Monday
12:32PM
I'm in the Belgrade office now after a very long day of travel yesterday.
Here's a recap:
Me: I got everything into one roller bag. Pretty proud of myself
Jen: You're going to check that aren't you? That's too big for a carry-on.
Me: No way! I've seen people with much larger carry-ons!
Jen: Um... okay.
Me (after being dropped off at the airport): You know, I really don't want to drag this all over tarnation. I get a free checked bag anyway. (I'm just going to check it.)
* That ominous sound they make on Amazing Race when someone has just made a blunder *
Jen gets me to the airport with a good hour and twenty minutes to spare. I get to security. Great. Not very busy. This should take no time at all.
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE TSA!
There are probably thirty TSA agents at the security check. They are manning two lines plus the CLEAR check line through which no one can really go anyway. The two regular lines are both feeding into one body scan machine. On top of this, there must have been some security alert because they are checking almost every other person for explosives. Plus you need to have another ten TSA agents to stand around and give you stupid looks while they chat amongst themselves. After 45 minutes I finally get to the gate with just enough time to buy a bottle of water before they begin boarding.
My first hop is a Delta flight from Denver to Minneapolis. It's late to take off. I have the window seat and in the middle next to me is an older gentleman who is part squirrel. He fidgets in his seat. Once we're at altitude he takes out his carry-on and begins taking things out of one pocket, looking at them, and putting them back into some other pocket. I don't think he's looking for anything in particular, just rearranging his acorns. I'm finally ready to say, "What the hell are you looking for?" when he suddenly ends up fast asleep.
We arrive late to Minneapolis. I was supposed to have about an hour but only end up with about ten minutes before my next flight is to board. Enough time to find a bathroom, but between the arrival gate and my next departure gate (which are relatively close) there is no bathroom. Seemingly the closest bathroom is going to be a ten minute walk away. I choose to just board at my assigned time.
I forget how long these international flights take to board. Good lord, people! Just throw that carry-on up there and have a seat. Nope. They have to remove clothing, put clothing on, give their kids Cheerios, and generally just stand in the aisle for no reason whatsoever. Also, there are two lanes on these jumbo jets. Use both of them! Everyone files down the one side and then end up having to crawl over the people in the middle. Thankfully I'm on the aisle on the far side of the middle section, so no one is crawling over me. And it's both a blessing and a curse that I am seated just in front of the lavatory. It's a blessing because there is no one behind me to kick my seat and generally be annoying. Also as soon as the plane gets to cruising altitude I'm out of my seat to finally relieve my bladder. The curse though is that, especially after the meal service is finished, there is a line up of people waiting to use it. All of them checking out what movie I have playing.
Two things to note: free drinks on international flights on Delta and you get your own in-flight entertainment screen. I was not going to be playing Bejeweled; however, I did take in several movies. None of which must have been too memorable, because I can't recall now what I actually watched. There was a rather morose teenager or early twenty-something next to me. Didn't want anything to drink, anything to eat... and was traveling by himself to Paris. Dude, lighten up. There could be worse things in life.
The flight was generally pretty good even with all the bathroom line gawkers. The airport in Paris, however, not so much. We landed with over an hour and a half to spare for me to get to my Belgrade flight. Apparently that is not enough time. After taxiing for what seemed to be the entire month of June, we arrived at terminal M1. I had to get all the way to the other side of the airport to terminal D2. If you've traveled in Europe before you will understand how there are security checkpoints in seemingly random places. So you go through the rigamaroll of removing shoes and things from your pocket and pantomiming with security agents a number of times. I will say that at least in Paris they also had 30 agents working THIRTY lines. GET IT RIGHT, AMERICA! So getting through security was a breeze. For some reason this happens after you deboard the plane but BEFORE you go and get on a bus to go around in a loop to get to the correct terminal. D2, of course, was the last stop in that loop. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I'm finally at my gate for the final leg. So I made it and still time to spare, so an hour and a half really is enough right? Remember that ominous noise the t.v. made when I decided to check my bag?
Air Serbia has a lot of things going for it, and by a lot of things I mean two: free beer and liquor and the flight attendants. I had a Jelen, Serbian beer. Hey, when in Rome, right? Besides, my other choice was Heineken. The Jelen was warm. Seemed somehow fitting. Serbian women are beautiful. There. I said it. The Serbian people generally are an attractive lot. Good genes I guess. They're generally tall and lean. Apparently you must be at least 6 ft tall and weigh no more than 140 pounds to be a flight attendant for Air Serbia. Makes me wonder if they weigh them in like Pan Am used to.
Air Serbia's fleet isn't the newest out there. I think it is slightly younger than what we Americans used to bomb Dresden. Our pilot wasn't concerned. He pushed that machine to its bounds. I think he flew in the Balkan wars. His takeoff and descent were both steep and his turns were... ummm... aggressive. The Greek girl next to me kept crossing herself. I honestly don't get nervous on flights, but the landing had me gripping the arm rest. Still he managed to get it down in one piece.
12:32PM
I'm in the Belgrade office now after a very long day of travel yesterday.
Here's a recap:
Me: I got everything into one roller bag. Pretty proud of myself
Jen: You're going to check that aren't you? That's too big for a carry-on.
Me: No way! I've seen people with much larger carry-ons!
Jen: Um... okay.
Me (after being dropped off at the airport): You know, I really don't want to drag this all over tarnation. I get a free checked bag anyway. (I'm just going to check it.)
* That ominous sound they make on Amazing Race when someone has just made a blunder *
Jen gets me to the airport with a good hour and twenty minutes to spare. I get to security. Great. Not very busy. This should take no time at all.
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF THE TSA!
There are probably thirty TSA agents at the security check. They are manning two lines plus the CLEAR check line through which no one can really go anyway. The two regular lines are both feeding into one body scan machine. On top of this, there must have been some security alert because they are checking almost every other person for explosives. Plus you need to have another ten TSA agents to stand around and give you stupid looks while they chat amongst themselves. After 45 minutes I finally get to the gate with just enough time to buy a bottle of water before they begin boarding.
My first hop is a Delta flight from Denver to Minneapolis. It's late to take off. I have the window seat and in the middle next to me is an older gentleman who is part squirrel. He fidgets in his seat. Once we're at altitude he takes out his carry-on and begins taking things out of one pocket, looking at them, and putting them back into some other pocket. I don't think he's looking for anything in particular, just rearranging his acorns. I'm finally ready to say, "What the hell are you looking for?" when he suddenly ends up fast asleep.
We arrive late to Minneapolis. I was supposed to have about an hour but only end up with about ten minutes before my next flight is to board. Enough time to find a bathroom, but between the arrival gate and my next departure gate (which are relatively close) there is no bathroom. Seemingly the closest bathroom is going to be a ten minute walk away. I choose to just board at my assigned time.
I forget how long these international flights take to board. Good lord, people! Just throw that carry-on up there and have a seat. Nope. They have to remove clothing, put clothing on, give their kids Cheerios, and generally just stand in the aisle for no reason whatsoever. Also, there are two lanes on these jumbo jets. Use both of them! Everyone files down the one side and then end up having to crawl over the people in the middle. Thankfully I'm on the aisle on the far side of the middle section, so no one is crawling over me. And it's both a blessing and a curse that I am seated just in front of the lavatory. It's a blessing because there is no one behind me to kick my seat and generally be annoying. Also as soon as the plane gets to cruising altitude I'm out of my seat to finally relieve my bladder. The curse though is that, especially after the meal service is finished, there is a line up of people waiting to use it. All of them checking out what movie I have playing.
Two things to note: free drinks on international flights on Delta and you get your own in-flight entertainment screen. I was not going to be playing Bejeweled; however, I did take in several movies. None of which must have been too memorable, because I can't recall now what I actually watched. There was a rather morose teenager or early twenty-something next to me. Didn't want anything to drink, anything to eat... and was traveling by himself to Paris. Dude, lighten up. There could be worse things in life.
The flight was generally pretty good even with all the bathroom line gawkers. The airport in Paris, however, not so much. We landed with over an hour and a half to spare for me to get to my Belgrade flight. Apparently that is not enough time. After taxiing for what seemed to be the entire month of June, we arrived at terminal M1. I had to get all the way to the other side of the airport to terminal D2. If you've traveled in Europe before you will understand how there are security checkpoints in seemingly random places. So you go through the rigamaroll of removing shoes and things from your pocket and pantomiming with security agents a number of times. I will say that at least in Paris they also had 30 agents working THIRTY lines. GET IT RIGHT, AMERICA! So getting through security was a breeze. For some reason this happens after you deboard the plane but BEFORE you go and get on a bus to go around in a loop to get to the correct terminal. D2, of course, was the last stop in that loop. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I'm finally at my gate for the final leg. So I made it and still time to spare, so an hour and a half really is enough right? Remember that ominous noise the t.v. made when I decided to check my bag?
Air Serbia has a lot of things going for it, and by a lot of things I mean two: free beer and liquor and the flight attendants. I had a Jelen, Serbian beer. Hey, when in Rome, right? Besides, my other choice was Heineken. The Jelen was warm. Seemed somehow fitting. Serbian women are beautiful. There. I said it. The Serbian people generally are an attractive lot. Good genes I guess. They're generally tall and lean. Apparently you must be at least 6 ft tall and weigh no more than 140 pounds to be a flight attendant for Air Serbia. Makes me wonder if they weigh them in like Pan Am used to.
Air Serbia's fleet isn't the newest out there. I think it is slightly younger than what we Americans used to bomb Dresden. Our pilot wasn't concerned. He pushed that machine to its bounds. I think he flew in the Balkan wars. His takeoff and descent were both steep and his turns were... ummm... aggressive. The Greek girl next to me kept crossing herself. I honestly don't get nervous on flights, but the landing had me gripping the arm rest. Still he managed to get it down in one piece.
I'm thinking the bag is somewhere. Connections were the reason we used carry-ons for our Ireland trip. 3 weeks in one bag and we made it. I hope yours did! I'm ready for the rest of the story!
ReplyDeleteI relate to your flying experiences!