The unfortunate task of getting where you're going

Its 11:02am. It’s 10:02am. It’s 3:02am. It doesn’t matter. Jet lag isn’t the end of the world. It’s not terminal. You’ll get through it. Eventually. It fits over you like a heavy wool blanket, softly whispering “sleep now. And when you wake, you’ll be itchy and sweaty”. They say that after you arrive in Europe from the states, you’re not supposed to sleep again until the local bedtime. You’d think after having done this 15 times, I’d have some secret trick. I don’t. They also say alcohol exacerbates jet lag. I’ve never believed that. Even if it’s true, what fun is that? Bottom line is jetlag is pretty much the same the first time as it is the 15th time. You’re so off that when you’re trying to identify the smelly fucker in line, you start to wonder if it’s you. I mean, your deodorant has been working for about 18hrs at this point. Only difference is you have a little less adrenaline because you’re a little older and you’ve been through this before. You know what comes next. And you can drink. The simple act of typing, something I’ve been doing for 20 years is difficult. Random T’s, R’s and L’s appear out of no were. Unappreciated and scorned.

If airports are the rock concerts of people watching, this morning, I’m at Woodstock. Frankfurt International Airport. Germans. Ze Germans. Where the men have a real fondness for frosted tipped hair and square wireframe glasses. Where the women are either “cut off my right arm to see you naked” or “cut off my right arm so I don’t have to see you naked”. It’s 10am local time and I’m having a beer. I’m not drinking alone. More people are drinking beer than are drinking coffee. It’s normal. To them.

But as the saying goes, the Germans are nothing if not efficient. Well that’s not true. They’re obscenely clean as well. You could eat off the airport terminal floor. I imagine if someone did, not only would they be fine, but a worker in a clean green jumpsuit would immediately clean up the spot for the next person to eat off the floor.

No more open smoking in Germany. German men and women crammed into a walk-in glass closet inside of airport terminals. On display for all in the airport to see. Being kept alive by their camel lights and a special filtration system that whisks away the smoke. But not before it delivers its precious nicotine cargo just in time for the flight.

Walking through the crowd you can spot the Americans blindly. You don’t need to notice the broad shoulders, jeans, trainers, baseball caps. You feel them in the crowd. American’s slice through crowds of Europeans like a hot knife through butter. Reckless abandon. People flinch, dart, give us right of way. When you come into contact with another American you know it because it hurts. Neither of you move and you’re both keenly aware and only a little irritated.

What will Turkey be like. A far cry from the Indiana Jones depictions. Hot. Dry. Noisy. I think the latter might be the only one we experience. It will be cool. Cold even at night.