy hair of car salesman. I wanted to punch him. But he was so small, I figured seriously hurting him would endanger my chances of actually being allowed on the flight. 

Flight to Reykjavik, Iceland was long. I had a window seat and the airplane Gods were shining down on me and kept the seat next to me open. Landing in Iceland was a bit unnerving, the airport is similar to San Francisco and Sydney, that it is practically on water. As we are flying in there is turbulence, a blizzard, and the seat monitor only shows blue as we descend. I was worried,  then realizing that Icelandic people must fly in and out of their country all the time, during all seasons of the year. And we actually landed quite smoothly, but with only 40 minutes for me to catch my next flight. 

And so I bolted through the early morning dark of the airport. The Ikea like wood floors allowed for great running. I hurried through passport verification, and onto my gate, where the flight was boarding. This time, airplane Gods smiled again, and I had a whole row to myself. Which was lovely as know one saw me freak out that my bags hadn't made the short connection. 

Three and a half hours to Germany, and I was wide eyed awake the entire time. Flying over The Netherlands and Germany was very pretty, it was a clear bright day. Upon landing in Frankfurt, we were treated with a true Frankfurt taxi. It took us no less than about 30 minutes to get within sight of the   gate. Frankfurt's airport is one of the busiest in the world, and it is quite a sight to see. There are not enough gates to accommodate all the planes, so there  are parking lots lined with 747s, where passengers are bussed to planes to board. There are roads and stop signs for the buses, food trucks, security vehicles, and the planes. So many planes. Delta, United, British Airways, Malaysian Air, Japan Air, KML, SAS, Brussels Air, Czech Air, Swiss, Air France, Concord, Air India, Dubai, Quanta (which I thought was a bit far from its homeland of Australia), there were small prop planes, double decker planes, charter planes, and many, many Lufthansa. 

Our flight exited into a nearly empty terminal, we wandered down stairs to a completely empty baggage claim, and waited. And I was terrified. I had packed more than enough clothes in my carry on to accommodate for losing my luggage, but still. That was my Aveeno lotion, my new jeans, my favorite dresses, my favorite books. 

The luggage started rolling and clunking its way down the belt, and I noticed that everyone else was retrieving theirs. If their stuff made it, then mine should of too. While biting my fingernails down to the cuticles in worry, I spotted my bags, one right after another on the belt (when does that ever happen?). I gathered all the strength I had left from 15 hours of flying plus about 5 more without sleep and took a big breath and heaved my bags off. Next stop, customs. 

I have been through German customs before, and never had any issues, I confidently plodded along through the doors marked green for nothing to declare, followed the empty winding hallways, to a sliding glass door. The door opened, and I looked around for the customs agent. Instead I saw a cafe, and people hugging. I had just exited the terminal. While realizing that my passport verification in Iceland must have been my customs for this trip I wandered blindly into the waiting area not really sure what I was looking for. I noticed some movement off to my right, and a thirty something year old man stepped right in front of me. My first thought was that it was a bit much, I had a huge backpack and two suitcases with me, he could at least let me pass, but I looked up and recognized Marco. Laura came rushing behind him and gave me a big hug before I could even let go of my luggage. They were beaming, and I was here. They each took a bag, I said "danke" and they laughed. Oh God, I thought, I said the simplest word and they laughed. My German is crap. 

We headed out to the car where I immediately saw their bumper sticker, the bright red tongue of the Rolling Stones. This was gonna be fine. I was gonna be fine. 

In the car I was handed some water (with gas, or bubbles, carbonated water), and my favorite German meal, which is just bread rolls with cheese. (I will explain the bread in another post, as its impossible to find in America.) And we were off, 3 hours on the Autobahn to the small city of Marl, between Dusseldorf and Essen. The drive was pretty, green and fall colors, rivers and picturesque towns with white stucco and red roofs. I even saw a castle. We pulled up to the house in a bit of rain, and it looked just like the pictures they had sent me (thank God). 

In the house I met Laura's mother and father, both who speak very little English (although they speak better than they realize), and Laura's sister Lisa who speaks fluently. All gave me a big hug. And in Oma's arms was the little boy. Curled hair from his bath, and chubby cheeks. He looked at me with big brown eyes, and gurgled. He was not that impressed. Food was cooking and he was preoccupied. Marco took my bags to my room, and I took a hot bath. 

Dinner was traditional German, a kind of pot roast wrapped around pickled veggies with, of course, potatoes. After dinner I fell into bed.

I really wish we could perfect teleporation. That would cut down on a lot of annoying things, bad passport photos, jet lag, that weird airplane smell you get on your clothes, like old socks. 

And instead of Scotty, we would have Justin!