The Wanderings

Day 1 - The Departure

Day 1

     What a beautiful day for to start my journey into the next stage of life. The sun beamed its’ optimistic rays down upon me, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, my new boots fit well and my backpack, while weighty was not too heavy for a young buck like myself.  By 3:30 in the afternoon, my folks had chauffeured me to the airport and we were sitting across from one another in the airport café sipping on a cup of java.  It was at that time when I raised my eyes and recognized the looks of fright and apprehension pasted upon their faces.  I guess one could have also garnered a touch of pride in there.  However, the sight most resembled what a momma bird might look before she chucked her offspring from the nest.  Their wee one was about to fly off and they knew he did not have a ticket to come back home.  The images cascading through their minds must have been incredibly traumatic.  What if he decided to shack up with some loose kraut floozy and ended up raising a brood of screaming brat kids?  Their grandchildren, little Ludwig and Umma, would be living thousands of miles away.  Regardless of the fact that this scenario may cause restless sleeps and scores of nightmares I excitedly gave the old kiss and shake, left their looks of consternation behind and bounded through security making my way to the waiting aeroplane.

     I rushed aboard the iron bird.  I was the first one on, leaving the elderly, handicapped and those with small children in my wake.  Like a giddy schoolgirl, I bounced into my seat and anxiously awaited departure. Soon my hopes of a comfortable trip were diminished when Hanna and Franz waddled over and squeezed themselves into the two seats beside me.  For the next eight hours I was forced to endure sitting beside a couple best known for having Richard Simmons sermonize "Oh my, you two lard-asses have really yet yourself go."  The couple were so large that once they shoehorned themselves into their spots the rest of the passengers on the plane broke into a round of applause. Thankfully, the humanitarian who had arranged plane seating assigned me to an aisle seat. 

     My next goal was to retain my sensibility.  Conversation had to be avoided with these two seatmates.  Everyone knows that if enter into a conversation with anyone on a place you bear a good chance that you will be forced into listening to chapter upon chapter of their life's story.  It is true….I saw it once on the movie ‘Airplane’ and it has frightened me ever since.  I discovered the best way to achieve peace and solace was to have Public Enemy burst out rhymes on my walkman.  Unfortunately, one can only endure so much of Flava Flav ‘kickin' it wid da homies’.  As expected, within seconds of hitting the stop button on the player, I got sucked into pseudo-conversation with my aged German neighbors.  Drawing on experience working with Poles, Arabs, Greeks and Chinese I was able to converse with them.  As a youngster, I spent five years hauling cases of weenies for every new immigrant working as a hot dog vendor in Toronto's downtown core.  After several years of toil I actually began to believe that when our government granted newcomers a working visa that the hot dog vendor license was tossed in as a package deal.  It is true that while lugging red-hots at Charamonte's Hot Dogs and Sausage Emporium, I became quite adept at learning how to speak broken English.  However, these two were indeed a challenge.  I had to contend with their heavy accents as well as the wavering sounds created by their jowls which jiggled as they spoke.   Needless to say there was a lot of smilin’ and noddin’ on the flight. 

     The remainder of the flight was rather non-eventful.  I used much of the time studying my bible.  With so many hours on a plane, no one to chat with…sorry, no one that speaks English to chat with, I found that the best diversion was to read the Good Book.  The bible has always been something that everyone traveling should have handy in such trying times.  It gives people direction in life.  Guidance.  When they are lost, the bible shows them where they should turn.  From every page, the pathway to glorious places is fully detailed…mapped out and all.   Like other worldly travellers, I came prepared with it neatly packed away in my backpack.  While King James may not have written the version I had, he sure could have used it to find all the cool sights, places to stay and affordable spots to grab a bite to eat.  My bible was the Lonely Planet: Western Europe on a Shoestring guidebook.  I can honestly say that if I did not purchase the Lonely Planet I would have wandered around Europe disoriented with a perplexed, confused look upon my face.  Instead, I followed the sacred words of the Lonely Planet, was saved from a summer of disorientation and felt like I was reborn as an experienced European back-packer.

     While I had been awake for almost 24 hours I did not catch any winks.  A combination of the monotonous tone emitted from my aisle mates' labored breathing patterns and a host of pathetic movies shown on the in-flight movie kept me wide awake.  But hey think about it, I was on a flight to Europe.  My calendar was clear.  Stacks of greenbacks were literally bursting from my bulging pockets.  This young traveler was brimming with ambition, had a keen desire to seek out life and adventure.  How can one sleep at such an exciting time?  There was no reason to seek out sleep.  Heck, my flight was only six and a half hours long.  I peered out the plane window, just over Hans belly and noticed the shadow of an approaching landmass.  That dark outline represented the start of one of the most significant chapters in my life.  She was down there.  Waiting for me.  The page was waiting to be turned.  How thrilling.  There will be no sleep today.