My computer says it’s 2:21am, but I know better. It’s the ripe hour of EIGHT twenty-one, and I’ve got some time before my flight begins boarding. I should have worn my hall “Royalty” t-shirt, because I’ve been treated like it. Sort of. But I knew if I carried my two pieces of ‘handgepaeck’ around any more they would compress my spine or something. So the director man told me to go get a coffee or something. But I’ma sit here a minute first.

So we met the sun on the other side of the sea for one of my life’s shortest days. I was afraid I would be assigned an aisle seat next to a big man who overflowed only slightly into my space and would make me stand up every few hours so someone could get past me. Flashbacks of the Spain trip, I guess. I expected to sleep without aid that time. Right.

This time I was better prepared and luckier! I was assigned the aisle seat, but either the other seat was never assigned or its occupant didn’t show. Result? Score. This means I get double pillows and blankets for one thing, and a place to throw all my crap for another. Plus I can skip the whole “hey where are you from?” bit and get right to the part where I sleep.

I set my watch for Italy time while I was in the car on the way to the airport. Catie told me to get on their schedule as soon as possible and I wasn’t going to mess around. But I couldn’t so easily convince myself that it was 11:30 at night when my body knew very well it was 5:30. But that’s okay. Mom gave me sleep drugs which did in fact make me sleepy.

Then dinner was served. I drowsed through it and slept, if not extremely well, for most of the flight. It was probably the least miserable I’ve ever been traveling overnight (I’m recalling not only Spain, but also the DC bus trip). I think lowered expectations had something to do with it as well. The less you care, the less you stress.

I woke up and pulled the darkness mask off my face at six or so to discover I had somehow obtained another blanket and another pillow to add to my nest of CD-player, Harry Potter book goodness.

The windows showed a sea of rippled clouds. Lovely. And below them, the overcast German countryside looked like something I’ve seen before, but not.

And then it was time to be thankful that Johannes taught me how to say and understand numbers in German. I wandered around trying to find my way, using signs (correct) and directions from a passport official (incorrect) until I stopped to ask some guy who was obviously part of a group carrying US passports if he knew how to get to A18. His party was headed in the same direction and they temporarily adopted me.

Which was sweet, considering they were running a bit late for their flight, were pulled to the front of the passport line, and put on a little zippy cart to be driven across the airport in style. No spine-compression for me, seeing as how I was just considered another part of the group.

And now I know it’s going to be one of those days. I woke up way too early and got too little sleep for my usual standard of operation. But that doesn’t matter because the adventure has begun. No photos yet although I considered taking one of myself on the plane, drugged smug look and all, but forgot or fell asleep before doing so. I also wanted to take a picture of the exit sign because, like Spain, they have a picture of a little man positively running away toward the door. But unlike Spain they are translated as “exit” and not “way out”. Way out where?

Addendum: In Italy they are translated "way out" as well.