I know these are long overdue, but better late than never, right?
I left San Francisco at 8:30am on November 11th to embark on an almost-unbearable but long-anticipated 14-hour journey, by far the longest plane ride of my life thus far. I was "functioning" on very little sleep, mostly due to a week's worth of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I boarded the plane that morning and found my seat. I was pleased to see that it was on the aisle. Pleasantries were exchanged with my fellow passengers, greetings were announced over the speaker system on the plane, and off we went. Nothing especially notable took place on the first leg of my trip. I land in Minneapolis to find one of the biggest airports I'd ever been to. Thankfully, it was easy to navigate. I found my next gate seamlessly and just in the nick of time. Being that this leg was the one to get me across the Atlantic, onto foreign soil, there were many a tongue spoken at this gate. My eyes were wide with bewilderment as I listened. I heard Dutch mostly because this flight would be landing in Amsterdam, and because Amsterdam is a major international transfer hub, there were many different people representing many different languages and cultures. From what I remember, I heard French and German mostly, but there were people speaking Swahili, and assorted Middle Eastern languages as well. Walking to the gate, I got an alert from Facebook telling me that Brian had updated his status to: "I get to see my Jennay in 12 hours :)" I was beside myself with anticipation.
So we flash the attendants our passports and file into the plane. Of course my seat is in the very back of the plane, in the middle most seat. Next to a heavy woman. Who talked a lot. But it was okay, I had just talked to Brian on the phone as I took my seat. My excitement was now affecting my blood pressure; any higher and I would have popped an artery. At any rate, we took off. Babies screamed. Neighbors chatted. I started my period. We ate nasty food. And in my plane-induced insomnia, I stared for hours at the video screen in the back of my neighbor's head which told me that the temperature outside was -66 degrees Celsius and that we still had 6 hours of flying time to go. I chatted with my next door neighbor some (yes, the large African lady next to me). We talked excitedly about our destinations and how we couldn't wait anymore to land finally. She was very sweet and gave me some Nyquil and let me sleep (and drool) on her shoulder. Before we knew it, we heard those long-awaited words:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our final decent into Amsterdam. Please ensure that your tray tables are in their upright and locked positions..."
As large as I thought the airport in Minneapolis was, it was immediately dwarfed by the size of the airport in Amsterdam. Thank goodness most everyone spoke English, because my knowledge of Dutch is nul. Somehow I made it to the customs line, which looked like I might never get through. Alas, I did, and after some heckling from the attendants in the security line because I had WAY too much change in my wallet, I was released. It then literally took me a half-hour just to walk to the part of the airport where my gate was, and then another fifteen minutes to find the blasted thing. Who puts terminals at the level of the tarmac? Silly Dutch engineers. At any rate, I clamber down the flight of stairs to get to the waiting area. My original plan was to be completely "done" as I boarded in San Francisco, but because of the ridiculously early hour, I decided against it and to just ready myself in a restroom in Amsterdam. However, in my haste to leave the house that morning, I had to quickly rearrange my strategically packed suitcases and materialize a (not so) well-thought out carry-on. The outfit I had wanted to make my debut in was nowhere to be found. I was stuck wearing my sweats, hoodie, and Uggs. Fantastic, this is exactly how I wanted to look, showing up in beautiful and fashionable Europe to see my boyfriend for the first time in ten months. Whatever. I was tired, smelly and just plain ready to be in Switzerland already.
We were finally able to board the plane. As I sat, they made their required announcements in get this - four languages. They spoke in Dutch first, then French, then German, then finally English. I was astounded! I was feeling cultured already. As soon as they uttered the last required word, my eyes shut and I was dead to the world. I woke up about fifteen minutes prior to our landing in Geneva, and I was greeted by the most beautiful sunrise. In brilliant pinks and shades of blue and lavender, the skies of Switzerland welcomed me. I was literally minutes away from seeing my man.
I deplaned, made it to baggage claim where it took me almost a full half hour to find all of my belongings, in which time, I look over and see Brian wandering, no doubt trying to find his baffled and un-savvy traveler of a girlfriend. I am not allowed to pass through the gates freely, mind you, so I am to wait for all of my things to come off of the conveyor belt. Of course my suitcases are the last to come off! As soon as I struggle to pull the last one off the belt, I waddle through the door to find my handsome Marine. I think there has never been a time that I have smiled so wide for so long or held on quite as tight as I did that day. There are literally no words to describe how amazing the first hug and kiss feel after almost a year of being apart. For the next two weeks, he and I were all that mattered.
Stay tuned, faithful readers, for I am turning in for the night. I will continue to rehash all things European in the days to come. Bon soir, mes amis.
