This is a story I’ve been dying to write all day.
All the odds and ends were tied up – well the most important ones anyway like buying packages of Texas Pecan Coffee – and I’d had a few weeks to see dear family and friends, so nothing was left standing between me and Austria. I finished moving out of the RV and agonizing over what work clothes to bring. Dad dropped me off with a giant hug and a monstrously heavy blue suitcase. It weighs exactly 24 kg (laden with books, not shoes). Getting on the plane, I felt like I was leaving a small and rational place for one that is huge and old.
Plane neighbor in seat 29B: man from South America. He reminded me of a mountain in the Andes. Not Andes like the cute chocolate mints. Andes like huge and with an expansionist nature and I HATE being jostled. He began with his elbows on the armrest. I couldn’t contend for that ground. No matter how hard I tried to keep my right shoulder far away, his kept coming closer. Then, he outstretched his leg in front of my seat! I was determined not to cede any of my 20 inches of territory, so I firmly planted my foot and began reclaiming the ground. For some reason, Andes also snorted frequently and ordered the vegetarian entree. The lady in 29C wore a hairnet, drank 4 glasses of Malbec and never stopped chatting with the man in 29D. What about the individual video screens? Aren’t those meant to deter Talkie VonChattersons?
I read for a bit, and the movie choices weren’t great, so mostly I sat with my eyes closed, quelling the urge to accidentally elbow Andes in my “sleep.” The in-flight magazine discussed transferring at Heathrow from the infamous Terminal 5 to the horrid Terminal 3. They recommend allowing for a 2 hour transfer time, which was worrying because my layover was only 2h20min. I should not have been worried about being on time for the plane to Vienna (it was certainly not on time!). Terminal 3 was teeming with British icons that make me happy including: Yo Sushi! Boots, W H Smith and Marks and Spenser.
Got on a smaller Boeing plane that looked aged and had once read “Saudi Arabian Airlines.” It was hardly confidence inspiring, but I zonked out. In my sleep coma, I feel us taxi away from the gate. I hear engine revving several times and open my eyes expecting to see cloud cover. Instead, the view through the window is of the tarmac. We are surrounded by men in neon green vests making large arm gestures. Turns out we blew a valve to the hot air for the AC… The captain says not to worry, and it would be a “Quick Fix.”
That was a lie. We sat on the plane for an hour while engineers looked at the engine, then disembarked. BA gave us a 5 pound voucher to buy grub… but the airport doesn’t sell much for less than 5 quid besides side salads and bagels. The goat cheese wrap I ate had delicious creamy goat cheese, confit of onions, sundried tomato and oak leaves. That’s right. Oak leaves. Apparently they are the new grape leaf? Texas needs to catch on to this, we have loads of those. In fact, the RV has been covered in them for several months. See photo. Then we sat in the lounge 2 hours, nodding in and out of sleep. We boarded another plane, this one bright blue, and sat there another hour before taking off. We were 5 hours late.
As we approached Vienna, the plane looked as if it were about to land in a dark green forest. There was no sign of a city anywhere, only tiny dorfs and patchwork fields. We disembarked in the drizzle. All I could think of was finding a sign with my name on it, riding in a car to an apartment and falling into my future bed. Unfortunately after walking through the doors into the waiting throng, I saw no sign saying “Joost” or anything resembling it. Only ones reading “Siemens” or “Hotel Europa” or “Princess Cruises.” There closest one was Laurent Ukmbmoene. I carefully pulled my suitcases through the crowd, searching for my ride home.
Two hours later, I gave up and decided to find my own way. Half an hour after that, and I was booked in small hotel 8 numbers down from the American Embassy and riding in a taxi driven by a Pole. The booking agent showed me how I might catch a train to the city center, then switch 2 lines on the metro, then open up a detailed map and walk the rest of the way. However, the stairs would have been too impossible to contemplate that option. The cab ride was the first chance I’d had to practice my deutsch sprechen in about 7 years. It was mostly a smattering of German vocab tied together with several French words and interspersed with English words spoken with a German accent. “Monsieur, Konnen Sie mir fahren ummm a Boltzmanngasse? C’est –noo- es ist umm proche in der 9th.” Ach du lieber. “Hotel ja?”He drove me around the city center and pointed out the great gorgeous buildings and carried my luggage in the hotel. While I was trying to tip him, I accidentally smacked him in the head as he reached down to catch a tipping suitcase. AHHH.
Who should I have an email from when I'm finally online but my work supervisor wondering where I am! Apparently the driver got confused about the flight delay. Oh well. We meet tomorrow morning at 10.
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