The Voyage
The adventures started officially at 12:51 December 11th, 1999. I gave me mums and Ned a big old hug and grabbed my oversized black army and seven foot snowboard bags and waddled over to the bus. I really don't remember much of the next three hours, for I knocked myself out with Dramamine with the intent of never remembering the uncomfortable ride to New York's JFK International Airport.
After avoiding the almost catastrophic mistake of checking in at Singapore airlines, I finally found the mass of pushy people all trying to get in the door to Northwest/KLM. As luck would have it, I had the biggest bags, which actually helped me in my quest for first through the door. A few seemed to shout obscenities at me in some foreign tongue, but I just played stupid American kept jabbing the lady in front of me in the ass with oversized snowboard bag. She sure got out of the way the second time!
I felt sorry for the overworked lady who took my ticket, so I told her that I really hoped her sore neck better. She instructed me to carry my board bag to the end of the counter and set in on the floor. Being that I had had made her smile with my thoughtful comment, I complied without further question. Then it was time for food and beer before the plane took off. After I downed the seven dollar beer and two dollar bagel (it even came with cream cheese!), I decided I'd better check on my board bag before the plane to Amsterdam took off in twenty minutes. Of course it was still at the end of the counter, but the little foreign guy assured me it would be just fine!
When I finally got the gate I was shocked to see the waiting area left with only standing room. My hopes for getting three seats to myself for the seven hour plane ride were crushed! I thought for a moment I, once I was in my seat, I was going to be able to snag two seats by themselves, but at the last minute a couple smithered my dreams of comfort again. Lucky for me I was seated next to a woman who worked for the UN. That made me feel safe at first, but as the next batch of Dramamine kicked in I started having paranoid delusions of her making me an innocent bystander in things the normal person isn't supposed to know about. Then I fell asleep.
I missed the first round of drinks, but asked the UN lady diplomatically if she would wake me for the next round. Being a professional, she politely agreed and drifted into slumberland again. I'm still not sure if it was the drug induced paranoia or if I just didn't want anyone touching me, but I awoke myself right before the dinner. I had a choice between noodles and chicken. Instinctively, my body told me noodles because of the after affects of food poisoning from the night before family dinner at a "recommended" Asian restaurant. I tell you something, that critique should be tortured and shot. But I chose the chicken anyway with hopes of the possibility of a free international plane ticket.
After dinner I took a couple more Dramamine a tired to go back to sleep. That's really all you can do on a seven-hour red-eye. Either I was building immunity to the sleep inducing effects of the drugs or the movie that came on captivated me (what was the name of it again?), but I couldn't get back to sleep for three hours. The Dutch stewardesses wouldn't give me any more free wine despite my attempts to convince them it was for purely medicinal purposes. Exhausted by my arguments, I eventually fell asleep for the remainder of the flight. I awoke in time to catch a great glimpse of the great lighted herbal city of Amsterdam.
I had fifty minutes to make the flight to Geneva. Plenty of time! I really really really wanted to make a quick jaunt into the city, but the older and wiser me convinced the more powerful juvenile and mischievous side to settle down and be happy with the Dramamine. Maybe on the way back. "Yes, I'm sorry, but I just got lost in the airport for three hours and missed my flight to New York." … "My eyes? Oh I was like so distraught by not being able to find my flight that I started crying." I've got some time to come up with something.
Finally, the clouds parted, we cleared the mountains and the beautiful turquoise waters of Lake Geneva came into view. We landed and I headed to baggage claims and customs with passport ready! The must put the heavy bags in the back of the plane or maybe they wait until last so the workers get the most out of their workout, but damn it took a long time for my bags to get out. I grabbed the big army bag and patiently awaited my board bag in the "Special" luggage area. That little foreign guy and the smiling lady had assured me it would be just fine. So I waited like the epitome of a polite American. And waited. Finally, I could wait no more. I asked the little Swiss cart kid in my worst English where the hell my bag was. He said "KLM est fini!". Disgruntled and travel weary, I made my way to the lost luggage office to make my claim. With a sigh of relief the nice lady there told me my bag was safe in Amsterdam. Damn lucky bag.
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