D32 – THE LONG FLIGHT HOME

The last day of our European “On the Road Again” vacation began at 6:00 AM when Alexander Rudolph pounded on our apartment door. “OK, time to get up,” he shouted. “Los geitz.” This came as no surprise as we’d spent the prior evening planning the next morning’s drive to Munich, some fifty miles away. That we’d spent this time sampling product from the local single-malt whisky (don’t call it Scotch) distillery didn’t make the early call any easier.

“We’ll leave at 7:30 AM, en punto,” said Alex. This didn’t leave us time to enjoy one of Astrid’s sumptuous Bavarian breakfasts so some toast and coffee had to do. We left on time and hit the autobahn just before traffic got heavy. Our plan was this: Lufthansa flight #LH452 departs Munich’s Franz Joseph Strauss airport at 12 Noon. We must be there two hours before departure for pre-board, etc. Audi has a facility at the airport to receive European purchased automobiles. “It will take approximately 30 minutes to process your car,” Audi instructed, “And it must be washed, free of any personal items and have 1/3 to 1/2 a tank of gas before it can be passed by Customs.” That was clear enough. So, it was just a simple matter of back timing with a little fudge thrown in for the unknown.

We followed Alexander to the airport and to an adjacent gas station/car wash well within our time limits. The night before I had regaled Alex with a story of how I was once stuck in a car wash on the way to an important meeting. The damn thing just quit and there I was. He just laughed and said we were in Germany now, not in some phony-baloney Hollywood car wash so not to worry.   I put in the required gas and got in line for the car wash. The German attendant approached so I rolled the window down, and in my best Coffee-break German said, “Guten morgen.” He nodded and said a few instructions in German and motioned for me to roll up the window. I wasn’t sure if I was going to drive through the car wash or be propelled through. He made a motion like, “Let’s go,” so I put it in gear and entered the car wash. Half way through I was getting dangerously close to the car ahead so applied the brakes. I felt a bump and then all the brushes and water spray just stopped.   I sat waiting for it to resume and heard a knock on the window. I rolled the window down and the attendant was screaming at me in German. I responded with, “Ich verstehe nicht.” He looked puzzled and repeated his instructions, only louder this time. Once again I replied, “Ich verstehe nicht.” By this time his face had turned red and he was shouting at the top of his lungs and pointing at the gear shift. Fortunately, Alex had picked his way through the still dripping car wash and took over with the apoplectic attendant. “He says, leave your car in neutral and stay off the brakes. The car wash will push you through.” So, that was it. The cars were pushed through by a small roller. When I put on the brakes the roller hit my tire and the software shut the wash down.

When we finally emerged from the car wash, not only had we lost valuable time but the car was only wet, not washed. That meant another trip through but by now a long line of taxis had formed and it would mean almost an hour delay. Poor Alex ran up and down the line of taxis explaining what had happened and convinced them to let us cut the line. Afterward he said, “You said ‘Guten morgen’ to the attendant with no accent so he thought you were German. He gave you some brief instructions thinking you understood.” So, that was it. My lessons from Coffee-Break German were so effective that I shot myself in the foot. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or embarrassed. For Alex that was no problem. He was clearly embarrassed for me.

By the time we got the airport, our carefully thought out plans began to unravel.   Instead of turning in the car first, we rushed in to the airport to check luggage and get pre-boarding passes. Then we left Louise with the carry-on baggage while Alex and I returned the car. In going over the items to be returned we found the Garmin GPS was missing. I ran back into the airport, removed the missing GPS from Louise’s purse, and ran back to the Audi. It was gone, as was Alex. In a classic case of miscommunication, he’d asked me to wait with Louise but I didn’t hear that. Now I was wandering around a strange terminal with a GPS in my hand that was of no use. I began searching for the Audi return office, wandering from Audi building to Audi building with no luck. Finally I heard Alex calling my name from a distance. We both rushed to the Audi turn-in office and stood in line with the paperwork. When it was my turn I stepped to the counter and the woman called the name of the man behind me. I had missed my turn. She said, “I can take you at 11:30 but I see your plane leaves at Noon. You won’t make it.” The man in front, a guy named Mike from Atlanta, said, “Go ahead. Take my slot. I’m in no hurry.” By now it was 11:00AM and the clerk moved me ahead grudgingly. Her final act was to ask for the GPS. As I handed it over I said, “Her name is Schatzie,” and I was rewarded with a half-smile and then she sank back into a frown.

We rushed back to the terminal, collected Louise and the carry-on’s and started the TSA procedures. We waved “goodbye” to Alex who seemed almost relieved to see us disappear into the crowd. Just as we were collecting our things, the TSA agent said, “You have a knife. May I see it?” It was my Swiss Army knife, the one I usually put in the luggage before flying. He called a Supervisor who opened up the blade, ran his finger along it, and nodded his head “OK.” I guess he assumed I was a safe risk because he said, “You might want to sharpen that when you get home.”

Now came going through customs and the long, long trek down the terminal to the very last gate where flight #452 was waiting. Boarding was already taking place and we entered the aircraft looking for seats 58 G and H. It turned out they are the very last seats in the plane. One more row and we’d be serving drinks and handing out meals. But, what the hell…the seats reclined and I had a window. Who needs to be upfront anyway?   Frankly, there are some disadvantages to Row 58. When mealtime came it took almost an hour for the meals to reach our seats. All this time I could smell the roast beef and savored the idea of gravy over mashed potatoes. When the Flight Attendant reached us she asked, “Would you like pasta or pasta?” She tried to make a joke of it, but after seeing my disappointment, she went the extra mile and located a roast beef meal on another cart.  She also  promised, when the next meal was served, we’d be first served.

I took some time to familiarize myself with the aircraft, an Airbus 340-600. On the trip over I mentioned we were in an Airbus 320. One sharp eyed reader said the 320 was a short-range aircraft incapable to intercontinental flight so I should correct the error. I’m tempted to say that would explain the extra-long briefing on ditching at sea and the reason the pilot killed the engines in order to glide into Munich, but that would be sour grapes. The error stands corrected.

Determined to make the best of the 12 ½ hours in the air, I pulled out the iPad and set up shop on the tray table so I could bring the blog up to date. I plodded on until I was making too many typing errors and gave in to sleep.

We were about an hour out of LAX and still waiting for the second meal. Once again it slowly made its way toward the rear of the aircraft. The Flight Attendant who promised us first service was now serving another part of the plane and the word hadn’t been passed along. When the meal finally reached us I asked for a doggy bag but by then, the Flight Attendants had been on duty for 12 hours and were not easily amused. It became a race to finish the food before the command of, “Tray tables stowed and seat backs in an upright position.”

I’ve always enjoyed the approach to LAX starting over Palm Springs. As the plane adjusted nose down for a landing approach, I suddenly felt a drop of water land on my bald spot. Then another and another. I asked Louise to check and she said, “Water is coming out of the ceiling and falling on you.” It was not a lot of water, mind you, but certainly more than I expected. This went on until touchdown at LAX and when the pilot engaged reverse thrust on the engines, almost a cup of cold water splashed down on my head. My first thought was, “We overshot the runway and we’ve landed in the Pacific,” but I was the only one who was alarmed.

After taxi-in, I approached a senior Flight Attendant and told her I’d been doused with water. “Oh, you must be in 58H,” she said laughingly. “We call it the douche seat.” She went on to explain that over the duration of the flight, humidity is removed from the cabin and is stored in a tank just over 58H. When the plane goes into a nose down attitude for landing, water accumulated in the tank moves forward into an overflow pipe and drips on the unfortunate occupant of 58H. In this case, that would be me. When the pilot puts the engines into reverse thrust, the water changes from a drip to a wave explaining why I was doused on landing. “Most people are just relieved to be on the ground,” she said, “So, we have hardly any complaints.” I understood the explanation and we had a good laugh while she patted my hair dry.  Please don’t get us wrong.  Lufthansa is one of the premium airlines in the world and we’ve always been pleased with our experiences flying them, but there are one of two things that could be ironed out.  After this we’re sure they will be.

So, our adventure is over and we are back in Los Angeles, safe, sound and dry. Our daughter, Lisa, was waiting for us and even loaded our luggage for the trip home. Once in our kitchen we enjoyed a celebratory glass or two of wine and looked forward to our final reward. After five weeks on the road…a night in our own bed.

Goodnight from Los Angeles.

Louise and Ray

P.S. We’ll be doing a short reprise of the trip with proper “Thank You’s” for all involved. We appreciate your following along with us during this adventure and urge you to stay tuned.