Arriving in Frankfurt is never a pleasant experience.
And I was not surprised this morning.
Grey skies, cold weather, crisp attendants, mid-field arrival. All the best parts of international travel.
But this is just the start.
I manage to get a standing room position in the front of the shuttle bus to the terminal. After a serpentine route that I think detoured to Luxembourg, we de-bussed (?) and proceeded up a three story escalator. This was all new, as even though I have flown through Frankfurt about ten times, every experience is different.
This time, atop the escalator, we were presented with a number of slots for which to pass through customs. With nary a word, and very little wait, I was allowed in to Germany. Danke schoen.
But there the mystery began.
Arriving passengers were directed to examine the departure board, but my flight, two hours ahead, was not yet listed. Fortunately, my boarding pass did have a gate assignment, so I proceeded in the direction of the ‘A’ gates.
After a 5 minute walk through a non-descript part of the airport, one with the tarmac on one side, and a security entrance with magnetometers and bag check on the other side, I was directed to a very long line. This line, in fact, appeared to be headed towards the security gate. As there were literally no other options, I was compelled to stick in this line, which meandered out of the security space, and hosted travelers (judging by their passports) from literally all over the world. (note to world: you don’t look very good in the morning).
Along with the other confused and air-weary, we snaked through this line for thirty minutes, amusing ourselves with the antics of the Italian family who insisted on getting ahead of everyone, the Japanese group of 30, who managed to stay together and find the longest security line of the half dozen presented to us, and those fellow business travelers who maintained various degrees of attitude during this process.
As I had slept through virtually the entire trans-Atlantic flight, I had been able to pocket the delicious and nutritious snacks and beverages the friendly flight attendants on United had provided. Well, they beverages did not make it through the gate, though I was provided the opportunity to guzzle the contents of my water bottle (note to self: good idea not to fill water bottle with vodka!), and with a nod, was allowed to bring through the 4 ounce already packed yogurt that was United’s breakfast treat.
Bored? Well, the journey was by no mean over. After passing through this security and pedestrian phalanx, I went searching for my gate. Turns out I needed another terminal for the ‘A’ gates, as I was in ‘B’ terminal at that time. So like many other previous visits, I descended three flights of stairs, found myself under the tarmac on a horizontal escalator (can the Fraport people visit O’Hare to see how moving people can be less droll), and into the ‘A’ terminal.
Before finding the entryway to ‘A’ I saw a host of people having to goo through yet another screening in the ‘B’ terminal. Anticipating this ignominy, I have to admit a bit of relief in finding my arrival into ‘A’ terminal to be uneventful. Took an elevator up the three stories to my level, and once the doors opened, I was welcomed by the familiar sights and sounds and smells of a modern European airport.
And it is there, amidst the free newspapers (there’s a way to save the US newspaper industry, compel the airlines and airports to buy truckloads of dead trees for travelers) and morning coke lights and all too omnipresent German hot dogs and severe hairstyles, that I found some space near a window, sat down with the grey sky as my backlight, and reviewed the waste of the past 90 minutes of my life.
Should I send the Reichstag the bill?
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