Another and hopefully my last airport story

As I was traveling back from Germany to America after my first six months here I was so excited after a long trip to see America again. I was so excited to go back and be able to order pizza without any struggles or unwanted extra attention. So my husband and I got off the plane with our custom forms filled out and standing in line with all the other Americans! I was thrilled! Like kiss the floor excited! All smiles! My husband was not so happy. He had a cold and when you fly with a cold it's a miserable experience. His ears where all clogged up so every time he would say anything he would yell it.

This was my very first experience with going through customs. (When you enter Europe you barely notice that you went through it.) So we went up to the desk with out filled out form and handed it to a very stern woman. She said, "You didn't put a date." I said, "Oh sorry, what is the date? She replied, "15 March" By the way she said it you would have thought I just asked if it was ok if I brought a 10 oz bag of Marijuana with me. So I went to write the date. When I was in Germany I had learned to write the day first and then the month, but now that I was in the USA I reminded myself to write the month first then the day. The customs lady was pissed about that. She gave me a look that was meant to put the fear of the United States government in me. It did. She told me as if it were of the utmost importance and I had broken a major law, "I told you the day first then the month." Uuuhhhh...ok sorry lady. Luckily she let us in despite the horrible thing I had done.

We went to claim our baggage so we could put it right back onto another baggage claim belt. (I don't get the point of that.) As we were walking I was still totally excited and my husband looked like a zombie, the security stopped him to ask him a few questions about what he was bringing into the country. He could barely hear anything. They'd ask a question and he'd yell his response back to them. I told my unaware husband that he was yelling his answers and the security guys just glared at me. Oops, controlling wife, not a good look for me.

We got rid of our bags and went through the medal detectors. I flew through them, since I had practical slip on shoes and no belt, while my husband had on a belt, a watch, quadruple knotted tennis shoes. Every time we went through security I was always way faster and I guess in a hurry to get to the next place. So finally he was getting sick of it! I was getting ready to bolt to to find some of that amazing American food that I missed and he's trying to put his belt on, and he yells at me, "Why are you always running away from me when my pants are falling down?" He had no idea that he had yelled till he noticed curious eyes staring at him.

Ok just so my he doesn't feel so alone, what's something you've blurted out and wish you could take back?

Travel Tips

We went to Rome five years ago. We went with one of those super cheap airlines--Ryan Air. They can shuttle you around Europe for like 25 euros a ticket. I found out the flight was only going to take an hour and a half. So I decided to forgo my usual motion sickness medication. I figured the stuff makes me so drowsy and it was such a short flight it wouldn't matter. Of course when we got in the plane I started to get nauseous. One of the stewardesses came around offering drinks. I asked for sprite hoping it would settle my stomach. She handed me a miniature sized can and cup and then said, "That's 3 euros." We were like what? Since when do we pay extra for drinks? We begrudgingly handed over the money. The rest of the flight the stewardesses walked up and down the aisles selling everything. Alcohol, weird little toys that looked like they were made out of rubber bands, cologne, and who knows what else. We tried to tune it out. We were smarter now. We were fast learners. They were even selling bus tickets into the city, but we already lost 3 euros on a tiny Sprite, we weren't going to be tricked again.

So we got to the airport in Italy and were trying to figure out how to actually get to Rome from this airport. We went to ask a lady behind a desk. We stood in line and Z, my husband, went ahead and asked in German if she spoke English. (Yes, we were in Italy) The lady looked at him oddly and said, "I speak German and English, which would you prefer." We chose English, because this was really before we actually spoke German. We found out we should have purchased our bus tickets on the plane because they were cheaper there. So we lost a few more euros, but bought our tickets.

We got on the bus and we were both eager to see a bit of Italy, but I was feeling really nauseous from the plane ride. I was so dizzy from the trip, and I had such a bad headache I just kept my eyes closed for the 20 minute ride into town. Z was having a great time. He would tell me every once in a while to open my eyes to look at a ruin, then say "oh sorry honey I guess you didn't look in time." At one point he got really excited and said look a prostitute! Neither of us had ever seen a real live prostitute before. We're from small towns alright, that was exciting stuff to us. So after I missed all that excitement we finally got to the center of town. I was feeling even worse after that wild ride. Bus drivers drive like maniacs, I think it's part of their training--drive this bus like it's a Lamborghini.

I got my luggage and we were trying to figure out where we were. It was dark out and despite the fact that we were in the center of Rome, we didn't really know what that meant exactly. So we were standing on a curb and realize that I was really sick, like I'm about to throw up. I call out to my husband, who is apparently so engrossed in studying his map that he's walked away from me. I was standing by myself throwing up on the curve holding my own hair in a foreign city. Hesitantly, another tourist came over to ask me if I was ok. I wasn't but I said I was and walked away to go yell at my husband.

A few days later after a lovely time in Rome we went to get back on our bus to head back to the airport, as I was putting my suitcase in the under the bus storage area another passenger was swinging his large bag into the compartment. He swung it directly into my head. I wobbled off to go find my husband who was once again absent and happened to miss that fine moment of mine.

And that's kind of what traveling is like with us. We're a mess. If you don't believe me you can read this old post about Z and his problems with getting through airport security.

So my travel tip is, do the opposite of what we did and you'll do great!

Knives Bibles, what's the difference?

Since we live in Germany we do a lot of flying. So you would think by this time we would be awesome at it. Well we're not. I'm terrified of flying and Z (yeah that's my husbands new "blog name") is just a disaster when it comes to getting through security. He might as well be wearing a turban around his head. Like last September my parents were driving us to the airport. We started talking about all the times Z has gotten away with flying with a pocket knife that's on his key chain. In fact last May he somehow got me to carry his keys in my purse. I didn't discover them till we were entering America and in the middle of going through the strenuous and thorough process of getting through the American customs. I was digging around in my purse and my hands felt Z's keys-with the pocket knife still intact.

At this point we are standing around to reclaim our baggage so it could go back through more security. I'm a bit panicked, because apparently I'm as dangerous as terrorist at this point. We decided to huddle together and get the knife off the keys and smuggle the 2 inch knife into our luggage. I know what you're thinking these two are rebells. Yeah, we are. Some missionaries smuggle Bibles into other countries, we smuggle weapons into America. Not really something we can really use in a church presentation.

So back to September, when we're flying back to Germany. We're teasing Z about the pocket knife. And even asked him if he had remembered to take the knife off of his key chain. He assured us he had. We got to the airport, checked our luggage in, said our sad goodbyes to my parents. Stood in line to go through security. I start taking my shoes off and Z pulls out his keys, which had of course the pocket knife on it!