Travel is Broadening

My first flight was only to Chicago*, which was painless enough.  In fact, I seem to have spent a lot of time in the O’Hare Airport in the past, but haven’t actually been to the city itself since I was very little.  I should change that.

                The second flight, and the bulk of my time in the air, landed in Munich.  When the beverage cart went by, I thought about how I didn’t buy anything at the first 2 airports I had been to.  Thus, I decided to splurge and order one of those $6 wines – you know, the teeny, tiny bottles.  I ordered red (this is important later).  I was having the best time.  Mary Poppins was playing on one of the channels, and I was just generally enjoying myself, despite the cramped quarters and ear popping.  

              I was sipping wine and marveling at the perfection that is Julie Andrews when the flight attendant came with my vegetarian meal.  The food tray took up way too much space and down went what was left of the wine (I told you the color was important).  Thankfully, I had already drunk most of it.  This was my first thought upon the occurrence.  I hate to see good money go to waste after all.  Then, I remembered I was wearing my most favorite, comfortable, light blue sweater.  And then I realized that I was in a plane, very close to other people.  To my relief, the kind lady sitting next to me was undamaged by the wine, except for her free blanket which we all got from the airline.  So I gave her my blanket and ran (well, if running means stumbling over everyone else) to the restroom.  I am happy to report that my sweater is almost wine-stain-free.  There are still a few questionable spots.  Well, at least it's an older, well-worn sweater.

                Anyway,   take this bit of advice:  First of all, alcoholic beverages on a plane are way over-priced anyway, so you might as well pass.  Secondly, it’s best to go with a colorless drink.  And drink it fast.  If I had chugged, rather than sipped that bottle of wine, my sweater would not have been sopping wet for the remainder of the flight.  I’m just sayin’.

 By the way, 8 hour flights are absolutely horrid.

Oh, and I am now typing from Berlin (actually Kleinmachnow, a suburb of Berlin).  More about that later.

*Betsy and the Great World  connection – Betsy takes a train from Minneapolis to Chicago during the first part of her journey.  (Like me, only not in the air!)