The love affair between the elderly Lufthansa Airbus and the Frankfurt runway showed no signs of abating as the aircraft shuddered its way toward the end of the runway. I looked at the steward and stewardess, smug in their three-point harnesses beside the exits. I looked at the frayed lap belt that stood between me and an impact with the cracked plastic ceiling and wondered how it could be that I'd misjudged the German people so.
As I write, we're two hours into the second leg of the journey. Leg 1 was the jaunt from London to Frankfurt in another geriatric Airbus. I have a feeling that Lufthansa must pick-up the cast offs from third world airlines like Ethiopia-Air or something. What I'd hoped would be an empty flight is packed to capacity. The anticipated Germanic efficiency has also failed to materialise as the transfer at Frankfurt became a free-for-all. I can only hope that my luggage and Bondage Bear survive their inevitable trip to the Ukraine (did I mention that after collating email and comment votes, the girl beat the boy hands down. In more ways than one, judging by her outfit)
(time passes)
One more observation about the aircraft; I've never been in an aeroplane that leaked. Maybe it was weeping at my somewhat harsh critique (above) or maybe the pressure seals are as elderly as I suspect. Either way, water was running down the emergency exit door and around my window. This cannot be normal. I may have to invest in a different airline for my return.
Vancouver has a very attractive airport. 'Arrivals' featured water features, open spaces, cheerful staff and a Da Vinci-esque aircraft suspended from the ceiling that looked a good deal more airworthy than my last transport.
As usual I was searched. I clearly look suspicious.
"Are these your boots?"
"Yes"
"Are these your pants?"
"Yes"
"Is this you.... what the heck is this?"
"I call her 'Bondage Bear'..."
The search ended there. Nice airport. Nice people. THe US immigration service could learn a lot from their northern neighbours on how to treat foreign nationals from 'friendly' nations.
The perfectly lovely Ms.Sundae was on hand to ferry me from bar to restaurant to bar (and to berate me for forgetting Bondage Bear's photo opportunities.) I would (and will) write more, but after a substantial number of cocktails, a reggae-themed meal, nearly 48 hours without sleep and an arguement with a drunken German over which button on the lift gets to the second floor (hint - the one marked 2) this boy needs his bed.
Objective tomorrow - book bus to Whistler.
(Photo is Bondage Bear peering out of my hotel window)
