Going places

So, it's Sunday morning and in a couple of hours I will be boarding a plane to fly to Toronto. I have said it before, I'll say it again... I love going places, I hate flying. Long distance however is almost bareable, because the planes fly so high that there are hardly any turbulences. Still there is the dreaded start and eventually the thing has to land again.

With so much to look forward too, I make my way to the train station. Normally it takes me about 10 minutes, but my suitcase is heavy... very heavy. It has wheels, but that is not really a lot of help. I have to stop every couple of meters to rest my aching hands. When I finally get there, my fingers are blistered and I am sweating like a pig. What a prefect start!

If you go to Frankfurt airport by train from Cologne, you can check in your luggage there and then. Bye-bye suitcase! See you in Canada! I hope.

The day continues to be good: the train to Frankfurt is delayed but more than 25 minutes. I have a lot of time before my flight leaves, but that was meant as a safety net in case I have to queue in Frankfurt due to increased security checks!

Eventually the train arrives and since it is a high-speed connection, I end up at Frankfurt airport after about 1.5h train ride and still with a lot of time before the flight leaves for Toronto.

The last thing I expected to see at the airport was classic cars (well, maybe not the LAST thing... I have to admit an elephant would have surprised me more):


I head straight to my terminal and on to gate 22, following the "gates 22 to 28" signs. The queue for security check is miles long. Seriously, it would take hours to get to the front. I decide to take a look to see just how far away the start of the queue is and for the first time today I am in luck. The queue is Economy and there is a separate entrance for Business Class travellers with hardly a queue at all. Hallelujah! Security check is strict, every bag is opened, the laptop screened separately and I even had to take my shoes of. Some item from my toiletries is confiscated because it is still sealed but liquid. I had completely forgotten it was in the bag.

Eventually I am declared "safe" and allowed to pass through to the gates. But strangely gate 22 is nowhere to be seen. I ask a Lufthansa lady for directions and have to learn that at some point before (!) the security check, I should have taken a turn to the right. The sign says "22 to 28" for a while, but eventually it's "23 to 28". I missed that, so I have to go back all the way and find gate 22. When I get there I realise, that security checks for Canada have not been increased. I wouldn't have had to open my bags, take my shoes of etc. Me... I am not happy. And then... the plane is delayed too. At this point I seriously stat to contemplate going back home.

But eventually we do take off. I have nobody sitting next to me, so I dig my fingers into the armrest instead of someone's arm and concentrate on breathing.

Once the plane has reached its cruising altitude, I relax. There clearly are worse ways to travel than Business class. Lots of legroom (not that I need it, being small); food is good and plentyfull, the wines are even better. I have my own little television screen for the onboard entertainment. Maybe flying is not so bad after all?

After about five hours, there beneath us is a first glimps of Canada:

And another hour more and we have landed in Toronto. At immigration they ask a couple of questions that I answer truthfully (Business or holiday? Business. Where are you staying? Hotel in Toronto. How long are you here for? 13 days.) and some that I don't (Do you have presents with you? Do you have alcohol with you? No.) Well, one of the reasons why my suitcase is killing me, is the beer I have brought along for the guys from Brittlestar. But I am not sure if I am still within the allowed alcohol limit, so I decide to ... well, lie. (I find out later, that I would probably have been ok with the beer. If Canadian customs are reading this, I promise never to do it again! Really!).

I take a taxi to the hotel, unpack my suitcase, change clothes and head to the office. It’s Sunday, but Sonja and Stefan are working. And they are not happy at all. In fact they are downright miserable. If I remember correctly I am greeted with the words "this makes us so sick, we do not have enough sick bags". Now this promises to be a really enjoyable stay!

They decide that it is enough work for a Sunday (they have practically been working non-stop since their arrival last Thursday) and we leave to have dinner at an Indian restaurant.

I try to take a night shot of the skyline, but my efforts are not up to Stephan's standards. He tells me to get one of those things with three legs that you can mount the camera on, because clearly I cannot hold the camera steady enough for shots like this. I don't think they are THAT bad:

Sonja and Stephan are not staying at the same hotel I am in, so we agree to meet at 7 am the next morning in front of the office building. Back in the hotel, I zap through about 50 TV channels until my thumb hurts. The programme is even worse than at home. I didn't think that was possible, actually.