Kay and Eric Go to Germany

It’s Sunday evening, and Kay and I are making final preparations for our trip. I’ve gotten better at packing. My trip to Japan taught me that light is the way to go. A couple pairs of pants, some tee shirts, a hoodie, a rain jacket, and plenty of socks and underwear. As long as I have my medications, my passport, my phone, a couple battery packs and cables, and my electronics, I’m good to go. One thing I’ve learned is that most of the places I’m likely to go are at least as civilized as where I come from; they have socks in the EU at competitive prices. Kay has a very different approach to trip prep; she is very good at planning and organization, and she planned both the trip and her packing like a military operation. Her style of travel planning is very different from mine. She created a detailed itinerary that ensures we will experience the best of Bavaria, Salzburg, and Alsace-Lorraine. When I went to Japan, my itinerary had my flights and where I was staying; beyond that, it basically said:

• Land in Osaka, stay 3 days
• Catch a train to Kyoto and stay 3 days
• Train to Kanazawa, stay 3 days
• Train to Tokyo, stay 3 days
• Go home

Looking back, I’m amazed I even landed in the right country. 

Speaking of travel and itineraries, several years ago Kay and I flew to the Netherlands, and she had planned that trip as well. Lest you get the wrong idea, I like when she plans things and I don’t get in the way; she does pick the best spots, and everything goes swimmingly. This is so true that I get a little complacent; when we landed in Amsterdam, I didn’t have a copy of our itinerary; I figured I’d just follow my wife. We got to Amsterdam train station and got ready to board a tram to our hotel.

The tram pulled up, the doors opened, and I got on and turned to help Kay with her bag. To my considerable consternation, the doors shut and the tram started moving with Kay standing on the platform. I will not soon forget the expression of mingled astonishment and alarm on her face as I pulled away. I was halfway to the first stop before the full horror of my situation dawned on me. I was on a tram in Amsterdam with no itinerary; I didn’t even know the name of my hotel. I tried calling Kay on my phone, but it apparently takes a little while for your international calling plan to kick in. It occurred to me that I would most likely have to walk into a police station like a lost toddler and tell them, “Please, Mr. Policeman, I have lost my wife, and I’m ever so hungry,” with tears running down my cheeks. After a few moments I had the presence of mind to get off at the second stop and wait; sure enough, we were two great minds with but the same thought, and Kay came to rescue me. 

It’s a good thing she did, because I’d never make it in the Netherlands. For one thing, I’d never be able to pronounce their language. Those of you who have been to Amsterdam may have had the experience of asking for directions to the Van Gogh Museum and being met with a blank stare from one of the locals. You try again, and comprehension suddenly dawns, and they say, “Oh, you mean the Van Gach museaum.” My rendering doesn’t really do the pronunciation justice; Bill Bryson said it sounds like a cat bringing up a hairball. This is what my AI program explained:

Standard Dutch Pronunciation

• The “g” is a guttural sound made by pushing air past the back of the tongue near the uvula, creating a rough, raspy noise.
• It is voiced (as in the IPA /ɣ/) at the beginning of syllables and can be voiceless (as in /x/) at the end of syllables or in certain dialects.

But don’t take my word for it:

It could be worse. There is a language spoken in the Northeast Caucasus called Archi that has 16 different uvular consonants, “including both voiced and voiceless fricatives and various modifications such as labialization and pharyngealization… This includes stops, fricatives, labialized, and pharyngealized uvular sounds… The “ullulations” refer to the strong, varied, and resonant uvular articulations in speech.”

Good luck with that if you end up in the Northern Caucasus. 

One thing I did to make my travels a bit easier was to apply for Global Entry status. Its a surprisingly complicated process. You fill out some forms and swear you aren’t a felon and wait to see if they bought your story. Once your application is accepted, you have to have a personal interview with immigration. Unfortunately, there are no interview offices in New Hampshire. I hopped the C&J bus down to Logan Airport, about an hour and a half. Then you find the office, which is behind an escalator. You enter the waiting room, but there is no receptionist. There is a two-way mirror, and they look you over and buzz you in for your interview. Then it gets weird. The interviewer and the rest of the officers are in full tactical gear: black BDU trousers, shiny black boots, and, God help me, body armor. I couldn’t help but wonder, what were they expecting? A gang of terrorists, set on preventing people from getting Global Entry cards? I have to wonder what they are anticipating. The other thing is that they are right on the check-in level of the main international concourse at Logan. Any “bad actors” would have to fight their way past the hundreds of families checking in for their flights or arriving from the EU, Asia, and South America to get to these heavily armed officers. Aside from the carnage, it’s a big place, so this would be tiring. Luckily, just down from the Global Entry office, there is a Dunkin’ Donuts kiosk, so they could recharge with lattes and jelly donuts. 

Also, the schlep down to Logan seemed unnecessary. They asked me if I was a felon; I had already filled out forms attesting to my non-felon status, and the form made it clear that if I lied about that, I could face incarceration. At the interview, the officer asked me again. I said no (nothing but the truth), and the officer told me they would run a check, and I’d get my Global Entry card once they ran a criminal check. It was in my mind to ask, “If you are going to run a criminal check and accept those results instead of my assertion, why make me take the bus to Boston to ask me that question?” But it didn’t seem like asking the obvious would advance the ball in this situation, and the guy did have a taser and a baton.

In any case, I got my card, and I’m rarin’ to go. Tomorrow Kay and I will drive over to the C&J bus and head down to Logan, then it’s a 7-8 hour flight to Frankfurt. As I write this, it’s 11 AM here in Portsmouth and 5 PM in Frankfurt, so we are talking about a 6-hour time difference. When we get to Frankfurt, it will be about 11 PM for us, but 5 AM Bavarian time. Once we land, we’ll grab a train to Bamberg; just to be on the safe side, I’ve equipped myself with one of those toddler leashes so Kay can keep track of me.