Frankfurt

I never anticipated going through customs in Germany. As you may recall, our itinerary as scheduled was supposed to go from San Francisco direct to Paris. However, that famous German Helmuth von Moltke the Elder said something like, "No plan survives contact with the enemy." He might've added, "Or with Untied Airlines." (I have spelled it that way intentionally: so the carrier will remain technically anonymous...and to make sure I don't get dragged from a flight in the future. Actually, except for the delay(s), all of the carrier personnel were very nice, helpful, and never once threatened us with removal or bodily harm--if you don't count the in-flight meals (of course, I jest--about the in-flight meals, that is.)). So I was surprised to discover that we were going through customs in Frankfurt. We hadn't reached out destination; I saw no point in going through customs until we had reached the nation of our destination (destination?).

Thinking about it now...it makes perfect sense. I don't suppose everyone on our flight was continuing. An incoming international flight would naturally have everyone pass through customs.

Well, it was nothing like I thought German customs would be. The man with whom we dealt spoke English with hardly had any accent at all. I was glad of that because the only German I know is what I had picked up from watching Hogan's Heroes; I was really hoping not to have a need to use terms appropriate for a prison camp. Nevertheless, I had my best, "Achtung!" "Schnell, schnell," "Jawohl," and "Danke, fraulein," prepared.  Also, the gentleman did not say, "Your papers, please." like on the Medal of Honor video game that my son and I used to play. I should've asked him to say that, just for fun.

"How long are you staying?" he asked, behind the glass booth, as he looked at our passports.
"Just until we can catch the connecting flight to Paris," I answered.
"No. How long are you staying in Europe?"
"Oh. About a week."
"Only France," he said with a little disappointment, as if I had started singing La Marseillaise over the top of Deutchland Uber Alles. (Right click the link to open the link in a new tab. It's one of my favorite scenes from Casablanca).
"That's all we have time for," I said.
He stamped our passports and handed them back to us.

Without any other directions having been given to us, we went through the doors that those before us had taken...to an empty room with more doors. One set of doors had signs indicating that they were for those with something to declare. I thought about declaring that I was lost and needed someone to hold my hand...except my wife was already doing that...but she was lost too. We opted to forego any philosophical declarations, or excited utterances, and proceeded through the other doors.

There were signs. We followed them. Jim and Nancy had found us, or we had found them; I don't recall which way it went. We were together again. Fortunately, the signs at the Frankfurt airport (which has its own song) were somewhat clearer than the SFO signs had been. We rode the rolling sidewalks, i.e., conveyor belts, and found our new gate where my wife took a picture of this:

Once again, we were privileged to wait...but that was a good thing. It was good because Rachel back in Boise, when she had booked us on this flight, which was a Lufthansa flight, had only been able to get seat locations for me, and Jim's wife Nancy. Jim and my wife did not have seat assignments...and no one seemed amused when I suggested that Nancy and I might be forced to continue the trip without our spouses...tough crowd. So we got right in line at the counter at our gate in order to get the ticket situation straightened out in plenty of time to board. The trouble was, there wasn't anyone at the gate counter to help us. This situation continued for some time. I made some statements about the famed German efficiency and my disappointment with the lack of any evidence of it to this point. Another person in our group made reference to the prominent political party of the nation during WWII, and kept referring to the name of the airline as the Luftwaffe. That made me a little uncomfortable, but that was all that came of it. Eventually, someone did show up at the counter to help us, and the 47 other people behind us who had similar issues. We got seats, but none of us were together. I was near the front of the plane; my wife ended up a couple rows back and across the aisle from me. Jim and Nancy, also separated (by seats, not like drawn and quartered), were much farther back in the plane. This was the last time that we saw them.

It was a quick flight over beautiful country.

Next time: The Storm of the Century