The luxury of overseas travel (as in, you've got to be kidding)

The words still have an allure.  Overseas travel.  Heading to Europe.  Going to the continent.  

And the reality can meet that attraction.  It can.  Once you’re at a restaurant in Roma, or walking along the left bank in Paris, or crossing through the Brandenburger Tor while in Berlin.

But getting there, well, that’s another story.

Airports have become large transit stations for us, the commuter rail centers for the 21^st century.  There are people rushing to make the last plane out, whether it’s Geneva, Frankfurt, or Brussels, it’s not all that much different from the 7:48 to North White Plains.  Hustle, wait, clutch your gear, shuffle ahead a few steps, wait, oh, this line please, wait a bit more, strip down a bit more than you had planned before this many people, take a little radiation, recollect your stuff, and then resume all hustling and waiting, minus the clothes stripping.

Red carpets draped over heavy traffic carpeting don’t really convey respect for the elite flyer, nor distinguish a slot for those of us not airborne enough to merit star treatment.  Overlapping and conflicting boarding messages from gate agents can either go unheeded, or more often, lead to confusion, herd activity, and a press at the aforementioned red carpeted gate.  Flights booked with several hundred eager passengers are required to pass through one narrow corridor, steered into a line that may or may not move, may or may not test your patience, may or may not bump against you, and may or may not actually cause some pain and suffering.

The flight.  Well, we’ve all flown.  What else can be said.  Though overseas travelers are still provided an unfortunate meal, and a bevy of beverages.  That’s far better than what you get from the mainland to Hawai’i, a distance greater than that between Washington and Frankfurt, Germany. 

It’s upon arrival that you realize you are somewhere else.

The faces have a different look.  The eyes a different gaze.  The clothes a different drape, and a different cut.  The eyewear more intent on showcasing the designer brand.  The hairstyles are distinct, and the colors are bolder, and often redder, than they should be.  A quick glance while moving between gates reveals 20-something Italian men aiming for style and hipness, in that Eurotrashy way.  A Mediterranean couple near, engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation.  The man tired, and seemingly withdrawn.  The woman, well, it’s hard to say how her face expressed itself, as she was wearing a black chador, with just a narrow slit for her eyes.  Still, hand movement speak universally to meaning.  Americans move aimlessly through the terminal, seemingly oblivious to signs and direction.  The only Americans to whom this doesn’t seem to apply are the burly white males with short hair, mostly headed to a connection en route to Kuwait.

And don't even think about accomodations for special needs.  For ramps, rails, or walkways.  Got a 40 pound bag.  Good, hump it up 30 steps to get to customs.  Want to get on the train.  Good, drag it back down 20 dirty steps to get to the Bahn.  Lovely.  Very old world, and delightful, of course.

There’s such an efficiency to all movement, that even while exiting passport control, it’s quite easy to find yourself outside the airport, and having to return through a separate area to be screened and admitted back to your connection.

Not sure if TSA could learn from Germany security, or the other way around, but each has it’s own eccentric behavior.  While TSA barks reminders about what can be taken through screening, and how to pack the cart, German security is solemn, leaving you to guess what goes through the detector.  Laptop.  Yeah, that needs to be screened.  Shoes, not here.  Liquids? Same standard here.  Belts?  Well, you better take yours off prior to entering the magnetometer, as they will assuredly do a secondary search if you fail to pass this pop quiz of a test. 

And then you’re back in, ready to grab a free newspaper (oh, that’s how they survive in Europe!), trip over information and food kiosks, and glare at overpriced yet duty free items that people no longer seem to use in this day and age.

Ah, overseas travel.  It’s sleek and sexy, but in a cramped, crowded, and all too familiar way.