13 – Journey to Jeddah, chapter 1

The trip to Jeddah started auspiciously.  The taxi dropped me at Logan’s Terminal E about an hour and ten minutes before departure.  A Lufthansa representative greeted me at the ticketing kiosk and pushed all the buttons to get my boarding passes.  I stepped up to the counter to check my bags (two checked bags = $zero) and a nice young man performed the actual ticketing and bag checks.

Immediately after issuing my tickets and baggage claim stickers, he said, “Let’s get you to the boarding gate.  Please follow me, sir.”

 

He then led me past the crowd of people in the first class security line, flashed his badge at the passport checker, and placed me squarely at the front of the line.  After the Homeland Security dude performed his perfunctory 30 second perusal, my Lufthansa guide led me to the front of the ‘take-off-your-shoes’ line.  After a quickie X-ray check, we took off for the gate.  He said, “Looks like you can walk fast, so we won’t need a cart.”

"Multi-Pass" for Munich to Jeddah

Booyah!  Less than five minutes after issuing my ticket, I’m standing in the boarding line at gate E7B.  Was that a miracle or what?

 

I love Lufthansa!  Head of the line twice, two checked bags cost zero, two glasses of red wine cost zero, fabulous cups of coffee until I couldn't hold any more, dinner, breakfast, a couple of snacks, a screening of Identity Theft and Don’t Trust the B in Apartment 23, and we landed in Munich.

 

Two brave and beautiful girls sat beside me: Aria is 10, Aya is 5, and they were flying to see grandma and grandpa in Sarajevo.  Aria confidently informed me that she’s done this a lot, since their grandparents live in Bosnia.  They appeared unaccompanied, so I happily adopted them.  We had some fabulous conversation (and silly stuff) before Aria announced it was their bedtime and arranged the two of them to rest on each other, under nice (and also free) Lufthansa blankets.  My newest lady friends had chaperones, though: two well-worn bunny rabbits, one of which talked, and a small fuzzy cow.

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Flughafen Munchen (does that rhyme?) provided both wonderful and disappointing experiences:





a)  Lufthansa offers free newspapers and magazines to passengers.  Almost took a few even though they are German language.  Mom can once again tell the story – because she tells it so well! – about my German 101 final exam.
 

Der Spiegel, anyone?

b)  Even though I wasn't entering Germany, the pleasant German passport control guy stamped my passport with no hassles without leaving the secure area.  I'm finally getting some stamps in my four-year-old passport.

 

c)  There are LOTS of Americans.  Someone should tell them this is Germany, and I want to see folks not from the US.  The older gentleman sitting directly across from me at the moment is wearing a North Carolina Tar Heels cap.  He is oblivious to my Georgia Tech bag tag, probably because I’m an American and he, like me, only wants to see foreigners in this airport.

 

d)  They served me a Spaten at 10:30 in the morning.



Cannot take photos of women, so, thanks internet!

There are lots of Arabs at the gate, but that’s not a surprise since the flight goes to Riyadh and then to Jeddah.  I’m practicing the art of ignoring women in burkas, but it’s hard because they look so much more unusual in person.  Imagine being immersed in a Kung Fu movie with ninjas, since ninjas also wear black cloaks and head coverings with only an eye slit.

If you think burkas are plain black shrouds, like I did, you're wrong.  Some have muted dark colors, like purple, grey, or navy blue, but almost all have delicate embroidery, glittery beading, shiny piping at the seams, or other adornments, and none of it is subtle.  Some of the women wear almost opaque veils with draping pieces to cover their necks and throats, while others wear small veils that cover very little of their faces.  And some wear perfume -- wonderfully smelling fragrances that rival what I'd expect to smell at a Boston Symphony performance.

Not at all what I imagined about burka wearers.