(BTW, I have called these posts “A Look Back” although I’m only one week into this and I’m still sitting in the hotel in KL).
So, approximately 800 hours after we left Cheesecake City, we finally make it to our layover in Frankfort, Germany. We knew that our layover on the way to KL was only 90 or so minutes so we couldn’t dawdle. We did, however, get to go through security again in Germany (WHY?). We made it to our gate with at least 45 minutes to spare only to find….ack. Two people working the gate (we did not have our boarding passes as, surprisingly, Malaysian Airline does not have a ticketing counter in Cheesecake – shocked, right?) and a lady with a baby being helped by one of them, and an older couple from (maybe) New Jersey being helped by the other. Now, when I say “older”, I do not mean “old like Mick Jagger”, I mean “are we in God’s waiting room and no one told me?” Huzzah. And they’re nearly deaf, apparently. (If you’re thinking “Elaine, you are such a mean bitch”, just wait). Do you know what doesn’t mix well? Old deaf people who don’t understand the concept of “checked luggage” versus “carry on luggage” with a very nice lady who speaks heavily accented English.
Gene and I are watching this, aghast. Our flight was boarding and while we were pretty sure they wouldn’t leave without us, we wouldn’t have put it past them. Finally it’s our turn. I hand her my prized US Passport (only 9.5 years old) and she asks for the checked luggage sticker. Now, I know I had it back in Cheesecake City. I even took pains to put it some place clever so it would not get lost.
The problem, you see, is that I did that before the three cocktails. 800 hours previously. It wasn’t in my purse, in my pocket, in my passport. I’m digging like mad every place I can think of, horrified that we may miss our flight and it will be MY fault. I finally found the little sticker, and here’s how I did it without causing an international incident. I just thought to myself, “Okay, think like drunk Elaine.” And boom. Right there in the front pocket of my carry on.
Here’s a lesson from me to you: Never put me in charge of something that important. Or at least hand me a binder clip to attach the sticker to my passport. I will definitely remember this for the return trip.
So, we get on the plane finally and it passes in a flurry of food (real food! on an airplane! hooray for international travel!), excellent service (seriously, the flight attendants on Malaysia Air were incredible and smiled the entire freaking time and never once suggested the pilot was a crap pilot), and endless movies and video games. About two hours before landing I got a crushing, terrible, photosensitive headache (that is, light sensitive) and that ground the fun to a quick halt. I skipped the breakfast (couldn’t even stand the sight of it) and just kept drinking water.
1,000 hours after leaving Germany, we finally landed in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. My suitcase even showed up (as did Gene’s – we were booked separately since Gene’s employer paid for his ticket and not mine, the skinflints, which is why we had two checked luggage stickers). Not that you asked, but I felt about 75% better by the time we got to luggage claim and 150% better by the time we got into a taxi bound for the hotel. Oh, and immigration and customs were super easy. Gene and I were both shocked when we got into the taxi because we were sure that someone was going to come after us because we’d forgotten some integral step of the process.