10-25

Day 2

It was a long flight, but in no time, they were serving breakfast.  I got the feeling everything was ahead of schedule, but that could just be the time change.  The plane touched down hard in Amsterdam, hard enough that my backpack and phone went flying.  The backpack I caught, but the phone was gone, sliding up toward the front of the plane.  We were supposed to stay in our seats, with our belts on, so I didn't know what to do.  But to my surprise, somebody way up there picked it up, and passed it to the seat behind him.  That person passed it back, and that person passed it back, and in seconds, my phone was in my hands.  It was like a choreographed dance routine, just without the dancing.

Now I'm in Amsterdam, and the world has gone and got itself in a big damn hurry.  I was first surprised that all the signs are in English.  I was second surprised that everything looks slightly wrong.  The windows, the floors, the stores, the books, the signs (they keep including unnecessary Us), the restaurants, the clothes, the policemen (they ride Segways), the ads, the ATMs, the restrooms (the men's room had a female bathroom attendant . . . standing right there across from the urinals--which also looked wrong), the sky, the grass outside (why would an airport have what looks like a soccer field attached to it?), the money, the magazines, the electrical outlets, vehicles out the windows, drinking fountains (the faucets were pointed down, not up), and even the people.  It was as if I had gone to sleep and woke up in the future, where not just one or two things had changed, but everything had.  

Over and over, I found my brain switching to Spanish, which has to be the default setting when in a foreign land, and I'm having difficulty processing everything around me.  Luckily, Jeff had written me a lengthy email explaining what to do when I landed, and it included step-by-step instructions for getting through Passport Control, and to my Departure gate, which was literally more than a mile away from my Arrival one.

There were only two cashiers/employees at the Passport Control gate (there was a much shorter line off to the side if you were from the EU), and one of the female visitors ahead of me got a red flag (of some sort . . . they did ask her more questions, and a policeman came and joined the conversation), so the line slowed way down.  Eventually, they opened a third kiosk, and I was really surprised when people from behind me in line ducked out and went over to that line--and not just one, two, or three people.  Maybe it's a European thing, but it made me wish I had a bit more backbone to call them out on it.*

Then, I walked to my gate, and sat down to relax for a while.  I did hit the airport McDonalds, and spent more money than anyone should for food that wasn't good even by Grimace and Hamburglar standards (they wanted to charge .25 for each packet of ketchup too . . . darn, corrupt Mayor McCheese administration). 

Now I'm sitting by the big window, typing into my laptop, feeling gross and sticky, probably smelling like one of Mickey Rourke's discarded handtowels, and peering through a head filled with cotton.  Is this jetlag?  Or is it just to be expected after traveling nearly five thousand miles?  There was a dude that took several Selfies during the flight (he was the one watching BLADE RUNNER).  I haven't taken any pictures, and the way I feel right now, maybe I won't take any.

Anyway, my flight starts boarding in about half an hour, and Jeff will leave to meet me (on the bus, he says) in an hour after that.  

So, the plane touched down in Germany (this plane was tiny, with just a couple of seats on each side and a middle row, so it bounced around a lot more than the big one leaving the States), and I trudged out to the baggage claim (the signs were now in German, English and French--whereas in Amsterdam were in English, German, and Spanish), and waited for my bag to come out.  

When it didn't emerge for a while, I went into the nearest restroom--one that was unisex and had a handicapped symbol on it (I'm not sure if that meant I wasn't supposed to use it).  After peeing, I couldn't figure out how to flush the toilet--there was no handle, no pull string, no big metal button or sensor--but I did see a large button on the side with German writing on it.  I pressed the button, and an alarm went off and an intercom came to life.  A voice I couldn't understand asked me if I needed assistance, and I realized it was the emergency contact button.  I embarrassedly explained the situation and got the hell out of there, the toilet still unflushed to this day.**

I found my sister's suitcase but Jeff was running late, so I looked at the grocery store at the airport, and the prices were much more reasonable (both Amsterdam and Germany are on the Euro).  Then I found out Jeff was there and looking for me--I hadn't recognized him because all his hair in the back is now gray (jeez, he's only a year older than I am!).

We walked to the train station, a train arrived within, I dunno, five seconds, and we were headed back to his apartment.

We went to Jeff and Emily's place, which is right across the street from the train station (like, half a block, maybe two-thirds of one?), and I was glad he was there.  He told me all sorts of stories about how everybody in Germany speaks fluent English, and man, that has not been my experience.  A year ago, I could've said five or six words in German (like "Hello" and "Thank you"), but for some reason, I had nothing in my head every time someone speaks to me.

It could also be that I am soooo very tired.

For the rest of the day, I simply could not stay awake.  Jeff put on a couple of shows, but I drowsed through them to the point where I remember almost nothing about them.  His idea was to stay up as late as I possibly could today, so that my body would get on their sleep schedule.  Who knows whether that will work?

We went on two walks around the neighborhood, and then, at the end of the day, Jeff and Emily tend to go on a walk just to tire themselves out before sleep.  I volunteered to go with them, even though I wanted so much to sleep.  Because of that, I'm going to count it as part of my daily exercise, even though it was not running or anything like that (it was only twenty minutes or so, going around the neighborhood, but it was weird to see so many people in the windows of their apartments, finishing up their days, something I hadn't seen since living in Los Angeles (so many people in such a compact area, I guess I mean, rather than in separate houses, all spread out).

I was fairly zombie-like by this point, not even ten o'clock at night, and was happy to hit the sack.  

Exercise: Yes (24)

*Today on the tube, we were standing in line to get through the turnstiles, and two youths crept in front of the group, and an angry Brit called, "Oy!  Get back to your place in the queue, you lot!" and they ducked their heads in (well-earned) shame, and slunk back to where they belonged.  Why can't I ever say Oy to a dude or two?

**And on dark, rainy nights just like this one, you can still see the ghost fumbling at the wall, looking for a way to make the toilet flush, just with no success.