I've finally left the states.
Took them long enough, am I right?
The journey started in an empty hanger in Mississippi, waiting for our circa 1962 international plane to be fueled and manned. Ryan International Flights is the name of the company we are flying with. The name Ryan is splayed on the sides. First off, who has the ingenuity to start their own international flight company, wisking travelers off their feet and taking them to far away and exotic locations, yet lacks even the littlest bit of imagination needed to think of a decent company name. Ryan is either the name of the CEO or his stupid golden retriever. Regarless, its a flight over. Can't complain, right?
So we board, find out seats and attempt to get comfy. The problem now is the unnerving feeling the creeps up everyones spine as they truly grasp the idea of flying 14 hours in a piece of machinery that was being manufactured as JFK swore in to office. Walking through first class I felt that there should have been a Don Draper hanging out in the window seat, lazily holding a Lucky Strike and a scotch, gazing intensely out the window, thinking up something either brilliant or heartless.
To our advantage, however, is the fact that it's a half full plane, leaving plenty of empty seats and open room for lounging soldiers to relax. And even though the inflight movies were the four films that got thrown on the Best Picture ballot as fillers this previous year, I made the best of it and got some reading done. And miniscule amounts of unsettling sleep.
Our first stop for fuel was Newfoundland. So the nostalgia tour kept on riding as we stepped off the plane and made our way into the secluded terminal reserved for us "American Heroes". No offense Canada, but lets do some updating of these little airports. It's funny, but in a laughing at you not with you kind of way, when your newest pop culture reference is Robing Williams as Mork. Alright, I made that up. There was no pop culture reference. The outside world didn't exist in this airport.
A quick fuel up and we were off again, this time to Iceland. Oh yeah. Iceland. Let's let that sink in....
We weren't allowed to leave the plane for this fuel up, which was probably for the best. I could swear, however, as we were readying the runway for take off, I could hear a muffled Bjork axing a swan for her new dress.
That leaves me here, in Germany. Writing this post with a keyboard that has the z where the y is and vice versa. It prettz frusterating, I'd have to saz.
And what is it about Germany that brings everything down? I don't know what it is, but when I think Germany, I think cold slate, overcast, and factories as far as the eye can see. And when was the last time you heard a German comedian? I swear, these people don't laugh. They either frown or grimace. I only recently found out that somewhere, way back in unspoken times, a person of Jewish decent wormed their way into my blood line, and I'm still slightly frightened(who doesn't love a good, vague holocaust joke?).
So that's the gist of my travels so far, readers. Up next? You guessed it. Turkey!... What? Zes, we're going to Turkez.
Keep on keeping on, until next time.
