The Galacon/Sicily trip, Part 1: outbound · 8:14pm Oct 30th, 2023
I promised you blogs.
The universe, when offered the prospect of travel, offers bemusement. Because travel is the state in which things not only go wrong, but do so while you have very little recourse. Also, the bad stuff is probably going to happen while you're hauling a suitcase. And maybe you're going to wind up hauling it down a volcano. Or up a series of switchbacks for a few feet. Possibly a few hundred. Also, there are going to be stairs.
So. Many. Stairs.
Additionally, there was that part where someone went borderline intimate contact assault on me while in public view. So thanks for that, universe. Really didn't see that one coming.
Travel on this scale is a series of minor to moderate horrors. If you're lucky. 'Unlucky' goes for major on up.
If you're truly lucky, you also get some instants of pure magic.
A number of bad, frustrating, and outright surreal things happened during this trip. But there was magic...
...and none of it happens without all of you.
September 14th
I've had very few delusions about getting any sleep.
It's the anticipation. This has been building up for months. Galacon at first: that was meant as a solo project. But then I had the realization: that I would be such a short distance from home, all it took was one more jump to the south and...
...home.
I've kept saying this: that you can't go home. Only back. I've changed too much and as it eventually turns out, parts of the island have been going through their own alterations. Not all of those are going to be for the better. But it's still the opportunity to step back onto my own adopted soil. The place which took me in once, and -- I don't get very many of those. Some people are lucky if they find one in a lifetime, and too many are never that fortunate.
I never thought it would go this far. That I would go this far.
I've also been trying very hard not to make the convention into an afterthought. The thing which has to happen before that last jump. I'm going to see some part of Europe's pony community.
(There are going to be ponies everywhere, occasionally at strange times.)
I am... going to keep my mouth shut. A lot. Because I don't think there's very many Americans in attendance, and I'm only going to recover my Sicilian accent once I have an audio model again. I don't have the East Coast tones -- somehow -- but dear gawds, I don't sound German. And I do a horrible fake Brit, because you're not from the States unless you can do a horrible fake Brit.
And I can't sleep.
Lifelong affliction. Chronic cyclical insomnia: no treatment, no cure. Ask the denizens of the chat server and they'll tell you that after a writing session, I'm going to be up at 2 a.m. and stay that way. Being emotional makes it worse. And when I've been building towards something for months...
Hello, ceiling.
Yes, I'm still here. It's dark out, okay? I don't want to sit at the airport for ten hours.
(Well, that got thwarted big-time.)
The suitcase is packed. That poor suitcase. A salvage store rescue from what was meant as a high-end line, because the company which made it launched travel products just as covid was really getting started and how do you like that survival environment? It was purchased because it's small enough to be a carry-on for everything domestic, and nothing international allowed a carry-on. There was a lot of server time spent in trying to find flights and here's a hint: if the flight is $380, then your first checked bag is $190. Also, there will be three planes involved, and each will charge their own baggage fee.
At one point, the hunt for a ride home had me being routed through Israel. Twelve-hour layover in Tel-Aviv.
...and if those twelve hours had been during the day, I would have done it...
(No, I didn't come within hours of missing the war. Days and a couple of thousand miles.)
...I wish I could sleep.
I had to shut down the apartment. Find watering globes so the plants would survive. Arrange for mail to be held, brought in. There are new SIMs waiting for the dumbphone and tablet and here's a preview: only one of them is really going to work. I've got 1500 minutes and 'unlimited' texts on the phone. The tablet will have 40 GB of data to play with, because I'm going to be on foot the whole time and live GPS will be essential. Renting a car with a foreign debit card would be a challenge.
(Also would have saved me from openly describing my preferred methods of mass murder.)
The tablet has been loaded with unpublished chapters. I have to post from the road. I need to keep my publication pace. Can't lose a day to writing...
(And that failed.)
...I'm not going to fall back asleep.
Home.
Technically, I'm not quite a Navy brat. My father wasn't officially part of the service. Attached civilian. But they still moved him around as if he'd been drafted, and... when you spend some time overseas, as a kid... you don't get it back. Not in terms of culture. You're never quite part of the area you're in, because you're a foreigner. And when you cross the border to your birth home again -- you haven't been through the same experiences as everyone else. You don't fit in. And kids who recognize that someone doesn't fit in are going to be on the attack.
You'll be a little different, if you bridge two worlds. For starters, you may never fully mesh with either one.
Sometimes I feel like I don't quite fit anywhere. The fandom included.
...get up. Check the suitcase. Examine my personal bag. Documents. Dear gawds, keep an eye on my passport (and the passport card, because might as well bring that). External batteries -- I had a problem there. I purchased a 40K because I thought that would be enough to keep the tablet going between outlets, and then a server denizen discovered that you can't bring anything larger than a 27K on a plane. I'm running on a 10K and a pair of 5s.
Okay, a short walk. So to speak. Supermarket and back. Scavenge from three a.m. rental carts. A few last quarters for the road. I'm vaguely curious as to whether I'm going to find American money in Europe. I find foreign coins in the States all the time: that's why I have over thirty Euros in metal to bring, and I'm a few hours away from having TSA take me aside over it.
Starting with 400 Euros in bills. (Should have been more.) Debit card, thanks to telling the bank where I was going, should work. The bills are present for if it doesn't work on Day One.
I wonder if I'll find Euro coins during the trip. Small extension of resources.
(Just over two Euros total, and nearly all on the last day. During the long night into nowhere.)
Recheck that I've got everything. Spoiler: I do not. I wound up forgetting a tin of mints and hand sanitizer. Extra expenses.
...still dark out.
Still dark.
The sun isn't coming up until --
-- oh, @$#% it.
There are two train stations I can potentially use. If I leave now, I can head for the one that's further out. There are only two realistic chances to save money on the outbound; use the more distant station, then get off in Newark and take the PATH into Manhattan instead of continuing on the main line. Between them, I can get three dollars back and in a couple of hours, that's hand sanitizer.
Is everything turned off? Everything?
Recheck the stove. Grab the small food bag. (Trail mix. It dies on a hot Sicily day.) Pack the tablet...
...out the door.
It starts with a long walk predawn...
The suitcase is being pulled along sidewalks smooth, rough, and in a few places, non. It's on the first day of use, it's already having a rough life, and this is just the sneak preview. There's worse ahead. We're gonna climb a volcano.
But today... moving through the dark. Cars pass me, here and there. A couple are police vehicles, and I keep waiting to have a spotlight blasted into my face because Walking While Night is considered to be suspicious activity if the quotas are short. But dawn is approaching, the ticket revenue is presumably sound, and I reach the station. Many stairs up to the platform level, and I'm already learning that the suitcase's tiny wheels can't handle anything over three inches. Three-inch stairs are going to be hard to come by.
Wait for the express into Newark. Catch the PATH, and... I'm going to WTC.
...yeah. It never lost the name...
...coming out of the PATH system at World Trade Center is like stepping into the interior of someone's rib cage. The bones of the world.
And after that? Take the A-train. We're heading out to JFK International, and doing so way too early. I have some faint hopes of getting out of the system long enough to find something to eat, because I'm using Terminal 7 and the entire chat server looked ahead in the book while I was searching for flights. Terminal 7 is not very strong in the food department, or anything else. It's a duty-free shop (because every major airport in the world is at least 3% duty-free shop), a skincare place, the world's most overpriced headphones, and I'm not all that far off from confronting what they want to pass for edibles. This is an international terminal designed to make you want to leave the country.
I'm... nervous. Watching the stops go by, trying to make sure I get off at the right place. I've actually got two options here, and one of them is the unrealistic chance to save money: transferring to the Q3 bus into the airport. I'm not doing that because I have been one of the only people in the state who's still wearing a mask (and more spoilers: that ain't gonna be for long). I took a covid test before I left this morning: having it come up negative is why I could leave. I'll have to take another before I go back and because space in the suitcase is so limited, it'll mean purchasing a fresh kit in Rome.
The Q3 is going to be overcrowded and wall-to-wall with people spitting into my face. Pass.
The Airtrain, which I can transfer to from the Howard Beach Station, is spacious, runs frequently, and -- costs $8.25 to board from that station, plus a dollar because suddenly I need a fresh Metrocard. However, once you're out of the station, you can get on and off the Airtrain at any point without price, only paying again when you reenter the subway system. And what I can see of Howard Beach from the subway tells me there's no need to explore. I can see a couple of eateries, and I can also see that none of them open before noon.
There's an increasing number of pets on this train, all in air travel carriers. A spaniel keeps looking at me. One Siamese begs for a rescue which isn't coming.
...here's my stop. Get off the train --
-- someone calls out to me. I stop.
...oh. The food bag. I -- got up without it. That wrapped up in my own thoughts. I haven't even reached the plane yet and people are saving me from myself. Especially because the food bag is also carrying several years' worth of scavenged Euro coins, and that would have been so much of my budget...
Thank you. Sorry about that.
...try to focus. Airtrain. It's a quiet, surprisingly long ride. We're crossing some huge parking lots and passing the last remnant of TransWorld Airlines in the TWA Hotel. But eventually, we close in on Terminal 7, and it's time for me to check in.
...well, it's several hours early. But that's okay. It's an airline. The front desk will be open. Today, we are flying Condor, which has gained the chat server name of Fruit Stripe Gum Airlines.
I'll be flying the spearmint. Let's just drop off the suitcase --
-- nope.
Condor operates out of Terminal 7. Just about the smallest terminal at one of the world's busiest international airports. There's about a dozen gates, and no more.
On that particular day, they are operating one flight.
The desk will open in about three hours.
Let's just say that I explored every terminal I could reach, to the extent possible without going through the passenger security check. It's always entertaining to look over airport prices, like the $11.99 bag of nuts to go with your $4.79 Coke. But that kind of comedy doesn't last for long. I'm rather more amused by the replica 50s diner in Terminal 4, which naturally isn't open yet.
The Center For Disease Control, however, is.
They've got a booth in the terminal, and are offering free on-the-spot covid test sessions to anyone who wants them. Participants get an equally free take-home kit for later. I pause to inquire, and get told that they're trying to track new variants entering the country. This is for inbound travelers only and when I get back, they're going to be closed.
There really isn't much to see at JFK. A couple of statutes, mostly featuring rock climbers. People waiting, holding up signs in the hopes of being spotted. There's Mandatory Newsstands, and a currency exchange confirms that they have no intention of compressing my .20E coins and under into bills -- but that's almost it. If you're not interested in purchasing from the highest-priced Dunkin Donuts you may ever see, then good luck burning off a few hours. I consider myself to be doing well by finding a seat near an outlet, where I can watch a very curious Wee White Dog trying to figure out what kind of upheaval has been brought into his life.
Finally, the Condor desk opens. I check in -- couldn't do it online; I tried -- get my boarding pass, and check my luggage. The two biggest flights came with one checked bag each, and I took those because there's only so much I want to haul around an airport for hours.
Security. ID check. (I use the passport. I have both it and the passport card with me, for backup. The card is only good as travel documentation for domestic, Mexico, and Canada travel, but serves as ID anywhere.) TSA. I still have the tablet bag and the food carrier. Unpack everything electronic. Make it visible. Shoes off, humiliation ON. You are treated as a suspect, and they're trying to figure out what to charge you with because you've got to be guilty of something. My stuff goes into the tray, trundles down the conveyor belt towards the X-Ray machine, I assume the Being Arrested Now position in the scanner and --
-- step over here.
Sorry?
Step over here. We can't let you through. There's a problem.
...o-kay. I think I know what this is. Thick dense mass, right? It's --
-- take off the mask.
I just did. For the ID --
-- I can't understand people when they have masks on. Take it off.
...right. Hello, passive-aggressive. (Kind of wish I was covid-positive right now.) But I don't need to fight with the person who can derail everything, especially when I'm pretty sure about what just happened. FOME had a similar problem in bringing tightly-packed Magic cards through the gates. The machine flags whatever it can't really see through and sure enough, after some very careful fishing through the food bag, the agent extracts the coins.
To his credit, he lets it go at that. The mass has been IDed, and the traveler is clearly some kind of idiot. (Wrong. Those coins have me about a day away from being an utter genius.)
We're good?
I'm waved on. Shoes are reclaimed, and Terminal 7 notes that I've had no true meals all day and there's an international flight coming up for which I prepaid nothing in the way of food, so -- last chance, sucker.
...burger, fries, drink, $21.75.
There's a restaurant which isn't open just yet. I get a peek at the menu before I go. Salmon would have been about ten dollars higher. And this? Is school cafeteria food. The hamburger is a hockey puck with ketchup. But it's this or live off trail mix, and I did that for just about the whole of Bellevue. At least I'm heading for one of the foremost culinary culture intersections in the world...
Condor comes in on the terminal speaker system. There is now a live auction taking place at the gate for upgrades to Economy Premium and Business Class. Please gather your last resources and spend like you're about to die.
I tell the server this, using the airport wifi. Yeah, funny. (It's going to be a lot less funny after I reach the Economy seat.) Sorry, but I just spent my life savings on this pickle. The pickle is the highlight. Look, you didn't even have my email address or phone number when I checked in, and I had to put those into the system myself. The least you could have done was give me an auction paddle.
When you pay that much for a meal, there's a certain obligation to finish every horrible crumb. (This runs out in Palermo. Big-time.)
The amazing part is that the other options were worse.
10oz bag of M&M from the duty-free shop: $14. I fail to indulge.
Reach the seats. Find an outlet. And I wait.
A lot of people are waiting and because it's Terminal 7, they are bored. SeaTac was nicer than this. Newark will keep you awake. New York City puts on its worst face and dares you to love it.
I'm carrying a token, of course. Something which, courtesy of the readership I don't deserve and the dropbox, is unique in the world. I'm the only person who has one, and... she's my proof of presence. Wherever she goes, I must be.
She's going to sleep through everything.
Lucky foal.
...flight takes off at 4:25 p.m. I can board an hour before that. I'm in Group 3, which leads me to believe there's only three groups. Explore as much as I can, desperately ignore the $349 headphones, discover that outlets are, at best, every other row of seats and Newark beats this place out on that too...
...wish I'd left from Newark --
-- especially now, because the speaker system announces a departure delay.
Then another.
I don't board until 5 p.m, and I'm already in trouble. I'm flying into Frankfurt's airport, then getting into the main city and catching a train to Waiblingen: Galacon's host site. The later the plane lands, the more that train is going to cost. (Highest price online was 50E.) This stall is going to cost and compared to what's coming, it's the amateur effort.
There are in fact only three groups. However, in a pleasant change of pace from what's going to happen in Rome, this airline is capable of counting to three.
I didn't pay for seat choice and in an airplane with a 2-4-2 grouping, I get Seat E. Dead center, and also just death. However, after everyone boards, F is still empty. I claim it.
Let's kick this bird into the air.
Let's get me out of this country.
We can clear U.S. waters in minutes --
-- we will be flying over the States for the next two hours.
I wish I could say that was the worst flight I've ever taken. In fact, in about two weeks, I'm really going to be wishing that.
Condor is an economy airline and in the flight glossary, this translates to 'Slight Additional Charges'. If you want just about anything which isn't a vomit bag or the mandatory Emergency Exits Are Over There card, it'll cost you extra. The attendants carry credit card readers at all times and at several points during the flight, try to Sell Stuff. What, you've never purchased $80 perfume on an international flight? Guess someone's never been that stuck for a gift.
There's a touchscreen embedded into the seat in front of me. I get access to a randomized selection of movies, along with TV series episodes with skips in the production order. Most of what I use it for is the flight tracker, because there's a map app going at all times. It shows where the plane is on the route, and that is staying over the States because we're taking the northern arc. Y'know. Roughly spherical planet. It's the shorter route, and it also leaves me stuck above the eastern seaboard for a very long time. But the map also shows pictures of interesting things in the cities we're passing over, so yay.
It's something to look at. A distraction from the pain. Because this is (currently) the worst airline seat I've ever seen.
It's designed in such a way as to put pressure against the neck, shoulders, and several key arteries. If you fall asleep? Then so will your limbs. I never drop off for more than an hour, and I always wake up with my arms and legs ablaze with embedded needles. Getting up and moving around would help, which is why I always wake up when the attendants are blocking the aisles. You can't sleep in that seat, you can barely sit in that seat, and it's going to take a while after landing before I can get my legs to fully work.
Time doesn't blur. It stretches. The flight tries to cascade across the line into infinity, and also into Canada. I keep checking our airspeed. Miles remaining. Please don't let that number go backwards.
Faster, plane. Go faster. Gangrene is not off the possibility list here. Faster.
Courteously, the plane does offer free sodas. I can just about raise an arm to accept one.
Never again. I'll probably never return to Germany: I'm fully aware of this. (In the present, I have yet to decide if there's going to be a 2024 convention drive on Ko-Fi. However, if there is, Galacon won't be on the ballot list. It's a matter of not wanting to try for the same place two years in a row.) But if I do... not this airline. I am getting exactly what I paid for: transport over the Atlantic and we are finally over the Atlantic. Little extras like 'arriving alive' weren't included.
Watch the cities go by. Pass over Ireland. Directly above Dublin, then skirt the edges of London. Wave to Raleigh. We slowly approach the terminator: the line dividing night and day. Celestia takes the shift.
Coming down...
...and I've escaped.
It took too much time to disembark. About as much for my knees to reliably bend again. But I'm off the plane, and -- I'm outside the borders. For the first time in so many years, I'm not in the States any more, and...
...gawds, I'm out...
...focus. This is still the Galacon stage of the operation. There's a lot to do. Just for starters, I am late because the plane didn't make up a lot of time in the air. I have to recover my luggage, clear passport control, and formally enter Germany. Then I need to get into Frankfurt proper, and I've got a few options there. There's a lot of buses around, plus one train comes directly into the airport. The bus is going to be less expensive.
I'd hoped to land earlier. Have a couple of hours in Frankfurt itself, just to explore. As-is, I've got to scramble. Time to move --
-- huh. Shower stalls for rent. Very practical placement. I'm almost tempted --
-- passport control. Let's see the document.
I extract my passport and, in doing so, lose the card.
I find out about that six minutes later.
Security lets me back into the area to search. It's not on the floor.
...okay. This is not a total disaster. Utter catastrophe is losing the passport. I'd need a consulate or embassy to fix that one, and I'd be stranded in Europe until the replacement came through. The card will cost me Significant Money to replace once I'm home, but I can still move around without it. I just have to travel under the weight of worry. ID theft ahoy --
-- trek through the airport. Get my luggage back, then locate the lost & found. Explain, provide contact information, and head out again. I just wish something was open. It's later than I wanted to arrive, but nearly everything here is still closed. I can't get any food from shutdown kiosks and it's not as if the bookstores are going to be any help --
-- there's a lot of bookstores --
-- vending machine. Train and bus tickets. Every ticket machine I find can be set to English by pressing a little icon of the UK flag. I need Frankfurt Main, and the bus is still cheaper. In fact, we've got a price problem here, because the trainfare into the main station was listed online as 6 Euros and right now, I'm being told to pay eighteen. That's... odd. But I'll just take the bus.
Break out the coins because this is where I can start burning them off, and --
-- little travel lesson for those planning to visit Europe: there is only one way to spend 0.01 and 0.02 coins, and that is by giving a very few to a human cashier when making a purchase. When it comes to machines, some of them don't take 0.05, others reject 0.10 on down, and nothing takes the two smallest denominations. A little over two weeks is going to let me burn through just about everything at 0.05 and higher, but I get to shift about 0.10 in the miniatures. You can leave those coins at home. You can't really spend them, and banks -- well, that's for later.
But bring the larger coins. You are going to need them. And right now, so do I. I need to process this ticket -- there we go -- and now, where's the bus pickup area? Upstairs. (I had to descend for L&F.) I have my assignment, so up the escalator, I can see the buses immediately, and --
-- there's lots of signs. Route designations.
Where's my sign? I don't see...
...up and down the sidewalk. Nothing. Second pass. Still nothing. Other buses are picking up and discharging, but I can't even spot where mine is supposed to --
-- there's someone in a uniform. Matches what the drivers are wearing.
...I don't speak German.
Hello?
He sort of speaks English.
Yes, thank you. This bus --
-- downstairs? Back in the airport and down? But...
...okay. Maybe there's an underground section. That's doing it New York style. Follow the directions of the expert, and --
-- well, that was twenty minutes.
I found the train tracks. My ticket (which can't be exchanged or refunded) is not good for the train. There are no buses in that area. At all. There was also a help desk, which only knows about the trains. And a bus which runs between terminals, starting at street level. That was it.
Ascend. Find the same person. Ask again, a little louder.
Downstairs.
There's nothing --
-- downstairs --
-- and my brain pushes the @$%^ This button.
-- take out the tablet.
Siri? We are still on airport wifi, and I need walking directions to Frankfurt Main. Oh, how many miles? That's nice. Let's go --
-- I get about seven hundred feet.
The airport exterior is under construction. And as such, is closed to foot traffic, with no way to get around the blockade.
...
...back to the bus area. Forget about my route number, which is still nowhere to be found. I am looking for two things: the word 'Frankfurt' and someone who will listen.
Will you take this ticket?
Will you take this ticket?
Will --
-- oh, thank you.
Out of the airport. (I glare at Mr. Helpful as I go by.) Ride down the highway, start into the streets, and I know this isn't going to Frankfurt Main. I just want to be in the city. Once I spot signs that we're getting close --
-- there, we're in the borders. Hang on -- don't want to go too far --
-- train station. I'll get off here. Now I just need the next ticket machine, and...
...wait.
There are eight tracks at this station. I need GPS and live directions. I don't know which --
-- stop.
Extract tablet.
Surgery.
US SIM out. European SIM, purchased on Amazon, in.
Please --
-- network found. 40GB of data now counting down.
...thank you. Let's do the phone, because I may have to call the hotel -- okay, it's in. And on. And here's a text message: welcome to the network. And here's another text message. What do you mean, 'top off my minutes'?
...can't deal with this right now. Siri? Which track?
...
...it's two stops down the line.
I wind up paying much less than 18 Euros for the total ride. Accidental, but -- it helps.
Then I reach Frankfurt Main and use the next vending machine for a ticket to Waiblingen.
It tries to charge me 90 Euros.
At the low end.
It's September 15th.
Happy @$%^ing Wild Card Day.
Frankfurt Main, as a train station, is -- industrial.
Lots of tracks. Extremely open. But there's metal everywhere, metal and concrete and it feels like being in a Person Processing Area. Grind and send to next destination.
But if you're feeling the need to ask for help...
...not quite what I needed at the time.
I search the area until I locate a side section: offices with human ticket sellers. Now all I need is someone who speaks English and in a station which deals with those leaving the airport --
-- it turns out that I'm being a little biased. Just about everyone speaks English and for the most part, they do so more fluently than the average American. My bus non-helpmate is the exception to the rule. In Germany, there are very few issues with being understood. I get tripped up by accents a couple of times -- numbers tend to slur -- but there's always someone around who can help the foreigner. And in this case, the ticket agent pieces together a route for me. One which gets me to Waiblingen without issue, at 45.50E, in --
-- about four and a half hours. (Original online estimate was under three.)
Using four trains.
First one is in about twenty minutes, and there's one narrow catch-or-die connection. But other than that...
...it's what I've got.
Timestamp: first train leaves at 11:12 a.m, local time. (My body is nowhere close to adjusting.) I have just enough on the clock to look for food, and all of this?
Will wait until it's truly local. How about a -- German pretzel? I should really --
-- um... yeah. It's a pretzel. It's not bad, but -- pretzel.
I go into a newsstand and grab a local drink. Time to start sampling, and -- the cashier gives me an Are You Sure look when I bring it up. I don't get it. It's sharp and a little bitter for apple, but it's not bad.
And then the relay race begins.
Germany, by train, is Philadelphia.
The urban decay isn't anywhere near as bad. But there's graffiti everywhere. Clear Frankfurt, the city which delays and train didn't want me to really see, and there's paint scrawled everywhere. A surprising amount is in English. I pass walls and partitions and at least one stadium, and so much is marked up. There's also signs up, and quite a few of those are English as well. This turns out to include the political ones, and I've got a rude shock coming in a few days.
Greenery, but it's the sort of green you could see from any train window. I look for interesting stores, and naturally get Aldi's and Lidl: the ones which exported themselves to my shore --
-- it doesn't matter. Whatever I'm seeing, I'm seeing it here. Race for a train and I'm racing for that train in Europe. That's what matters.
If I just wasn't surrounded by home...
The first train is the only time when I'm asked to show my ticket, which is multiple scan codes printed on a single page. The conductor nods and lets me be. A few seats down, a Texan and Canadian have discovered each other in a strange land, and are eagerly comparing notes.
I'm starting to feel the burn now. Jet lag, added to two hours of widely-scattered, painful sleep. But I have to reach the hotel. I also need to find a real meal somewhere, and I can't stop for that until I'm close to the hotel itself. So many trains...
...sign in a passing window. Atelier. Huh. Welcome, me.
The first train runs late. I arrive at the switch with barely seven minutes to make the transfer, and that includes a desperate dive towards a vending machine because I need to stay awake. The fastest way to pay is tap-to-scan, which gives me a chance to test the debit card at last and dear gawds, the bank did not forget where I was supposed to be. I've got access to my account and, just as much to the current point, caffeine.
Hello, SAP Arena. Also, hello, German Coke, and -- cane sugar? Oh, right. Outside the borders. Corn syrup can die.
...running late again. Get off at the transfer point, and I do so working my way past multiple bicycles because in Germany, the rides pretty much get train cars to themselves. And there's multiple tracks here as well, the order seems to be off, I do everything I can to reach the right one in time and I miss it by about eighty seconds.
...okay. Siri?
Another train going in that direction in a few minutes. Well, it's the same company, right? They should honor a ticket for a slightly later timeslot. And here it is --
-- it only takes a few minutes after getting on to discover, courtesy of the monitor screens which seem to be in every European train, that it is not the same company. A nearby sign informs me that getting caught without a ticket is a fine of twice the fare or sixty Euros, whichever is higher.
Please don't talk to me.
No one talk to me.
'Hello, I am sorry, but I am Stupid American who was running late and...'
...Stuttgart. Next transfer. There are about sixteen tracks here, and I need the one labeled S102. These are just IDed as One through Sixteen. What am I -- oh. There's arrows painted on the floor. This way to the S tracks. That's very nice of you. Germany is filled with considerate small touches. For example, with the trains? American ones just tell you to watch the gap between car and platform. A German train has a pressurized metal bridge which slides out to cover the distance. It's a country which pays attention to detail, and that's why the arrows keep up all the way to the S tracks.
Half a mile away.
I did not exaggerate. Covered above-ground tunnel, moving through construction area. Dip underground. Pass ticket machines, fast food, and more bookstores. Go further down, and I have now been running for hours and am starting to hard-slam sodas and I can't stop. Maybe there's a restroom on the next train. Please let there be a --
-- there is.
It's broken and closed for repairs.
...oh dear.
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. I am the dictator over several vital muscles --
-- yes, I know we've been on this train for an hour and on the run for close to nine, work with me --
-- Waiblingen Station.
I'm not staying in the city. I tried and by the time I booked, every local hotel was sold out. I'm one town over and will have to walk about three miles each way, per day, in order to reach the convention. The same applies to the hotel. But right now, what I need is a bathroom and this is a train station so dear gawds, there has to be a bathroom somewhere and I don't see --
-- small blue-painted outside solid cube, roughly eight feet in all directions, with a metal door.
It is a pay toilet. Capacity of one.
It wants 0.50 Euro for entrance.
An entire lifetime of claiming foreign money from rejection slots is instantly justified, in full.
A normal traveler would be carrying bills, plus credit and debit -- and nothing else. That collection which got me stopped by TSA? Has just saved my life -- with an assist from that helpful man on the A-train, thousands of miles away.
I have half-Euro coins.
Little pig, little pig, let me in...
...it's clean. It's utterly clean, completely stocked, and this is not quite the default. The train station pay toilet was among the best of them. But -- this is where we get another warning for those who follow in my footsteps. Pay-to-access restrooms are standard. Public ones are hard to come by and if you ask a German restaurant to use theirs, leaving a coin is courtesy. This is another reason to be carrying metal resources when you're going through Europe, because you will need bathroom access. Often. I found myself breaking bills over and over because I had to make sure there was enough cash to race towards the nearest flush.
(It took me a couple of days before I also started to view it as an assault on the local homeless population. You want some human dignity? Pay up.)
In the surest sign that I have not adjusted just yet, I hold the door open for the next occupant.
...okay. Siri?
It takes several tries to get the hotel's address registered: part of this is my pronunciation, and the rest is that there are characters in the German alphabet which don't turn up in English. And I now have to be careful, because I'm starting to see bronies. All males so far, but -- the shirts are a giveaway, and there's the first traveling plushie.
Move like I've got a purpose. I just can't move like a native. That's a few days away.
-- and the directions start with one of those awkward near triple-loops just to get out of the parking lot on foot, then find a sidewalk and stabilize. I note that I'm following a bus route, and this is going to be the norm. There are buses everywhere. Piecing together the series which leads where you want to go is a separate issue.
Supermarket. Can and bottle deposit turns into a coupon for their goods. Interesting...
...long downhill. Short upslope. There's a curve, and -- another train station. Figures, but -- I don't know if this is on the same line. And I'm passing homes and walls and armor, because German homes believe in self-defense. Windows are covered by segmented, sliding metal grates. So are some of the doors. If you want to break in, bring a welding torch and a crowbar. Posted signs warn people not to park near any gates, and this is a country which is addicted to the ! It's on most of the signs, the majority of advertisements, and with a language which already tilts towards the authoritative, it's not helping.
Pass some men playing cards outside an eatery. This gets me a Wee Black Dog stare for half a block.
Notice boards. Paper signs. School activities are posted. There's a pharmacy chain about, and the mascot is a centaur...
...and then I see a mother, walking with her daughters. The children are no more than eleven years old, and one of them is steadily practicing English as they all go along. Rehearsing her lessons.
"Hello, how are you? Hello, how are --"
I want to tell her that I'm very tired after the flight, but I'm happy to be here and also, thank you for asking. But I'm a stranger here, and.. maybe it isn't the time. Additionally, I've been going for hours. At this point, she likely has a better grasp of the language than I do, and insert your own joke here.
Some of the sidewalks are tilting towards cobblestone. Many of the streets follow. The buses trundle along, and the suitcase is trying to adjust for all the gaps. GPS is still running. Turn here, pass one of the world's most hideous Mickeys, and keep walking and walking and...
...the hotel is on the right side of the street, facing uphill. The check-in desk is on the left. As in 'within another building entirely, across the street, attached to a restaurant'. I have plans for that restaurant, and they are currently known as Saturday. Right now, I just want to clean up. Change clothing. And that means --
-- hello. I have a reservation --
-- who are you?
...
Your name isn't in our system.
I scramble for the tablet. Time to sort a lot of email, and I booked nearly all of the hotels through two sites so if the first one isn't registering --
-- oh, there you are. Here's your key.
I leave the restaurant, which isn't quite open for the night shift yet. Cross the street. Get into the other building, start for the elevator --
-- and my phone rings.
...unknown number. Well, of course they're all going to be unknown, but -- who would be calling? Germany Robospam, incoming --
-- hello?
Yes, this is --
-- thank you.
Frankfurt Airport Lost & Found. My passport card was recovered. Apparently it slipped out into the agent's booth. They want to know how they can get it back to me, and ultimately arrange for me to pick it up at the Stuttgart airport before I fly out.
(This goes off with no issues whatsoever. One of the few things about Stuttgart which does.)
Into the room.
It's the American room, I think. Assigned for visiting travelers from the States, because it's white and white and more white and then there's a picture of a Route 66 gas station over the bed.
There's a very small table which acts as a desk. Mini-fridge, microwave, two burners, and towels which are just about visible to the human eye. There's also a perfectly-placed outlet near that table, and this where I get to thank Kickstarter because I have crossed several thousand miles while carrying a medium-sized brick. This is my charger, purchased as a backer for the new, and it came with multiple plug adapters -- but it also acts as a voltage shifter. Up and down. If a device can work from a USB port, then it can be put on this charger anywhere in the world, at no risk.
Or so the theory goes. It's worked fine off American outlets, but --
-- well, this may be where I lose the tablet --
-- that'll be a hard Ko-Fi drive to explain --
-- I'll risk the phone first.
The brick's indicator light goes on as it's plugged in. Seconds later, the phone is recovering power. The tablet follows.
Check the rest of the room. The television is small and the alignment with the bed isn't great. But it gets about six hundred channels and after some searching, I find that four of them are in English. No subtitles option. Two of the ones I can understand are religious broadcasts.
The bathroom has a tub.
You need to climb up to it. The tub walls come up to mid-thigh. It's wide and deep and the hot water never runs out, and it is the only bathtub I find for the entire trip. Sicily is going to be the Weird Showers Tour. This is a tub. And I have one at home, but it's nowhere near this large and the hot water supply runs out at ankle-deep --
-- I haven't had a proper bath in --
-- @$%^ it.
...well, that was an hour.
I explore the area, because resetting my internal clock means I cannot fall asleep before local 9 p.m. There's a convenience store two blocks away, and drinks are surprisingly cheap. I get a few things for the mini-fridge.
The homes...
...slightly less armored.
Another restaurant is located.
'tis cozy.
(I have that table at home, only with a glass top. Old sewing machine bases can be converted into a lot.)
'tis food.
It's so fresh. Cooked on the spot, instead of just sitting for hours and waiting for a reheat and...
...I'm in Germany.
There's been -- little signs of having left the borders.
Like the cigarette vending machines.
I'm guessing most of you haven't seen those. They're illegal in a lot of areas. But here... embedded in walls, full access to the street. And in Germany, possibly in most of Europe -- branding is limited to little strips of color. The rest of the packet shows cancer. Skin eaten away. Exposed death. Birth defects. Tumors. Here, this is what you're getting into. You have to look at that whenever you want a smoke, and I don't feel like it has any effect because discarded packs are everywhere. This gets worse in a few days, and the world turns tobacco-scented.
But for tonight...
...how did I get here?
Because I was crazy enough to ask, and -- a lot of people felt I should go. They backed that belief, and...
...the schnitzel is delicious.
I'm eating schnitzel in a little town outside Waiblingen. Riding on the back of a dream.
I've been running for nearly two days. Trying to make it here. This is the part where I can just be here, and...
Schnitzel. Fries. Some mineral water.
The light touch of tears makes for wonderful seasoning.
All of you.
Without all of you...
Tomorrow is Galacon.
Tonight is just Germany.
But travel is chaos.
And there's a long way to go.
Time to vicariously re-live your European adventure!
(I had entirely missed you losing, and then recovering, your ID card. Good thing it got back to you!)
Not in real life in years, certainly. But I do remember seeing them. In fiction, I only remember their rare appearances in Ichigo Mashimaro.
There are definitely parts of the saga I missed as it was happening live, and this was just Day 1. Looking forward to more, especially knowing that you're safely back home now, despite the return trip's best efforts.
5752957
Same. Some places kept the machines and stocked them with other stuff (if they were lucky enough to own them outright), but most were just pulled out.
But then, my mother sent me into the store to buy cigs for her. The old days.
Read this in Reader's Digest as a kid (50+ years ago!).
Every traveler needs 2 cases. Pack 1 with money, the other with patience. Dip into each as needed. When either is empty go home because the fun part of your trip is OVER.
I remember an old quote "I have things to do and promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.". You'll be glad to know the original author of that is DEAD.
Rossmann?
Also, I think cigarette packages are the result of EU regulations because they look the same in Poland (no vending machines for cigarettes anymore, though).
I am glad everyone here who isn’t on your discord can now witness your well earned trip.
Outside perspectives on germany are quite interesting. We love our cash money.
And you got the Deutsche Bahn experience: trains are never on time.
Sombra approves of this form of torment.
Having lived abroad, I sympathize with your travel woes, your trials and tribulations. I remember the terror of getting lost in a local Chinese airport and not speaking a word of Chinese, climbing the unending steps of Fushimi Inari shrine in Kyoto, Japan to greet the dawn, of having a trolley derail in Switzerland, and wandering the streets of Seoul, S. Korea trying to find an open restaurant during a national holiday.
I wish you had a traveling companion, as I've done travel alone and with others, and having someone with you, I find, is the superior experience. For peace of mind at least.