It's been a while since I felt this panicky getting to the airport. I don't like to fly, not for a long time. I used to like it. I loved the feel of takeoff, and there was a time when a song from "Peter Pan" buzzed through my brain every time. But now the novelty has worn off and any more flying only means hours of sitting, unable to read. Reading in a moving vehicle gives me motion sickness, so I avoid it. (Weirdly, writing doesn't do it, so I write this somewhere over the North Atlantic, not quite over Ireland.) In any case, I no longer like to fly, and wish I were in Frankfurt already.

Things That Make You Go "Grow The Frell UP!"
A while back there was a conversation in a newsgroup about airplane courtesy. How much armrest is one entitled to? How does one react to a space hog? I got to test some concepts on the flight from Nashville to D.C., when the guy behind me decided it was his birthright to be able to cross his legs while sitting. It was a small plane, and nobody was stretching out much, but he needed to be as comfortable as possible for this two-hour flight. I thought it reasonable to be able to recline my seat a couple of inches, so I wouldn't feel as if I were folded in half. He had a problem with that. He shoved my seat, kicked it, and ended up shoving it upright. I leaned it back, and he shoved again. I tried to lean it back again, and he pressed his foot against it so it wouldn't budge. I turned and said, "Do you really need to cross your legs that badly?" He replied that he didn't have very much room. I pointed out that I didn't, either. He said, "I'm sorry" in that tone that really means "Kiss my ass." I told him I didn't think he was sorry at all. He had no response for that beyond that he stopped kicking the back of my seat. Needless to say, when it came time to deplane, I stood in the aisle until everyone on my row went in front of me. The guy behind me waited until I was good and ready to go.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Landed in Frankfurt, after a sleepless night on the airplane. I even took a pill this time, but still didn't sleep because my legs kept cramping up. So the pill made me even sleepier, but I still couldn't go unconscious. It wore off a couple of hours before landing, and I watched the last movie, which was "The Pursuit of Happyness." A Horatio Alger story for our times. For the first time since 1988 when Dale and I went to Hawaii, one of my bags went AWOL and I had to track it down. A simple matter, involving picking it up at the storage place where they shunt things that haven't been picked up. I thanked the attendant in German, and he replied "BITTeeeeee..." in a sort of singsong tone that, had this been New York I would have thought he was a flamer being pissy and annoyed. However, this is not New York and I can't imagine what was really meant by that. Customs was even more of a breeze than it ever was in the UK. Having been raised on movies set in World War II, with Nazis forever asking for papers, this was a bit of a relief I didn't realize until it happened. It's strange how things subtly shape one's perception. The Nazis have been, quite literally, history for over sixty years, and I met very few people today who were even alive then.

Then I found the train station quite easily ("bahnhoffe" was a word I knew but didn't know I knew, and the sign had it in English as well), got into the station and onto the train without anyone saying boo to me about my ticket. I could have just wandered in and gotten to Wiesbaden without my ticket. Getting back to the airport next week might be a different matter, though. Along the way I began to notice that the train stations are well patrolled by police. They seem to all cluster around in what can only be described as gaggles, and I wanted to look for a donut shop. Every stop had at least three, and sometimes as many as five or seven officers all standing about. My first impression was that the country was crawling with cops, but on reflection I figure it must be an anti-terrorist measure. It was always train stations where I saw these guys. Then I learned today is a holiday that is often marked with protests, so it's apparent this is an unusual situation.

Finally, a taxi to the hotel. Here is where I first encountered someone who spoke no English. I mispronounced the name of the hotel, but he knew what I meant. Then when it came time to pay the man, I was able to tell him in not-so-broken German that I wanted ten Euros in change from a twenty. That gave him a tip of a little over two Euros. I went to check in, fairly pleased with myself to finally, after thirty-five years, use the German I'd studied in high school.

So it was the morning of the day after I boarded the plane in Nashville. I'd only had airplane food, which at dinner was questionable and breakfast was a joke. Next time I order a special diabetic meal to keep the carbohydrates to a minimum. In any case, I was starving, and went foraging immediately. There was an interesting middle eastern place a couple of blocks away, so I managed to eat though I think from now on I'll be able to remember the German word for "onion" and avoid them. I cruised a couple of blocks that were empty of people because of the holiday and all the stores were closed, then returned to the hotel.

Then I crashed. And burned. When I shut the curtains and crawled into bed, it was about ten or eleven in the morning. I woke up a few times to use the bathroom, and to eat the leftover seele from earlier, then went back to bed. I finally woke up at sunrise the next day. It's Wednesday now, and I have no idea where the past two days went.

But I don't seem jet lagged. A little tired, but not too much. Got breakfast, which was FABulous, lounged about and read for a couple of hours, then picked up my backpack and went shopping. Well, more like shop-looking, to see what was nearby. I was able to find some sugar-free munchies, and found a source of Diet Coke, which is called Coke Light here, and went to check out the book store I spotted yesterday. In the window I'd seen a romance-looking book with a Celtic somethingorother on the front, and I went, "Hmmm..." So today I took a look inside.

Ich Bin Ein Berliner
The clerks there spoke no English, so they were a little puzzled to see someone there who spoke so little German. They did get, though, that I was just browsing. I found a wall of shelves that resembled the Droemer and Heyne editions I'd seen of my books, and went looking. And sonofagun if I didn't find SEVEN copies of "Diese Eine Grosse Liebe," which is the Droemer edition of a book that has not sold in the States, originally titled "Kindred Spirits." It's the ghost/time travel story set in the American Civil War. Not even a Scotland story. So I took a copy to the desk and said, "Ich bin Julianne Bedford," then asked if they wanted me to sign their stock. The answer was no, and I replied "Okay, fair enough," and replaced the book. But before I could get out the door, everyone behind the counter was calling my name and waving and going, "Ja! Ja!" One of them waved a pen at me, and I gathered that after careful consideration they'd changed their minds about me signing stock. So I was pleased and thrilled to sign all seven copies, and left the store with a smile. My day was made. And my dad is going to get a big, fat kick out of this.

Next on the agenda was to attempt Internet access, which proved a challenge. Wireless access here costs 5E for half an hour, 10E for two hours, or 12.50E a day. I'm unaccustomed to paying for such access in hotels, and the neighborhood is littered with Internet cafes, so I was unwilling to cough up that kind of cash. However, in trying to log onto the web interface of my domain account, I kept getting a login error message. I thought it was because of the funky German keyboards, but even when I tried from the computer in the lobby downstairs, with the keyboard layout changed to English, I still couldn't log on. An incredibly long-distance call to Bellsouth tech support informed me that their system was wonky and that I couldn't expect access till that afternoon at least. This is par for Bellsouth; I'm ready to drop them. So I coughed up 5E for half an hour of wireless access, downloaded my mail to Eudora, and was able to catch up some.

Go, David! Go David! Go David!
I learned then that the president of the Steeple Players, David Barton, had been given the role of Daddy Warbucks in the New York touring company of "Annie." Which isn't relevant to Germany or this trip report, but I had to mention it because it's just too cool to not. I've been screaming from the rafters for over a decade that David is the best actor in Hendersonville, I directed him in the first play he did in Hendersonville, and now I feel vindicated. I'm sure I speak for all the Steeple Players when I say we're unutterably proud of him. Now I only hope he doesn't quit the Steeple Players entirely.

What, Me Worry?
Back to the room, and listening to the speech of George W. Bush on the situation in Iraq. ::sigh:: "Success is not 'no violence'" Oy. Shoot me now; my country has been hijacked by Alfred E. Newman.

No Wiener In The Schnitzel
I don't know what the etymological connection might be between wiener and wienerschnitzel, but it's not apparent by looking at the stuff. In fact, when presented with a plate of wienerschnitzel und kartoffeln, my thought was "Oh, look! Country fried steak and home fries!" Which might speak to the heavy German influence among those who settled the Deep South. After all, it's no accident that country music sometimes involves yodeling, and Dale can insist all he wants that his grandmother's maiden name is English, but it's definitely German.

Fun, Fun, Fun On Ze Autobahn
Off to the Eberbach Monastery with Tina, Angela and Mona, and we had occasion to go on the famed autobahn. My first reaction was, "Okay, freeway." I'm an Angelena, and freeways have been a fact of my life all my life. In fact, a lot of Germany struck me as not much different from the States. Could be the heavy influence of sixty years of American military occupation, I suppose. In any case, the place didn't seem as alien as the U.K. sometimes does.

In The Footsteps Of Sean Connery
The Eberbach Monastery is where they filmed "The Name of the Rose," with Sean Connery and Christian Slater. It was a lot of fun, particularly the wine presses. I could look at those huge, wooden machines and picture monks working them, crushing grapes, fixing broken bits, getting grape juice everywhere, some working hard and some hardly working. The battery in my camera went poop for no apparent reason, so I am without photos of my own, so I bought some postcards. Those pictures are probably better, anyway.

Lunch was at this place on the banks of the Rhine. A very touristy place, packed with shops selling cuckoo clocks and schnapps. Somehow Angela and Tina lost Mona and myself, and neither of us knew where we were supposed to be headed. I think it must have been half an hour before Mona was able to get hold of them by cell phone. They were at the restaurant just up the alley from us, and had already ordered. I took advantage of the time spent looking for them, and managed to get some souvenir shopping done. Schnapps for my dad and a delft-like cup for my stepmother. Lunch was something with asparagus and ham, followed by a nice chocolate waffle that was an incredibly bad idea but it tasted very good. There were Americans at the next table, wanting pretzels. Pretzels? I can get those at the mall in Tennessee. Big, fluffy, warm ones. Once again Germany doesn't seem all that alien to me.

Take A Deep Breath
English language reading on Friday. It's incredibly difficult to get up in front of a roomful of people as myself. Okay to play a role, but as myself I suck. I read a bit from "Knight Tenebrae" in English, and it seemed well received. At least, everyone laughed at the appropriate spots. Later, at the bilingual panel discussion, I was described as "extremely well known in Germany," which I found deeply flattering. This is getting to be fun; I could get used to being treated this well.

Back to the room to unwind and not sleep much. Jet lag is a terrible thing, and of late there has been a lot of insomnia in my life. It's a nice, cozy room. The hotel management had offered on Wednesday to swap me out for a larger room, but I was settled in and didn't care to move. As long as there was a breeze through the windows, I was fine. With not much money to be doing the tourist thing, I watched CNN because it was the only programming in English, and played a computer game, "Medieval Total War." Kinda fun, but I got creamed by the computer.

Saturday was the signing, and that was a lot of fun. There were people lined up to get copies, and that was a big change from the signings here in the U.S. I've always appreciated the German readers for enabling me to send my kids to college, and now more than ever I value them.

Sunday was brunch, and it seemed to be divided into English-speaking tables and German-speaking ones. Few of us non-German authors were fluent in German, so it was good to have the folks who did speak fluent English gathered around. The food was leftovers from breakfast, which annoyed me until I learned that it didn't cost any extra. I ate a little and had coffee, but the food was awfully salty. In fact, most of the meat over here is extremely salty. Even the Big Mac at MacDonalds was more like a chunk of country ham than a real hamburger. By Sunday I was beginning to crave unsalted meat. And vegetables. The asparagus on Thursday was my last sighting of a vegetable that wasn't potatoes or cabbage. Onions don't count, because I'm allergic.

Monday made me wish I'd been better funded for this trip. Without the book money I'd anticipated since November, I was stuck in the hotel with nothing to do. I played "Medieval Total War" some more, and finished reading "The Little Drummer Girl." It was a good trip, but now it's time to go home.

I'll skip over the trip home, and leave it that O'Hare is a nasty, nasty place. Even if it is good to hear English again.