Frankfurt

Peanut Butter Cheetos in Frankfurt

"All good trips,” travel writer Pico Iyer reflected, “are, like love, about being carried out of yourself and deposited in the  midst of terror and wonder.” 

Well, it's probably silly to include European travel in the category of places which can cause terror, but I have certainly had a fair amount of anxiety thinking about carting our bikes, camping gear, camp stove, and lots of gear onto the planes. Bikes cost $150/each to take on American Aiines flights, one way. But then there is our dear Missoula airport...our bikes were checked in cheerfully and for free! And we were given exit row seats, and our luggage was checked all the way through to Frankfurt (4 flights total), and our camp stove and fuel bottle were no problem, and we got exit row seats for free, and we were pre-checked so we didn't have to take off our shoes. I love Montana! 

Quick stop in Seattle, then to SFO...

San Francisco airport is clean and modern, with Mad Men style plastic yellow chairs bolted to the floors, and plus-sign couches pushed together. 

My biological father lives not far from the airport somewhere on San Bruno Mt., perhaps under a tree. It occurs to me that he has surely heard the roar of our plane as it landed. I think about the me who went in search of this man 18 years ago. The yearning. I find I feel no pull in his direction anymore, even at close range. Good.

Scott grew up here and used to come to the airport and roam around, watching planes, pretending he was going somewhere. Weird that this city produced such a stellar man as Scott and also witnessed the 40+ drinking years of my father, also named Scott. 

Like all good Ice people, we think nothing of sleeping in airports (I haven't always felt this way.) We find a little alcove by baggage claim #4 (nobody makes enough in the Antarctic Program to splurge on $175/night airport hotels). It was not half bad on the floor with our Big Agnes inflatable pads. A frequent loud page came over the intercom system looking for someone with the melodious but faintly lewd sounding name of Felonio Penisario. Otherwise silence.

Warning...I seem to have no formatting control on this iPhone so forgive the yelling quality of this huge font.

Overnight flight from Dallas to Frankfurt. Watched Saving Mr. Banks - in keeping with depressing drunk father theme from earlier. Meh.

Everything else went incredibly smoothly, except carting that the bike box and 2 big bags of gear was predictably exhausting and we got a lot of stares. Three stops before our destination, Scott starting pulling at his shirt on the busy subway and said there was something super sharp in his shirt. His face contorted with the pain and I began to fear he was having a heart attack. I tried to help him figure out what was gouging him when I heard an electric buzzing sound, not unlike those trick toys that go off when you shake someone's hand. Something's biting me! He said as he squeezed bunches of his travel shirt. Out dropped a  nearly mouse-sized bumble bee, dead. But we hadn't even been outside! Scott felt bad about  the death of the bumble bee, even as a huge welt formed on his ribs.

AirBnB place tonight in trendy little neighborhood with gelato and arugula pizza available next door (we made homemade fresh mushroom soup and a giant salad for dinner - groceries are cheap here! $1 for big container of brown button

mushrooms and 37 cents for a bottle of local wheat beer, for example.) But the smell of the pizza keeps beckoning...

Tomorrow is a 3.5 hour train ride to Donaueschingen and the start of the Danube. Scott has been outside in the courtyard all  evening putting the bikes back together.

Pic in Frankfurt airport

Pic from our AirBnB room

Scott in the tiny courtyard, doing such a great job with the bikes.