A Brief Digression About the Plane Ride and Sleep
The plane ride to Frankfurt was, as we expected, one of the more grueling experiences of our lives. I fondly remember getting on a plane and falling asleep, easily switching to whatever time zone I was about to join. I can sleep anywhere, anytime, but only if my little girl isn’t acting like a spider monkey, running around a plane, trying to make friends with everyone and entering tantrum phase when she gets too tired to cope with being stuck on a plane.
We have a fabulous system with our daughter that usually lets her feel in control while still allowing us to prevent her from doing what we don’t want. The system is simple, which is why it usually works. When Ilya wants to do something that she can’t do for some reason–for example, run around the plane during inopportune times–we tell her, “you have a choice: daddy can hold you or you can lay in the bassinet (Lufthansa provided a mounted bed for her in front of one of the front row seats, which was awesome).” This worked about the first dozen times. Just as at home, she would weigh the options, decide which was better and cuddle up to daddy. Eventually, though, she realized that she could make up a 3rd option, bending over backward over backward and moaning or squirming out of grasp and running as fast as she could down the aisle to meet up with her new friend Sophie (an 8 month old girl).
This flight was 10 hours. It went from 2pm Seattle time to 12am Seattle time. Ilya *should* have slept a 2-3 hour nap in the first part of the flight, plus a good 4 hours at the end of the flight. Or at least, that’s the schedule she kept at home. Not this time.
She slept in the bassinet for about 20 minutes while I watched Harry Potter in German. Then she woke up… and stayed awake until 5 minutes before the plane landed in Frankfurt.
Needless to say, her sleep schedule got flipped. Now she’s napping instead of sleeping a full night and sleeping through the day instead. Ach!
But anyway, I’m rambling instead of getting to the story that relates to the title of this post:
The Luggage Incident…
So, there we are, at the end of our plane ride. The pass through immigration was a snap. Stamp, stamp, stamp. Willkommen in Deutschland!
We trekked down to the baggage claim, which was a bit of a walk from where we got off, but easy enough to find.
And then we decided to resume our original plan to take only 1 suitcase. So, we took those two smaller bags and crammed their contents back into the giant green suitcase. After a bit of stomping, we got it to zip closed again.
We then found some very helpful people who directed us to the U-Bahn (train), which is conveniently located immediately under the airport. Each ticket from the airport to Frankfurt (Main) Hauptbahnhof (the central train station) was €3,50. Seems reasonable. The train got us to the station in about 10 minutes. We guesstimated our arrival since we couldn’t make out a single syllable of the announcer, who garbled the stop names through what sounded like a tin can saved over from the war.
As soon as we stepped off the train and sorted who was carrying what luggage, I set Ilya’s backpack on top of the giant green suitcase, noticed something odd, looked up at the ceiling and smacked my head in a grand cartoon gesture. Then I looked at my wife who was dumbfounded.
“We left the pack’n’play at the airport, in the luggage carousel”
Deep breath. The Pack’n’Play is Ilya’s mobile bed. We NEED the Pack’n’Play. It wasn’t something we could leave behind.
“Let’s just go to the hotel, I’ll put Ilya down to sleep and you can take the train back and get it.” Lena chimed in.
“Yeah, yeah… ok.”
So we went to search for our hotel. Let me pause here to recommend our hotel. We are staying at Hotel Excelsior, which was the single easiest hotel to get to in Frankfurt am Main. We stepped out of the south entrance at the train station and there it was, literally, right across the street. Along with the usual free wi-fi, continental breakfast (very tasty breakfast with smoked salmon, veritable brötchen, etc), the hotel room comes with a free minibar. It’s nothing miraculous. The contents consist of 2 sparkling mineral waters, 1 non-bubbly mineral water, 2 beers, 2 orange juice bottles and 2 bottles of coke. This is such a brilliant little addition. Considering the cost of this service (they maybe spend €6-8 to fill it), it’s a great investment in our happiness. The rooms are decent for the price–and the location is unbeatable. Our room, a double was €133 for 2 nights. Not cheap but nowhere near expensive.
Once in the hotel (which had a very tricky key system), I set off for the Airport to fetch the missing luggage.
Across the street, in the Hauptbahnhof, I awaited upstairs this time (we had entered on a lower level on a slightly ugly red train). The train arrived and I stepped in. Immediately, I nearly stepped back off, aghast at how freaking beautiful the inside of the train was. I don’t want to take up the space rambling about all the little touches. It was just luxurious. And it was the same ticket price as the cheap looking train that we took from the airport. Well, well. I sat back and watched the scenery go by.
This time, I knew exactly where to get off the train. The announcer spoke in both German and English, clearly and pleasantly.
Now came the fun part. How do I get back into the baggage claim area? I walked up to the first helpful looking person I could find and started in, “Entschuldigen Sie bitte… Ich habe mein Gepäck vergessen…ah… Sprechen Sie Englisch?” I chickened out. With the stress and chaos of the trip, I couldn’t muster up the German to explain everything and it occurred to me that everyone’s English here is better than my German. Indeed, everyone did speak english, but after this person sent me to one end of the airport (very helpfully, I might add), I tried again, “Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Ich habe mein Gepäck vergessen.” We had a brief conversation in German, in which, I learned where to go next. Again, I met someone and had a similar conversation. I found someone who directed me to someone else, who directed me to another place, which ended up requiring me to talk to another person and so on. Everyone was extremely helpful and polite. Everyone except the guy who actually worked at the Information Booth! I asked people who had absolutely no reason to even talk to me and who gave me fabulous directions and advice. But this guy at the information booth actually gave me misinformation–and with a bit of an attitude. So strange. He acted like there was no way I could get my luggage back. After much back and forth, I ended up with this from him:
>>We can’t just let anyone in there. You have to talk to Lufthansa.<< I walked away, found someone who worked for Lufthansa, who politely directly me to walk around and down, straight into the baggage claim area. But, short story long, I ran all around the airport several times, trying to get into the correct baggage claim area. I even spent a good 15 minutes circling the wrong baggage claim area trying to figure out how to get to the right carousel. However, I eventually found the storage room, showed my passport, matched my name to the foldable baby bed and proudly walked back down to the train station. Apparently, by this time, I had gained some outward appearance of self-confidence, having now conversed with a dozen or so Germans in their native tongue, as another foreigner (me thinks Polish or Czech) came up to me and asked (in German) if the next train was going to the Frankfurt am Main Hauptbahnhof. After stuttering a bit, totally taken aback that he would choose me to answer his query, I was actually able to explain to him that yes, it is, here is where it says so on the timetable and I will be boarding that train as well. Delighted, he went back to his companion and we boarded separate cars. Most of the trip back, I imagined a conversation we could have had, had I moved down the way and joined them in their car. I realized that I could explain my whole ordeal, with fairly decent gestures and imagery all in German, which would have been wonderful practice. So, rather than regretting, I practiced in my head. The train was once again one of the old looking ones, run down and manned by a garbled fishmonger--but it was a pleasant ride, nonetheless. With one foot standing on my little girl's folded bed, holding down my captured bounty, I sat proud, staring off into the German landscape, muttering to myself like a loon.